The light never dies on a person of
greatness. It burns immortal, a warm glow that reminds us of the stature they
once occupied, and still do. The same light burns brighter for their progeny.
But, not in quite the same mellow timbre
For the young of a colossus, the
light is deafening. An inescapable reality, it stares them in the face from the
moment their eyes open. Through night and day, it is their unrelenting Sun, a
cruel reminder of life’s sole purpose. To live up to the name they’re deemed
fortunate to be born with. While the rest waltz through existence in the search
for meaning and a higher calling, theirs is predefined. Their benchmarks etched
in the sky, finish lines drawn before they learn to say ‘go’. The light teases
and taunts them at every turn, as society prods them to follow in hallowed
footsteps and occupy the circle it casts
From the dawn of time, the children
of famous parents have been expected to outshine them. We can observe, barring
the odd exception, that famous men and women seldom come from famous parents or
give birth to children who grow to become equally if not more famed.
Most of us have wondered what it
would be like to be born to titans. Lives in place, world at our feet, a
sizeable serving of success and its many privileges without having to raise a
finger. But, we’ve overlooked the heat that is always on. And feeling it up
close, the gargantuan obligation to go one better, as we squirm under the shadow
of a giant we’re always being compared to, can get suffocating. For us world is
no stage, it’s a rancid lot of hecklers watching our every step, waiting for us
to fall, and ultimately fail.
About time I made my point?
It’s simple, and becomes evident shortly.
By chasing fame and achieving it, are we building or derailing the lives of our
children? Are we landing them the luxury of a struggle-free upbringing or
substituting it for the greater struggle of rising to, and hopefully besting
our stature? Are we securing a precipice for future generations to look down at
creation from, or are we preparing them for an untimely roaring leap off the
edge? Is our quest noble or is it the veneer of our vanity, our constant need
for power and the recognition it begets? Does ‘I’m doing it for myself.’ have
more truth in it than we imagine? Do we go for gold or settle for scraps so our
children can swap silver spoons for blank slates? Are we who started with blank
slates obliged to leave blank slates for those to follow? If we forsake our thirst
for glory, will our children do the same for our grandchildren? Should we be
grateful to our parents for underachieving (achievement is subjective, but you
get the drift) or prepare to face an impending outburst from our children
against the pressure we have already begun piling on them? Is it better to be
born to a legend or to raise one?
I don’t have the answers. Do you?
1 comment:
So that was awesome. Since i was raised in the Ayn Rand college of thought, i can safely say that posterity's achievements or failures are completely disassociated with the parents. But unfortunately, since we live in the real world, maybe it's true. Maybe fame & money cripples vs elevating the recipient.
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