If he could only OPEN his eyes... ...

Only the echos of a basketball being dribbled, the pants of an exhausted student together with the shouts of a dedicated one-to-one personal coach, could be heard in the 600 seated school gym hall. "Give a three-pointer!" Coach said. "Dad! I am totally wiped out! Can I break? Afterwards, you can teach me your legendary star move." I whined on. "Take five! And I'm still your Coach!" responding to my complain.

Five minutes passed, my dad was standing in front of me teaching the correct techinque and style of his famous star move. The spotlights shone down on him and out crept a shadow I stepped into. A sudden grin swept across my face thinking of my lastest self-awareness achievement.

The strenuous training was over. I rested on the parque floor, my jersey sticking on my sweaty skin, gulping down bottles of water. Not long after Dad joined me by my side. Giving me a painful but playful nudge on the side of my body. I looked up saw two thumbs-up forming on my father's muscular hands. Smiling, my gaze shifted up to my father's face, in great admiration.

"You would be in perfect shape to gain the Best Player Award this year, if, you would just put some of the star moves I used in my times." the man looking at me with sweat dripping down from the very tip of his chin. "Dad! I told you before..." I replied with an agitated tone in my voice. "Alright! You need not get so worked up. I was just saying a IF." he interrupted as he sensed a match waiting to be lighted. Father was the famous scorer during his days, however due to his injury he could no longer play on the courts professional, and thus all his hope of completing his dream was pinned down on me. I was once never confident that I would be fulfilled until a life-inspiring day dawned upon me.

One morning after training, a group of my fellow teammates were huddling together in a circle, speaking in harsh tones about someone or someone. And, suprisingly I realised the person they were talking about was none other than me. Curious, I took a closer step behind them. Feeling bad about eaves-dropping, however, I did not regret hearing what they had to say.

"He keeps saying how much he wished could be like Coach. If only he could open his eyes, and see that he has much more potential than any of us here! He does not need to hide in his father's shadow all the time and follow everything his father does. He has a style of his own, and he just do not want to admit so. The potential in him is just like a prowling tiger waiting to pounce on its prey, waiting to be discovered..." That was all I needed to hear. It was enough for me. I went home pondering about what i had just heard.

After a while, I then realised that my friends were right. I was always trying to be like my father, which I will never be. Because I am not him.

During the next training , I dropped all the moves that Father taught me. All my mates were amazed at my sudden change in attitude and style, but not my coach." What are you doing? Why aren't you using the special moves you spent so much time to learn during extra practice?" he shouted at me across the court in great disappointment.

"Dad, I think it's time I do what I am made of and not what you want to make me into..." I boldly said to my father. Adding on, my father's favourite motto, with a grin. "You cant' check me." Not knowing what it really means.

`tHE eND~