When I was a kid, I used to visit my father’s factory, and, with our faithful man, Pilo aka “Luca Brazi”, explore and inspect everything like the little prince of the building. When I was older, around high school and college age, I interned in another of his companies, where I learned the term COO or child of the owner. There are a lot of perks with being the SOB (son of the boss), but with them come expectations – expectations anyone really honest with himself knows he can never meet. Now that I’ve officially re-entered the business world, I haven’t been able to escape the thought of having to fill my father’s shoes. But recently I had a realization. A realization that has removed this false burden. Here it is:
Dead men are buried with their shoes on.
Dead men, even great men, are buried with their shoes.
They don’t leave them behind.
I can’t fill my father’s shoes. They’re not mine to fill. If I tried I’d fail twice: I’d fail to fill his shoes and fail to fill the one I’m suppose to – my own.
What I can do is walk on his prints, to make clearer the path for a following generation, and to create a new set of prints that are mine.