Driving, Hitting the accelerator, 90 Miles per Hour. Looking directly out the back window, Seeing where I have been, With no idea where I am, OR Even Expecting the Impending COLLISION.
I stand still when I should run. I ran when I should have stood still. I scream when I should be silent. You watched helplessly as any father would, crying when you should be laughing, as I finally became a man Who is proud to be your son.