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A Child’s Quiet Wisdom
At five, he asked why I smiled even when I looked tired.
At seven, he told his mom she should write a book.
At nine, we took him to Halifax’s Maritime Museum. Standing before a recovered deck chair from the real ship, he whispered, “This is where it happened. Right here.”
“How do you know?” we asked.
“I just do,” he replied.
That night, he finally watched Titanic. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t turn away. When it ended, he simply said, “They were too proud. That’s why it sank.”
A Note We Never Forgot
The next morning, I found a note on a hotel notepad:
“Even the largest ships need to be humble. Or else they will sink.”
His words stayed with us. Max grew into a thoughtful young man who noticed when people needed help, comforted classmates, and reminded us—without preaching—to slow down and notice life’s warning signs.
On his high school graduation day, he handed us the Titanic DVD, wrapped with a note:
“Thank you for steering me through life, even when you couldn’t see the icebergs. —Max, your first crewmate.”
What Our Son Taught Us
We cried that day. That night, my wife and I watched Titanic again. Every frame felt different because now it was more than a love story on screen—it was a reflection of the lessons we’d learned as a family.
From Max, we learned:
- Don’t rush through storms.
- Stay humble, no matter how strong you feel.
- Pay attention to the quiet voices—sometimes they see what you miss.
Life will always have its icebergs. But if you steer with care, listen to those around you, and slow down when you need to, you might just avoid them—or at least face them together.
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