NOTE: All characters used and mentioned are not mine. This is just fun thing I decided to write before going to sleep (at 4:35 to 5:00 in the morning). NOT for a PROFIT.
My Boy (You Were Bound For Greatness)
By: Carmen Wayne
The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was destined for greatness. Through much of his childhood, I saw the talent growing with the love in his bright, blue eyes. And when I'd put him to sleep, I would just watch.
Who couldn't watch that heavenly face? That was my boy, and he was bound for greatness.
As he grew, and started to separate himself from his parents, I was overjoyed. Yes, he was temperamental, and maybe a little more aggressive than most teenagers, but he was my boy, and I was proud of him.
By this time in his life, his sleeping grew more violent. Nightmares of his beloved parents dying in front of his young eyes haunting him over, and over. Perhaps that's what drove him. In a way I've always hoped so. There would be some cause to that tragedy… Something to drive him beyond excellence.
He grew into a talented adult. Giving when he could, helping how he could. My boy could run and fight... My God, that training did do so well for him. He was my boy, and he reached greatness.
Every time he would leap into danger, my heart leapt as well. I helped when I could, but I wasn't always able to. And sometimes he would pay the price…
Watching him sleep almost became as rare as seeing him truly smile. His worn out face and bruised knuckles pained me. Did I do that to my boy? Did I aide to drive him off a cliff that would make him do that? Such a handsome young man he is. He always had a picture of us somewhere, even though he never told a soul. He would have it on him all the time, hoping no one would know. But I knew. And I was proud of him.
Those rare times I did see him sleep, it made me weep. His face no longer glowed with hope for a better tomorrow. It only lay dormant, waiting until he was called out again. He never knew I watched him, but he's my boy, and I am always watching.
I wept when he was sleeping, and I wept when he was awake. Every punch he took that I couldn't protect him from, I wept… Although he'd never know. But still, amidst this war, I would watch what I had aided in his becoming, and I was ever so proud of his greatness.
I watch my boy sleep these days. He has found a way to sleep more. Perhaps because he's learned to live with this life he's chosen. He no longer has the stress of a life once lived. I've watched his eyes twinkle and fade, sparkle and die. His dreams some nights were actually somewhat pleasant, and some were full of visions of those he thought he failed. These days his face is listless, with nothing in his mind apparent.
And I cry. Why couldn't my boy have dreams of pure happiness? Why did I aid into spiraling him onto this collision course on an emotional fright train?
This is my boy. He was once bound for greatness. Now he leads the life seemingly fit exactly how he wants.
I watched him grow, and I watched him gaze over the tiny faces of his growing sons. The pain they gave him, and that he gave them. He truly understands what it is to be a father. Sometimes he was too rough, and a little misunderstanding to his sons… But he'll still be my boy, and I'll always be proud.
I sit here tonight and watch my boy sleep, my clothes perfectly pressed. I constantly am watching over him, does he know that? Those times he brushed with death, I was the one hefting him to safety?
A warm hand touches my shoulder and a soft voice breathes in my ear, "Come along Martha, it's time to go to bed."
"Of course, Thomas. I will be right there," I reply. "Give me one moment to say goodnight to our son."
My husband gives me a kiss on the cheek. In a gentle haze of white, he vanishes into the night. I raggedly sigh and float to my little Bruce who is now such a strong man, who lies on a large bed in the middle of turmoil that he'll never speak about. His chest is wrapped, his eye colored black. That is my boy, who was bound for greatness.
The bed shifts slightly as I sit next to him. And he stirs but a little, caught in a horrific spell. Tears fall down my cheeks. My boy is in pain for I didn't see the gun… I weep for him.
"I love you, my son," I whisper ever so gently. "Fate seemed to turn it's back on you, and you used that to achieve all this… You ARE great, and I am proud of you. You sleep now, and I will see you in the morning."
A gentle kiss to his cheek seems to wash away his nightmare and spin him into something more pleasant.
Yes. Tomorrow in the morning, when you shall be better and ready to help others once more. But until that time, I shall go and rest with my beloved husband, and dream of you… You were bound for greatness, and you are my boy. I am so very proud of you.
My Boy (You Were Bound For Greatness)
By: Carmen Wayne
The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew he was destined for greatness. Through much of his childhood, I saw the talent growing with the love in his bright, blue eyes. And when I'd put him to sleep, I would just watch.
Who couldn't watch that heavenly face? That was my boy, and he was bound for greatness.
As he grew, and started to separate himself from his parents, I was overjoyed. Yes, he was temperamental, and maybe a little more aggressive than most teenagers, but he was my boy, and I was proud of him.
By this time in his life, his sleeping grew more violent. Nightmares of his beloved parents dying in front of his young eyes haunting him over, and over. Perhaps that's what drove him. In a way I've always hoped so. There would be some cause to that tragedy… Something to drive him beyond excellence.
He grew into a talented adult. Giving when he could, helping how he could. My boy could run and fight... My God, that training did do so well for him. He was my boy, and he reached greatness.
Every time he would leap into danger, my heart leapt as well. I helped when I could, but I wasn't always able to. And sometimes he would pay the price…
Watching him sleep almost became as rare as seeing him truly smile. His worn out face and bruised knuckles pained me. Did I do that to my boy? Did I aide to drive him off a cliff that would make him do that? Such a handsome young man he is. He always had a picture of us somewhere, even though he never told a soul. He would have it on him all the time, hoping no one would know. But I knew. And I was proud of him.
Those rare times I did see him sleep, it made me weep. His face no longer glowed with hope for a better tomorrow. It only lay dormant, waiting until he was called out again. He never knew I watched him, but he's my boy, and I am always watching.
I wept when he was sleeping, and I wept when he was awake. Every punch he took that I couldn't protect him from, I wept… Although he'd never know. But still, amidst this war, I would watch what I had aided in his becoming, and I was ever so proud of his greatness.
I watch my boy sleep these days. He has found a way to sleep more. Perhaps because he's learned to live with this life he's chosen. He no longer has the stress of a life once lived. I've watched his eyes twinkle and fade, sparkle and die. His dreams some nights were actually somewhat pleasant, and some were full of visions of those he thought he failed. These days his face is listless, with nothing in his mind apparent.
And I cry. Why couldn't my boy have dreams of pure happiness? Why did I aid into spiraling him onto this collision course on an emotional fright train?
This is my boy. He was once bound for greatness. Now he leads the life seemingly fit exactly how he wants.
I watched him grow, and I watched him gaze over the tiny faces of his growing sons. The pain they gave him, and that he gave them. He truly understands what it is to be a father. Sometimes he was too rough, and a little misunderstanding to his sons… But he'll still be my boy, and I'll always be proud.
I sit here tonight and watch my boy sleep, my clothes perfectly pressed. I constantly am watching over him, does he know that? Those times he brushed with death, I was the one hefting him to safety?
A warm hand touches my shoulder and a soft voice breathes in my ear, "Come along Martha, it's time to go to bed."
"Of course, Thomas. I will be right there," I reply. "Give me one moment to say goodnight to our son."
My husband gives me a kiss on the cheek. In a gentle haze of white, he vanishes into the night. I raggedly sigh and float to my little Bruce who is now such a strong man, who lies on a large bed in the middle of turmoil that he'll never speak about. His chest is wrapped, his eye colored black. That is my boy, who was bound for greatness.
The bed shifts slightly as I sit next to him. And he stirs but a little, caught in a horrific spell. Tears fall down my cheeks. My boy is in pain for I didn't see the gun… I weep for him.
"I love you, my son," I whisper ever so gently. "Fate seemed to turn it's back on you, and you used that to achieve all this… You ARE great, and I am proud of you. You sleep now, and I will see you in the morning."
A gentle kiss to his cheek seems to wash away his nightmare and spin him into something more pleasant.
Yes. Tomorrow in the morning, when you shall be better and ready to help others once more. But until that time, I shall go and rest with my beloved husband, and dream of you… You were bound for greatness, and you are my boy. I am so very proud of you.