Dad

There were two things I paid a lot of attention to as a child: books and Dad. I had no idea how to get there. No dad read books. There were no books in any house. When I went to school, there were books and teacher ladies. There were no teacher lords.
My mother had a lot of ideas about who I could be when I grew up. My mother told me to be a soldier because the soldiers have their own shops and casinos. Grandma added that it’s a good idea, because the wives of soldiers walk nicely dressed and are well-groomed like actresses. Luke’s mother said that if I’m learning well, it’s best if I go for a priest. The forester told me to be a forester. Mr. Gajowy: that it is better to be a grove. And Mr. Colonel said that “a railwayman and a forester is not a craftsman.” Dad never said who I was going to be. My Dad died two years ago. When I was in eighth grade and more and more urgently needed to know who I wanted to be, I finally asked Dad when we were alone.

And Dad said:
– “Son, I’m not going to tell you who you’re supposed to be. Because I don’t know. Because I am not you. You have to listen to your heart. Because your heart will never lie to you.”