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Keep on Punching

Who doesn’t remember that distinct feeling every time our eyes well up with tears. How the heart pauses and overflows. I especially remember it when I was younger, whether it was because I came second in the race, fell off the bicycle, got bullied or didn’t get those straight A’s I so deeply wanted. My father would just look at me and hold his fist up so tight and say “champ, you’ve got to keep on punching”. His voice never trembled, always with a hint of an Australian accent muffled up in all the other places his life took him. To my great fortune, he never stopped saying that to me. I think this occasion is as important as any, not only because of its inherent worth, but because it require

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