It was the night before Sports Day, the most dreaded day for me, a plump 9 year old whose nightmares would start eons before the actual event. “Fatso! Rolly Polly! Porker! Fatty…” few of the choicest words which were hurled at me every year.
Like always, I had been praying for a miracle. A massive earthquake to destroy the school, gigantic tornadoes which could swoosh away the school building. Last year, my prayers had gone beyond Milky Way when I had requested my alien friends to destroy Earth. Alas, my prayers would go unanswered and I would be at the receiving end every year.
Sports day meant trauma day.
As I sat huddled under my sheets, immersed in prayers, the slight creaking of my bed shook me. It was Dad.
He embraced me in a bear hug, placed a kiss on the top of my head, ruffled my hair and gave me the golden key to unlock all doors of my life, “Sweetie, I understand your fears, but don’t let their voices stop you from trying. Give it a shot. It’s not over, until it’s over. Never quit before the end line”
Though it has been more than two decades since that day, his words still continue to give me strength and guidance. His words of wisdom ring in my ears whenever I am about to give up. They have been my life mantra.
Someday when I have children, I hope I would be able to inspire and guide them, the same way Dad did that fateful day, and has been doing, always.
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