I had to bite my tongue this week. Ally is going to be a Broadway star. Or a pop star.
And I almost put on my rational Dad hat (ok, I rarely take that off) to tell her of course she would, but had she also considered accounting. Then I realized what a hypocrite I’d be. I’ve spent the entire lives encouraging them to dream big and they can be anything they want and now I’m going to hedge on that advice because the world is hard and I’m going to worry about them?
The world is hard. It will always be hard. And I will always worry about them.
I was going to be in the NBA. I was reasonable about my talents. I saw my self as a solid sixth man with slow feet but good shooting, but definitely in the league. If that didn’t work out my backup was professional Wiffle ball. Neither of those worked out. And that wasn’t a reflection on me. It was the industries. Pro Wiffle ball still had to mature as a sport. I tried. I failed. I tried something else.
Permission to try. And permission to fail. And supporting them either way. That’s my aim.