Watching my son Andrew kick the winning goal. That‘s my dream. Or catching his eye as he holds the science-fair trophy, head held upright with the pride of our triumph. I still remember how my own father looked the night my high school football team won state. Two of my teammates hoisted me onto their shoulders, and when Dad saw me, it was as though he forgave himself for every mistake he‘s ever made – all because he raised me into the man I had become. I don‘t care what Andrew decides to pursue in life, I just want him to be great at it. Isn‘t that what all father‘s want? He‘s going to be eight next month, and I know the next generation‘s best (his future competition) have already begun to refine their talents. Mozart began playing at 3, Picasso could draw before he could talk, and Michael Jackson was performing live by 6 years old. It‘s taken awhile for Andrew to find his niche, but lately he‘s started getting really into mountain and trick biking. His mother (Amy) thinks it‘s too dangerous, but I know how important it is to be passionate about your skillset, so I encourage him every chance I get. Amy just doesn‘t understand. She would see one little cut or bruise, and then suddenly that‘s all that mattered. I say if you aren‘t willing to bleed a little to achieve your dreams, then you don‘t deserve to have them come true.
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Comments
Heroi Badadep 🇵🇭
Indeed a father would likely be to think that way, but unfortunately, not all of that thinking are coming from good their intentions.
2020-12-19
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