"I mean, we could have just moved somewhere nearby. I would still be near the university. It wouldn't have been so hard..."
I stop Sam before he finishes his thought.
"Sam, the university was never going to allow you to enroll."
"Wait. What?" Sam sputters.
"Just before your junior year, when Dad thought he would finally go back to teach a little, the university informed him, that under no uncertain terms that you would be allowed to enroll. Even if you were the best swimmer in the region, which you almost are, and with the best possible grades, which you almost got as well."
"Why not? If I was good enough, why wouldn't they want me?"
"Blame our grandfather, again."
Sam groans. "What did he this time?"
"Well, while Dad had the grades to get into school, he wanted to be a studio art major. While most of the department thought he had the talent to succeed, one or two of the higher ranking professors felt otherwise and were going to strongly suggest that Dad go into art history or even another department instead. Our grandpa wanted Dad to stay close to home so much that he offered to fund the school's new mechanical engineering lab if they would just allow Dad to keep his major and stay at the school. The school's board of directors agreed and the new lab was started before Dad even started his third year."
"There's a building on the grounds named for our grandfather? I didn't know that."
"Well, there was. Let me go on. When Dad wanted to pursue his Masters at the school, the head of the art department wasn't having any of it. Grandpa greased the wheels again, and he had a cancer wing built onto the school's medical center. It was dedicated just before Dad graduated. As a final stroke, donated the majority of the funds for a new office complex for the school, just so that Dad would be hired as an assistant professor. The former head of the art department retired before allowing that to happen, but grandpa had his wish. Too bad he died before he could see it through. The naming rights went to someone else, but Dad was there at the opening ceremony."
"So, Dad only got his degree, his job because of grandpa?" Sam asks.
"Kind of. Dad had the talent, but not the attitude many of the professors liked to see. Dad was more folk art, Rockwell and Moses, while the faculty was all modern art. The head was actually a friend to Andy Warhol if I'm not too mistaken. That's why Dad was pushed into getting out of his comfort zone so much, like with his thesis films. He hated doing them, but his professors wanted him to feel discomfort. Dad still can believe that there are so many fans for his student work."
"But they didn't want me because," Sam leaves the question hanging.
"The university felt that the Burton family would lead to another scandal if you became an accomplished athlete, even if you got in entirely on you own merit. I mean, our family fortune isn't as deep as it was. This infuriated Dad, but he calmed down enough to come up with a compromise. The cancer wing would be renamed for his mother. The engineering lab would be renamed for anybody else. The university thinks it will need replacing in a decade or so anyway. Dad would come back to his office for one last semester in the spring to check on any students he had that were still there after three years of sabbatical. The school wouldn't bad-mouth him if he looked for another job."
"And here I thought he was still waiting to return." Sam says. "Wait a minute. Did you help me get into UK?"
"Me?" I laugh. "I don't have any pull whatsoever there. All I did was inform your swim coach that you should apply to more schools, including Kentucky, because of the problem. Your coach didn't know the details, but he did encourage you to check other schools. You got into UK entirely on your own, based on your academics and athletics, no Burton interfering at all."
"I just wish you could have told me, then I wouldn't have acted up so badly."
"You just wanted to have as much of your life back as you could. Your house. Your school, Your boyfriend Chaz."
"What do mean by 'my boyfriend!'" Sam yells.
Oh-oh.
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