Don't get me wrong, I loved my son dearly. That's why I pushed him so hard. I wanted the best in the world for him. I wanted him to be strong and handsome and smart, I wanted him to grow up able to live out a happily-ever-after, and I did everything in my power to ensure he did. I know he hated me for it. My words were always harsh, my setences always critical, my looks always belittiling. I probably destroyed his self-esteem. That wasn't my intention. I just wanted him to do better. I couldn't bare the thought of the boy I loved so much having a future that was anything less then incredible.
I laughed at his sword skills. I told him he's never get anywhere in life with what he could do. I yelled at him to do better. Sometimes I'd even hurt him in practice when he messed up. I did it becuase I didn't want him to die. I knew he'd go out into the real world someday and fight real men, and I wanted him to be able to survive what ever this cruel fate threw at him.
I told him he was stupid. I ordered him to study his school work harder. I made him recite all the dark lords and all their generals to me daily. I berated him if he had even the slightest detail wrong when recalled a myth or legend. I wasn't nitpicking. I knew someday he would go up against those creatures of lore, and he would need to know everything about them if he was to escape the encounter alive.
I mocked him magic. I forced him to learn magic far beyond his years and abilities, and chided him viciously when he made a mistake. I made him read books of magic until his eyes were puffy and he couldn't stay awake. I just wanted him to be prepared for battle. A wrong chaos word in a spell could cost him his life.
I made fun of his personality. I told him he was wimpy and worthless, that he'd never catch a wife the way he acted, that he couldn't even get a woman if he payed for her. A told him he was bratty, he was boring and he would never get anywhere in life. I just wanted him to be the best. I was a perfectionist that way.
So when my son came to me on a dark night, his sword catching the light of the fireplace, I was so proud. And as he he held above my head, his blue eyes flashing with hate and anger and strength, I could not have been happier. And when he conquered fear, weakness and childishness by bringing the sword through my chest, I smiled. I gazed into my son's blue eyes and I knew he would grow up and be able to destroy anything the world hurt him with. He would be safe.
And all I had to trade for that was his love...