Shirts and jeans litter the asphalt, the empty fabric limbs askew as if they're attempting to escape. Blood smears Sarah's lips as she struggles against the chest of a dirty looking man with a beard. Terror. Terror is the only word my mind can seize on and it forgets what it means. I forget how to think - to move.

His body walks out onto the darkened stage , and a roar goes up from the crowd. He stands in front of the mic, and he can feel his face twist in a sneer-the Elvis sneer from his dreams-though he never told it to move. He is powerless now, a spectator at his own moment of glory.

Loving my son, building my son, touching my son, playing with my son, being with my son_ these aren__ tasks that only super dads can perform. These are tasks that every dad should perform. Always. Without fail.

You solely owe success and happiness to yourself. So why not make your inner-self proud of your daily decisions and actions?

Dads. Do your faces light up when you first see your child in the morning or when you come home from work? Do you not understand that a child__ entire sense of value can revolve around what they see in your face when you first see them?

Do you not realize that your kids are going to make mistakes, and a lot of them? Do you not realize the damage you do when you push your son__ nose into his mishaps or make your daughter feel worthless because she bumped or spilled something? Do you have any idea how easy it is to make your child feel abject? It__ as simple as letting out the words, __hy would you do that!?_ or __ow many times have I told you_