My father was proud of my brother. He was always disappointed in me growing up. I always troubled my head about pleasing him and suffered a good deal because he was indifferent to me to say the least. I paid (literally) a visit to the therapist, but there was no good in it. It was hard to pour my heart open in front of a stranger. Then one day I knew I was in trouble. The principal called my dad, because of my failing grades. I stood in the doorway, waiting for him. He entered. I asked him with a goofy demeanor:
-why so serious, Dad?
He stared me in the eyes and said:
-I wish your mother lived instead of you.
I smiled dumbfounded from ear to ear and died inside.
