Pencils/Line Art, and Story: The_Paradoxical_One Colors: LCGuy Software used: Ulead PhotoImpact 7 They grow up so fast. It seems like only yesterday that my very own little bundle of joy was first handed to me. My very own son. That was the finest day of my life. After the passing of my wife, when he was only six months, raising him became my sole responsibility. I did the very best I could. Nothing was too good, nor any adventure too great for my little boy. I sacrificed for and loved him so much to make up for the absence of his mother. As my boy grew older, our bond grew stronger. I was the luckiest father I knew, as even none of my old college buddies could say that their best friend was the son that they, themselves, had to raise from birth. As time passed, the little boy I once played catch in the yard with, had become a man. When it came time for him to move away from home (and me) to attend college, we still stayed as close as ever, speaking on the phone twice a week and emailing each other every other day. He was a gifted athlete, on a scholarship, and was going to be a big star, I just knew it. I've seen many kids pitch over the years, and some grown men even, but my boy's fast ball literally intimidated anyone he faced; he was definitely Major League material, and his coaches told me so, too. I couldn't have been prouder, ever! But, then it all changed. Upon hearing more good news from his coach, I went out to celebrate with my buddies, but, it was Tuesday, and my since son always called me from college on Tuesdays, I made sure I got home early so as not to miss his call. "You're a WHAT.. a WHAT!!??" I can't remember the exact words I said that night, but the very last words were the worst, for sure, and they have haunted me ever since. I slammed the phone down on him, in a rage, screaming: "No son of mine can be GAY... I have no son... I HAVE NO SON!". The next morning I received a visit from the police. My son's body had been found in his dorm room late the previous night, with a phone in one hand, a gun in the other, and a blood stained note on the floor next to him, addressed to me... he was apparently dialing my phone number again, but never finished; they said his despair had obviously overcome him. The note said how much he loved me, and how much he had always looked up to me, and desperately needed my respect, but, without the unconditional love of his father that he had known and relied on all those years, he realized there was no more to life for him. I'd do anything to have him back. Anything. But, alas, my last proclamation to him became my own destiny forever after... never more true than now: "I have no son". ************************** That's one heck of a story. It was an honor, Paradox.