The Spark in His Eyes

Every now and then, you meet someone who carries a quiet spark — a kind of light that doesn’t shout for attention, but softly glows with potential. It’s in the way they carry themselves, the way they think, the way they ask questions that others don’t. It’s in their resilience, their curiosity, and their heart.

Sometimes, I catch myself just watching — observing from a distance as this person grows, learns, stumbles, and rises again. And every time I do, a wave of pride washes over me. It’s not just the accomplishments or the milestones, though those matter. It’s the way this person holds onto kindness in a world that often forgets it. The way they dream without fear. The way they make others feel seen.

There’s this sense I can’t shake — a quiet certainty — that this person is going to do something incredible. Not necessarily in a headline-grabbing way, but in a way that leaves ripples. In a way that changes people. Maybe even the world.

And then I smile, because I remember something simple and powerful.

That person… is my son.