In the first few days that my child was born, I held him close, and felt a sense of responsibility (at being a father), a sense of joy (at having a healthy child), and a sense of pride. I was proud of my son, and all he was doing was breathing. And pooping. And yet pride there was, and in abundance.
I was proud of him having become a citizen of Ireland, despite just needing to be born in order to attain that citizenship. But pride there will be, and in abundance.
I was proud of his health, his voluminous lung capacity (which has been frequently put into use), and proud of his uncanny ability to look absolutely adorable, no matter his presentation or situation. Pride there is, and in abundance.

But underneath all of that, something else has been forged: hope. So. Much. Hope. Hope, in such abundance, that it almost feels physical. As though it’s right there, under my skin. Hope isn’t new to me, nor is it new to humanity. Hope is one of the cornerstone emotions that underpins what it means to be human. No matter the dilemma that humanity finds itself in, we always have this unshakeable sense of hope in our cosmic background, that allows us to believe that everything will be alright in the end. It’s my belief that we feel this way, because things always are alright in the end. The reason for this is because a person, or people, stand out amongst the rest, and make things alright. It’s not some ethereal cosmic hand that reaches out from the abyss to muddle in the realm of us mortals, to make things right. It’s us mortals, who makes things right.

But not all of us. Just some of us.

And it’s those people who go down in history. They get written in books, and we learn about them, fostering even further this sense of hope. Much later, their feats get made into biopics.

I can’t explain this next bit, but I certainly feel it: I know, in my bones – from where this hope emanates – that my child will be one of those people. It’s not an expectation; it’s not something I plan to push on him, or hope that he adopts. It’s simply something I know. I know the Sun will rise tomorrow, and I know that my son will accomplish such great deeds in his life that he will be learnt about in history class.

My train of thought didn’t rest at that station, though, it went on: I considered whether or not this is something my own parents felt? Possibly. Probably. They, quite likely, looked at my own pudgy face as a newborn and thought to themselves – we’re going to give this guy everything, and he will grow up to be the best.

I haven’t.

I look into my child’s eyes and realised that despite having so much hope for this child, I do not have that some hope for myself. Why not? I have the time, I have the resources, I have the IQ points – there is absolutely no reason for me to not achieve so much in life, that I raise humanity up one additional notch.

It’s from within my own son, that I discovered my own abilities. My son has made me feel young again, and indestructible.