A story from Paul Harvey
We tried so hard to make things better for our
kids that we
made
them worse. For my grandchildren, I'd like better.
I'd really
like for
them
to
know about hand-me-down clothes and homemade ice cream
and leftover
meat
loaf
sandwiches.
I hope you learn humility by being humiliated, and that
you learn
honesty by being cheated.
I hope you learn to make your
own bed and
mow
the lawn
and wash the car. And I really hope nobody gives you a
brand new
car
when
you are sixteen.
It will be good if at least one time you can see
puppies born
and
your dog put to sleep.
I hope you get a black eye fighting for something
you believe
in.
I
hope you have to share a bedroom with your younger
brother. And
it's
all
right if you have to draw a line down the middle of the
room, but
when
he wants
to crawl under the covers with you because he's scared,
I hope you
let
him.
When you want to see a movie and your little
brother wants to
tag
along, I hope you'll let him.
I hope you have to walk uphill to school with
your friends
and
that
you live in a town where you can do it safely. On rainy
days when
you
have
to catch a ride, I hope you don't ask your driver to
drop you two
blocks
away so you won't be seen riding with someone as uncool
as your
Mom.
If you want a slingshot, I hope your Dad teaches
you how to
make
one
instead of buying one.
I hope you learn to dig in
the dirt and
read
books.
When you learn to use computers, I hope you also
learn to add and
subtract in your head.
I hope you get teased by your friends when you
have your
first
crush on a girl, and when you talk back to your mother
that you
learn
what ivory
soap tastes like.
May you skin your knee climbing a mountain, burn
your hand on
a
stove and stick your tongue on a frozen flagpole.
I don't care if you try a beer once, but I hope
you don't
like
it.
And if a friend offers you dope or a joint, I hope you
realize he
is
not
your
friend.
I sure hope you make time to sit on a porch with
your Grandpa
and
go
fishing with your Uncle.
May you feel sorrow at a funeral and joy during
the holidays.
I hope your mother punishes you when you throw a
baseball
through your neighbor's window and that she hugs you
and kisses
you
at
Christmas time when you give her a plaster mold of
your hand.
These things I wish for you: tough times and
disappointment,
hard
work and happiness. To me, its the only way to
appreciate life.
Paul Harvey
