Our children grow up under the crushing weight of all our hopes and dreams for them. As they master crawling, walking and talking, we plan their futures. We imagine ourselves standing gracefully on the White House lawn, in the front row at the Academy Awards, waiting in the wings in Stockholm, courtside at the NBA finals. The child who absently bangs a few notes on the piano as he passes by is nurtured with lessons, his innate talent praised. The girl who twirls joyfully in the park is signed up for ballet and gymnastics lessons the next afternoon.
All over the world, parents push their children to succeed, to be the best, to excel. And that's fantastic, except that the reality is that most of our children will not be world-famous whatevers or the greatest fill-in-the-blanks of all time. Most of us, after all, are fairly ordinary. Oh, sure, we're really good at something or other, and we enjoy relative success in our chosen fields, but are we world-renowned? Are we turning down endorsement opportunities or juggling our schedules to give back-to-back keynotes at conferences on different continents or inspiring unauthorized autobiographies? Are we even writing unauthorized biographies? Most of us are not.
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