I missed you!

God's Boys will be good boys!





We walked into the pool area together. You with your knapsack and I with my father's swagger. My dad used to walk with me into an event. The event was usually a competition and he always had that sic'em look on his face. He meant it! He truly meant for me to beat the pants off of these people. You haven't seen my daughter play, he would boast in his humble way. No, no, she hasn't played in months. I don't think she will make it through the first round of this one. He would unboast to Brother, Mr. Rooney or whoever. Taking the pressure off of me. Still, his eyes said sic'em.
This time, I was the mother and my boy at my side and no reason to say sic'em. My eyes cannot help but reflect the purposeful glare that my father placed into them. Sic'em, he said at every event. Why would you enter if you don't intend to beat the socks off of these people. You know you could. Maybe. Maybe.
I was shrunk by his glares often. I was directed by his glares often. I was motivated by his glares and now I can't get rid of them. Even though I run from the conflicts, like the plague.
The smell of chlorine and adrenaline is addictive. I wanted to whip somebody. Dad is gone and I can't prove that I heard his every directive, though I followed none of them. Sic'em.