My father’s expectations from me while in school were exceptional. I was a good student, popular, creative and good in everything but Mathematics!
Mathematics was an albatross around my neck, the only obstacle between my father’s affection and me. He simply couldn’t understand what was wrong with the numbers part in me. Neither could I.
Numbers were my nightmares. They would haunt me, partly I guess because my younger sibling was so good with them. Each time a number struck his magical bat he’d score a six. He and indeed my family exhibited his talent with numbers like a medal won fighting a battle.
Destiny gave me a chance and I got into a premier school in India after my tenth boards. My father’s laughter still rings like music no less than Beethoven’s symphony every time, nostalgic, I reminisce about the day. I felt like I owned the world. My sibling sat subdued for the first time, the cherry on my cake!
The premier institute couldn’t ramp up my skill with numbers and my happiness was short lived. Result wasn’t good. I was sure dad would beat me to pulp.
When he decided to take me back home, I thought he’d decided I was worthless. Whimpering and howling I pleaded with him to let me remain in the hostel.
He sat me down, looked me in the eye and said, “Guddu beta * these are just some poor scores. You’re still a part of me. Together, at home, we will make it work.”
Those are the words that’d infuse life in a broken heart, encourage beyond measure and bear a beacon paving way to success. Those are also the words I wish for my child to relate to when she finds herself in a soup. They mean everything!
Guddu beta: My father’s words of endearment for me
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