Kindling for a fire comes in many forms.
But my favorite form is baggage.
Baggage is something that everybody has.
And it’s also something anyone can become.
It is important, Good People of Arcadia, to recognize what your baggage is, and whether or not it’s worth carrying.
After all, if you have some baggage that drives you to be a better person, or that motivates you to become the best version of yourself you can be, that baggage is useful and a credit to you. Therefore, in such instances, you must carry that burden, lift that baggage, with pride in your heart, and drag it along with you.
But if that baggage is toxic, if all that baggage does is weigh you down, well, you’ll need a match to set it ablaze.
You must also decide, Good People, if you are baggage for someone else.
If so, are you helping them on their way?
Or are you just kindling, waiting to be set ablaze?
I understand your predicament, Destructo Boy.
Young man, you’ve hardly had it fair, have you?
You were baggage for your family from the very moment you were born.
When your mother took a ferry off this mortal coil, all she did was soak you with kerosene on the way out.
And you’ve been begging for someone to set you on fire ever since.
Though you may have never uttered such a request with your tongue, as the old adage states, actions speak louder.
And you’ve been dragging your father down from the heights he could reach, into fires you’re starting with your actions.
Young man, it is your duty as a son to be a credit to your father, not to drag him into the very elements that burned him so long ago.
When the Burned Man tells you to jump, you should not argue. You should say, “yes sir.” You should inquire, “how high?”
When your father tells you to leave Doom alone to his devices and little, flying toys, the last thing you should do is disobey him.
Yet you did.
Yet you do.
You always do.
I understand, it is a child’s role to make mistakes. A son aims for the good, and a father corrects his aim.
But you are not aiming for the good, young man.
You are aiming for your hearts desires.
Making useless baggage of yourself.
Dragging your father down into the muck and mire.
I fear for you, young man. I fear that you will never learn from your father’s wise words, because your mother gave you a taste for kerosene. I fear you will never allow your father to know peace, because you’re so intimately entwined with the destructive element of fire.
I fear that you are leaving your father no choice but to recognize you as the type of baggage you are.
The useless kind.
And young man, it should be no surprise to you when the man who swore off fire decides to one day strike a match.