"Is it my fault that you don't want to hit the weights?"
No.
"Is it my fault that you don't want to jog?"
No.
"Is it my fault that you don't want to shoot baskets?"
No.
"Is it my fault that you don't want to hit golf balls?"
No.
"Is it my fault you don't want to pick the guitar?"
No.
"Is it my fault you don't want to learn Spanish?"
No.
"Is it my fault you don't want to read?"
No.
"Besides teaching you how to ride a bike and how to drive a car, I have taught you everything you know. From popping a jumper to chipping on the green, from placing your fingers in the correct chord positions to helping you memorize Spanish conjugations, I have provided you with the foundation, but I can't erect the building. You are 16 years old today. The days of being my baby boy have long passed. The days of me being your hero are a lugubrious memory. In two more years you will be 18 and that qualifies you by age to be officially designated a man. You could be off in some foreign country fighting a war and sacrificing your life for a worthless cause. You could be a father raising a kid with an uneducated and unemployed wife for the child's mother. I hope that I have started you on a more fulfilling and productive path. You are too talented and you have too much potential to sit in this dark room all day surfing your phone and playing video games, but you are on your own. I will be around with a few bucks and I will do my best to keep you on the straight and narrow, but I don't have the will or the energy to crack the whip. I'm having enough challenges cracking the whip on myself. You were a beautiful child and you brought me many hours of joy, but those days are gone forever. But that's life. Come and give your old man a hug. Happy 16th birthday! Here's a $100. Take the girlfriend out for dinner. We'll go to Dillard's tomorrow and see if we can't find a couple of nice shirts on the discount racks. I love you, son."
I love you, Pops.
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