Man is nothing but what he makes of himself

His earliest snivel booms signaling his conquest of the world. He brings nothing to the world but sheer joy for the family and a queer lovable peskiness. He first feeds on Colostrums, then on Gerbers. He plays with rattles and now sups on pacifiers. He wets his diapers and cries, gets bitten by a bug then wails. He now feeds on Fried Chicken and Hotdogs. He goes to school, is taught to read and write and now siphons from a jug and munches a sandwich from his lunch box. He meets friends and plays with them. He comes home crying, nattering to Mommy how a bully in school clutched at his favorite candy.  Years later, he turns into a man with tempered doggedness.  He meets a girl and loses his heart to her. Girl likes him. They go out. He grips her hand, she holds his. They kiss, they make love. She bears a child and brings into the world their bundle of joy. And then the cycle starts.

 

 

Clearly, man breathes life on Earth like a clean sheet of paper. Blank, pristine, empty, new, fresh, and unmarked. Although the earliest part of his life is quite decisive as to what and who he will be, even so, his self is the very pen he will use to scribble on that sheet whatever he covets of becoming. Suffice to say; man determines the kind of life he will lead. Outside factors may prove pivotal but over the long haul, it is he who decides what he makes of himself. Thus, he is nothing but what he wills.