I used to be very shy and I hated it as I believe you do if you are shy.
I was raised by adoptive parents both who were abusive alcoholics. Because of that I grew up living in constant fear that I might say something wrong or fail to do something that I did not know I was supposed to do. If they only knew the scars that they left behind. Does any of this sound familiar to you?
For that reason I always had to be so good at what I did that people always recognized me. I became a perfectionist. I found myself hating myself whenever I failed or thought that I had failed at something.
My father had always told me that I was a failure and that I would never amount to anything. He finally had to eat his words one night.
I was in a city near him for an entertainment service launch on cable television. I invited he and my step mother to come to the station to observe and to go out for dinner. They watched wide-eyed through my first cut-away, and then we had a two hour break for dinner.
My father said he'd get the car to take us to dinner but I told him not to worry that I had it covered. His jaw dropped when we walked outside to find a stretch limo waiting for us.
We went to the best restaurant in the city and of course he had plenty to eat and drink. I could see his eyes took note that I only signed the check as the network had paid for our dinner.
After watching three more cut-a-ways, before they left, my father said to me, "I'm proud of you son." I was twenty-eight years old and that was the first time he had ever said that to me. On the inside I was jubilant but feared to show it outwardly.
I didn't want anything to destroy this moment.
