Stepping out of his fathers shadow a bewildered
lad of eighteen was rooted in the centre of a
banking hall room. Clipboard in hand he waited
to be told what not to do.

Custom was slow in this suburban branch, at
midday his nerves relaxed and by mid-afternoon
his demeanour - more distinct. Words flew, what a
charming young man.

At the breakfast table mum didn't mention this,
taken with fussing about the suit. His shock of
red hair an emblem of youth. She remembered
the day his bike had the balance wheels put away.

Family were confident his ability should
convey talents his teacher said he had.
Perhaps this change involved a laying on of
hands - everyone chorused he was blessed!

Dad embarrassed him praising potential and
good luck. All to be heard before his son, who
just wished his father would stop talking of a
boy hardly anyone knew.

Returning home, alone in his room, the ceiling
spun as anger whisked tastes of fear. As the
anxiety settled, he knew how to deal with
anger, fear, shame.

Once, his dad seemed so tall.
The balloon of confidence had risen again.