Material possessions can be replaced; the lessons we teach our children cannot.
– Wilson Alvarez
It was January 2, 2011—a day that began with a quiet conversation with my son, NeneWil. He had turned 14 just months before, born on August 13, 1996. This New Year’s tradition had become our way of envisioning what we wanted to accomplish in the year ahead. But this year felt heavier, the echoes of the previous year’s tragedy still lingering in my heart. A friend’s nephew had tragically lost his life in a car accident on Krome Avenue, a reminder of how fragile life could be.
As a parent, the accident shook me to my core. I had made a silent promise to protect my children in any way I could. In my heart, that promise materialized as a vision of safety and strength: I vowed to get them a Hummer. It wasn’t just a car; it was a fortress, a tangible symbol of my desire to shield them from harm. But by 2011, I had yet to fulfill that promise. The practicalities of life had taken precedence, and I had to tell my children that the Hummers would remain a dream for now.
Janelle, my eldest, born on December 17, 1994, was already 16 by then. She had started driving in 2010, the year she reached the milestone age every teenager eagerly anticipates. Uncle Tom had given her a gift that symbolized independence and responsibility: a four-year-old Honda Accord. Seeing her drive brought a mix of pride and trepidation; she was growing up so fast, stepping into adulthood with each turn of the wheel.
As I sat with NeneWil that day, we reflected on his aspirations for the year. At 14, he was already full of ambition and dreams. He talked about wanting an Escalade, a car that to him represented success and sophistication. But his goals went far beyond material possessions. He spoke of wanting to make money, to learn the value of hard work, and to grow as a person. His aspirations also had a deeper, spiritual dimension. He wanted to bring people closer to the Lord, a testament to his growing faith and sense of purpose.
“I want to focus on my studies, Dad,” he said with a determined tone. “And my health. I want to be better at doing chores too. I just want to do more this year.”
His words struck a chord with me. Despite his youth, he already understood the importance of balance—a lesson many adults struggle to grasp. It reminded me that while I couldn’t give them the Hummers I’d dreamed of, I could provide something far more valuable: guidance, support, and love.
The conversation brought us closer, a moment of connection amid the busyness of life. We spoke about resilience, about setting goals and working toward them. NeneWil’s aspirations inspired me, reminding me of the boundless possibilities the New Year holds, no matter your age.
The shadow of the previous year’s tragedy hung in the background of our talk, a somber reminder to cherish every moment and to prioritize the things that truly matter. It wasn’t about the cars or the promises I couldn’t keep; it was about building a foundation of faith, ambition, and love for my children to stand on.
As the days of 2011 unfolded, I watched NeneWil tackle his goals with determination. He focused on his studies, showing a level of discipline that made me proud. He talked about the Lord with his friends, planting seeds of faith in their hearts. Janelle continued to grow into a confident young woman, navigating the road ahead—both literally and figuratively—in her Honda Accord. She grew wings.
Looking back, that conversation on January 2 wasn’t just about what we wanted to accomplish in 2011. It was a reminder of the power of dreams and the importance of the journey. Though I couldn’t give them Hummers, I gave them something far greater: the tools to dream, to work, and to grow.
And as a father, that was the greatest accomplishment of all.
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