I mourn myself before my father’s grave. My tongue, my blood, this air will tell my tale, The proof of which is buried now beneath Those desert sands, beside that river’s shore.
You know, you hear this all the time in schools and with parents and teachers, and on the media, and all over the place about this problem that kids can’t read.
We must be adults for our children. Adults are scared, but they don’t panic; sad, but they smile; tired, but they persevere; angry, but they mind their manners. Adults tremble, but they’re strong for their kids.