He went on, “Wildness isn’t always about what you wear or how loud you look. Sometimes it’s about taking chances that no one believes in. When I was your age, I left home with twenty dollars in my pocket and a suitcase that barely closed. I worked jobs no one wanted, made friends I still miss, and learned that being bold comes in many forms.” His voice carried the steady warmth of someone who had lived fully yet humbly. People at nearby tables began listening too, their conversations fading as the old man’s words painted images more vivid than any hairstyle could.
The teenager’s posture softened, the sarcasm dropping from his face. He nodded slowly, as if seeing my dad not as someone from another time, but as someone who had fought his own storms. My dad smiled at him—not a smirk, not a lecture, just a genuine smile. “So yes,” he said gently, “I’ve done a few wild things. But the wildest of all is still waking up every day ready to learn something new. And trust me, kid, you’ve reminded me of that today.” The teenager looked down at his colorful hair, then back at my dad with a newfound respect. Continue reading…
