[ MP ] Go to your music library , hit shuffle , and write about the first song that plays .

I watch the school bus pull up to my drive way. The door opens and my 15-year slinks off the bus. His shaggy red hair is caked in dried mud. He has a black eye and a swollen split lip. He shuffles slowly up to the door, with his head hung low. 
 
 `` What happened?'' I ask, lifting his face up with my hand. 
 
 `` Nothing,'' he mumbles in reply. He pulls away from me and runs upstairs. I know he's been bullied for being a ginger. This is n't the first time he's come home with a black eye. 
 
 I follow him to his room and stand against the door frame. `` Son, I know I have n't been a perfect man. And I've been far from a perfect dad. I was n't there for you the first twelve years of your life. And one day, I turned around and looked and you were n't a boy anymore. You were already a young man.'' 
 
 I move over to his bed. He moves his book bag to make room for me, and I sit down beside him. `` I was a coward. I ran away from my responsibilities, and I avoided doing the things I should have.'' 
 
 My son chews on his lower lip thoughtfully, and it starts to bleed. I reach over and grab a tissue from his desk and hand it to him. 
 
 `` Do n't be a coward like me,'' I continue. `` You must stand up for yourself son. Stand up for what you know is right and do n't allow yourself to be dragged down to the bully's level. Hold your head up high and wear your wounds with pride. Do n't let other people make you ashamed of who you are. Keep being true to yourself, never mind what anybody else has said or done. Now the world can be an unfair place at times. And right now, everything in your life may seem like crap. But things will get better, and your lows will have their complement of highs.'' 
 
 I go downstairs and grab an ice pack from the freezer for his black eye. I give him the ice pack and take his mud-caked clothes to the laundry room, while he showers the mud out of his hair. 
 
 I hope he takes my words to heart, but I worry that I've missed out on too much of his early life to make much of an impact. Even now, I still miss so much of his life. I only have him every other weekend. I savor these weekends with him, but I know it wo n't be long before he goes off to college. 
 
 He finishes his shower and comes back into his bedroom. This time, he's holding his head up high. 
 

