. . . and then there was pickle.

There is something to be said for the idea of going down on a sinking ship. We all hold the captain who rides his vessel down to the depths of Davey Jones’ locker in the highest regard, but there’s a funny thing that happens to you as you get older, have kids, and realize that death is real - and some decisions you make will have dire and irreversible consequences.

I now have a daughter.

For the majority of my life I have taken the big risk, and refused to quit. I did this even when all indications were that I was wrong, and probably screwing up my life. My biggest proof of this fact is that I spent my twenties building a career as a professional actor in Cleveland, OH.

This was not the easiest path. . . nor the smartest of moves.

I have track marks on my arms from selling my plasma, and probably will until the day I die. I did that when I knew I had to take acting jobs to build my resume that didn't pay me enough to eat. Those marks are a constant reminder of how hard it was to get where I am.

These days I am older and less motivated to prove that I can do something just to be hardheaded. And I now worry and wonder about my daughter, and what will drive her big choices.

I based most of my decisions on whether or not I felt people believed I could accomplish a goal. If someone ever told me I couldn’t do something - you could bet the farm I would see it through.

The reason I became this way was my father. My old man is a dreamer. But there is a big difference between a man who dreams and a man who works to see his dreams become reality.

My father would rather fantasize about his heart’s deepest wishes than act on them - because when he was younger he had his dream crushed. It’s a lot easier on your heart to dream than to fail.

As a child I bought into all of my dad’s schemes. I wanted his dreams to change the world the way he imagined that they could. But every time he would begin the process of launching his latest idea . . . he would become distracted by his next obsession.

It broke my heart over and over again.

As a child I vowed to finish what I started, and I have seen things through against insurmountable odds and logic.

I do not think that this is solely a process of instinct. I was trained to hate quitting.

Soon my daughter is going to hate her piano lessons. There will be classes and cliques that will lead her to want to walk away, and my reaction and support of her in these choices will inform her view and value of completing a task once assumed.

I am a success today because I refused to quit, but life sure could have been a lot easier – and I certainly don’t want my daughter to have to suffer in the same ways I did.

Each generation is supposed to make advances. I want my daughter to understand the satisfaction of crossing the finish line without having to have a single-minded obsession or disregard for common sense.

Maybe she’ll get it right.

Like so much of the burden we put on our children – I want her to be able to do what I was unable to do. I want her to understand that it’s just a ship. I want her to pick the right one, and to carry a life preserver because we all get wet. But the truth is that when she does want to walk away from her goals - I am going to see my father in her eyes.

How am I going to react, and what is the right thing to do?

My success has been the road less traveled. I know that if I had listened to logic or anyone that supposedly ‘knew something’ I never would have had my career, but does that make it right for her . . . and how could I pass that drive on anyway?

In all of this I have overlooked the one most important fact: the love I have for this child. I know that when she finds her dream within her heart it will be all I can do to give her the support and guidance of one who knows how hard reality can be and hope her ship has an easier path than mine . . . or my father’s.

Pickle’s Papa