By Erich Rumback
Years of preparation
Years of challenge, trial and
error
Months of prioritization,
organization
Breaking down and building up
Miles of walking, lost in thought
Or pondering with laser focus.
To class, to car, to class, to
library.
To school, to work, to home and
to bed.
Rinse and repeat. It comes to
this.
“Daddy, do you want to play with
me?”
More than anything else
With all of my being, son.
Gritted teeth through pain and
anger.
Why didn’t I begin this journey
sooner?
I lacked the motivation, plain
and simple.
My wife, my sons, and my daughter
My pride, my joy, my life’s reason.
It comes to this.
Read, write, test, quiz, assess, analyze, reflect
For them, for me, for the children, for the future.
Battered and bruised, weary and confused,
It comes to this. More of the same, except different.
A degree, a license, a job, and a break.
My fears have not withered away with experience
And the autumn leaves just make me mad
Driven by promise, by trust and desire.
My will, my knowledge, my mission, my path.
A mountain stands between me and my goals.
Someone once told me, in another lifetime,
“Work smarter, not harder.”
I am sick of climbing. I’m dynamite, and it is time to
blast.
I will see the other side of this mountain.
It comes to this.
I will succeed.
