*Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great.*

My dad came into my room, and very gently set something on my nightstand. It was a metal box, nothing particularly fancy. It looked like something you’d keep jewels in. But the look on daddy’s face said that whatever was inside wasn’t jewelry. That he’d given me something of much more value. <br><br>“Open it,” he said. <br><br>I reached out with trembling hands and picked up the box. I occasionally had trouble opening things myself, and so, after my father’s permission, he took the box back from me and opened it, revealing a piece of folded, yellowed paper. <br><br>“What is it?” I asked. <br><br>“It’s a poem,” he told me. “Your grandpa would recite it to me when I was your age. I always thought it terribly silly, and so I became your parent so that I could pass it down to you.” <br><br>I looked at him, dumbfounded, and he laughed. “I’m just silly,” he said. “It reminds me of your grandpa, though. I think of him anytime I read it. Look after it, okay? I love you.” <br><br>“Okay, daddy,” I said. <br><br>“You said you loved me, first,” he said smiling. <br><br>“Okay,” I agreed. <br><br>“Goodnight.” <br><br>“Goodnight,” I said, and he left. <br><br>I’ve been reading that poem almost every night since, and I still don’t completely understand it. But I do understand that daddy loved me very much, so it’s important that I remember it. Maybe I’m just silly, like daddy said he was, but I keep expecting to see grandpa when I read it. <br><br>He died when I was very little, and I don’t remember him or his face, but sometimes I imagine a man standing right behind me, watching over me, and I feel like that must be grandpa. <br><br>*Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great.*<br><br>*Some achieve greatness.*<br><br>*And some have greatness thrust upon them.*