When I took my first steps and stumbled into his arms,he kissed me on the forehead and said "Son, brave boys dont cry."
When I entered the classroom with shaking steps,the teacher looked into my eyes like a giant troll,I buried myself into his arms and with a warm smile he told me "Son, brave boys don't cry."
When the burden of books burying me into hopelessness would force tears out of me he would suddenly appear like a Santaclaus,wipe my worries and tell me"Son, brave boys don't cry"
I would work and work and work, draining myself into the river of employment yet everyday he would run his frail hands through my hair giving me the zest he has left in himself and with a weak voice he would mumble "Son, brave boys don't cry."
Today, I still cry yet not with sentimental tears for I no longer have the Santaclaus that would tell me "Son, brave boys don't cry."
