We lacked a lot of money during my childhood. My father did repair work at a local school on weekdays and mixed drinks at a pub on Saturdays and Sundays. There were nights he would return with sores on his palms, a sore spine, and pass out on the sofa with his heavy shoes still on.
Around the age of ten, I started preparing actual dinners, putting away clean clothes neatly, and making coffee dark enough to help him stay alert at his jobs. My youth seemed less about being a kid and more about walking in his footsteps, attempting to match his stride.
I was not bothered by it. I honestly believe I never complained. Actually, I felt immense pride for him, and for our little family. I studied extremely diligently in my classes. This was not because people demanded it of me, but simply because I wished to repay the person who sacrificed his whole life for my sake.
“You realize you do not need to hold all the heavy burdens by yourself, Gavin,” he would frequently tell me. “I am the parent here. It is my responsibility to stress out, not your duty.”
“I am aware,” I would reply. “But perhaps I could lift a small piece of it.”
At the age of twenty-one, I started LaunchPad, a new business linking young creators with advisors and small-scale backers. In simple terms, if you happened to be a poor artist holding onto a vision but lacking funds, we provided you an opportunity.
Inside of twelve months, the project exploded in popularity. We appeared on regional TV channels, and later the countrywide broadcasts. Before long, my quotes began appearing in magazines, audio shows, and even group discussions. All at once, folks besides my dad actually valued my opinions.
Then, for the very first moment, I found my mind wandering: How would she react if she looked at me today?
Might she feel proud? Might she feel sorry for walking away? Would she observe all the things I had created—the business, the staff, the core goal… and experience some kind of motherly love finally wake up within her heart?
Or might she simply feel absolute emptiness?
