I went to dinner with one of my dad's business partners in the dull suburb of Glendale. As always we spoke of each others' families and all the bragging and one-upping began. Of course we did not blatantly brag about ourselves, but we always put our best image forward. We never met the kid of the other family, but they sure did seem perfect. The boy, "Andy," was the ideal child, doing his homework immediately after school, sleeping promptly at nine, and setting his bed perfectly. Sometimes I wish I was that focused and regimented, especially after all my whining and fighting with my sister that night about our beds and other trivialities, I wonder why I can't be like everyone else. I wish I was a kind, caring, and loving, brother. I wish I was the ideal son who plays football, has confidence, does not worry, but instead I am me. I definitely should change some of my more hideous habits like my whining and worry, but I don't need to bhe the perfect Andy or some Olympian. I am me, and I need to be happy with that. I am determined to live to my fullest potential, but the mistakes, failures, and lassitudes make me real.
"The Prayer" - Bloc Party
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