Failsons

How do you judge a father? If his sins are not his son’s - are his son’s sins not his? They are separate, but tied together.

If a father scrapes the sky with grace, and leaves behind celebrated words that his sons would look like fools to repeat. His memory is still called back to in the attempt to tie themselves to something better - because they were tied - do you shower them with the same praise as the father? If a man succeeds do you forever hail his blood?

No. The boys must earn something to celebrate. Earn it through their own merits, not where they’ve been placed.

You can walk them to water, to the well of knowledge, to the wonders of decency - but they do not partake.

You can give them friends in many places, but if they are unable to perform it will be seen.

Maybe they were cursed to not struggle enough, not strong enough to ignore the little insults. Maybe they built their egos too high, having seen their father’s spot, that any less would be embarrassment. Never quite understanding how he clawed his way there.

Climbing up and up can be miraculous, a struggle, a task. And once achieved a sigh of relief?

But the children. How do you inoculate them with enough grit that they don’t think themselves better of all that surrounds them? How do you build them a solid sense of self? One not reliant on you? How do you prepare them to stand on their own when they wander out? How do you arm them with enough competence that they won’t need to swing your name around like a torch - hoping your faded light will push back the darkness of their irrelevancy?

Your boys are scared, and you’ve died. Now they are the rest of the world’s to raise and suffer.