
Guidance and more
“My father didn’t tell me how to live. He lived and let me watch him do it.”
―Clarence Budington Kelland
My dad and I stand behind a crowd of what must be 10,000 people. They’re all waiting to get into the same event, and we had just arrived. It was around midday, the sun was shining over Boston, illuminating the warm spring day. We were tightly packed among a crowd of people, some talking, some not, but the buzz of the chatter was nevertheless filling the air. I looked at my dad, prepared for the long haul. There was still another solid 30 minutes of waiting ahead of us, so I took a deep breath and mentally prepared myself. My dad, on the other hand, was already scouting ahead of where we were. He grabs me and we start heading in a different direction. It’s hard to tell which line is which in the sea of bodies, brightly colored in all sorts of clothes, but it seems like he knows exactly where he’s going. I’m following behind, incredibly uncomfortable, only able to move because of the way he’s cut through people like a ship through water. We squeeze into a place I hadn’t even seen, the line in much shorter, and in the span of five minutes, we’re in. It’s like magic. If there’s one thing I really know about my dad, it’s that he hates lines. Whenever we go to a museum or amusement park, he’ll always find the shortest way to do things, but never without dragging me and my family along with him. He does that a lot, pushes me through discomfort, and although I hate it, we ultimately get a better outcome. My dad can be annoying sometimes, but in the end, the only way he’s pushing me in the right direction.