In your first semester of college,
you were asked to write an essay
about someone that you considered a hero,
and you wrote about me.
Me, your dear old dad! Imagine that!
All the superheroes in all of fandom
All the noteworthy newsmakers around the globe,
and you chose me. Me. Me.
You praised me because I never gave up on myself,
that I always made time for you, that I was always there,
that I taught you what really mattered in the world
and how to be successful in it.
You gave me credit for opening your mind,
for teaching you to use your imagination,
to express your ideas in writing and drawing,
to be a man who knows himself.
But you were using the wrong eyes when you wrote that.
I was so lost, son, with no direction
until you came into my life and forced me to find the way.
and I had to make things up, fantastically,
because I had so little and wanted to give you so much.
I had to stand as a man, to show you how to stand,
I had to find my way so you wouldn’t be lost.
I had to be successful so I didn’t fail you.
I had to find happiness to stave off the sorrow.
What I’m trying to say is that, as much as I’m your hero,
you are the one who gave me my powers.
Without you, I would never have become as strong as I have.
Without you, there is no Me.
I pull your essay out from time to time
(Did you even know I still had it?)
and I read about how wonderful I am.
But I know how incredible you are, son.
NaPoWriMo – Day 27