Victory Is Mine
I wish I could say failure was as unknown
to me as my brother's current address,
but last year on my seventh anniversary,
I gave my wife a cupcake with a candle in it
and a six pack of non-light beer,
four of which I drank..
The spot where my college diploma
should be is taken by a picture
of pool-playing dogs and the caption,
"hey, one leg on the floor."
My childhood soccer uniform is not
framed in my office next to other
sports memorabilia from fellow
professional athletes.
Yes, failure follows me as closely
as my little brother did, age four through ten.
But
when I saw that toddler-sized dribble of pee
sporadically hit the inner walls of the toilet
and then waterfall downward into
the pool of redemption below,
I grabbed my newly potty-trained son's arm,
held it up toward the gods that made it all possible,
and yelled, "gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooal!"
I followed this up with an acceptance speech
to a still toilet-seated audience member of one,
in which I thanked everyone from huggies pull-ups
to the first years toilet seat company.
Weeks of hard work culminated in this one day,
and I knew
victory was mine.
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