A Quote by John David Washington

Who would I be if I complained about having a father that provided for me? Who would I be if I was complaining about having a father who loved me? That would make me a real jerk.
My father would lift me high. And dance with my mother and me and then. Spin me around til I fell asleep. Then up the stairs he would carry me and I knew for sure I was loved.
Let me tell you a story about when I was growing up in Spain. Many Sundays, we would invite 30, 40, 50 people to the countryside, and my father would make a big paella. He put me in charge of the fire and the 'stove' - the rocks that hold the pan. But he wouldn't let me cook. I got so unbelievably upset.
In a way, my father [Pablo Escobar] reached a certain degree of sincerity that I became to know and I would even say appreciate because I would have rather had my father treat me like this rather than as an idiot that would never have any idea about what was happening around us.
My father would make me stand on the table and make me sing. He would give me a P1 reward after every song.
My father would tell me my defects but never praise me to my face. The good things about me he would only tell others when I wasn't around.
It's a source of great sadness to me that my father died without having seen me do anything worthwhile. He was constantly having to make excuses for me.
I have my father's lopsided mouth. When I smile, my lips slope to one side. My doctor sister calls it my cerebral palsy mouth. I am very much a daddy's girl, and even though I would rather my smile wasn't crooked, there is something moving for me about having a mouth exactly like my father's.
[My father] would be proud, he would hug me and he would be sitting front-row at all the events where I talk to the youth about not repeating [Pablo Escobar's] story because I am a consequence of what he did and I have not changed my stance on violence since we talked about it.
My enduring feeling about René Lévesque is that if he had chosen to hang me, even as he tightened the rope round my neck, he would have complained about how humiliating it was for him to spring the trapdoor. And then, once I was swinging in the wind, he would blame my ghost for having obliged him to murder, thereby imposing a guilt trip on a sweet, self-effacing, downtrodden Francophone.
My father was an amazing man. No person is perfect, and no father-son relationship is perfect. He wanted me to live my life my way and never think about what he would have done or what he would have wanted to do.
I would argue with my father [Pablo Escobar] about his violent attitude and I would tell him to stop his violent ways and to think about peace as an alternative, especially given the many problems he was having. However, he would reply almost immediately by telling me "you are forgetting that the first bomb that exploded in Colombia was an attempt against you, your sister, and your mother - I did not invent narcoterrorism, narcoterrorism was first used against my family.
My father was a director and producer, so when I was a little kid, he would take me to movies and show me what's good and what's not good and why, and often that would take me to a conversation about directing.
My father wasn't too crazy about me. I loved him anyway. One of the things I regretted for a long time was that he died before he could see that he would be proud of me. I was actually more what he wished for than he thought.
I grew up feeling that to be gay was a tragedy. I didn't grow up thinking that it was morally wrong, but I grew up thinking that it would make me marginal, prevent me from having children, and quite possibly prevent me from having a meaningful long relationship. It seemed that this condition would leave me with a vastly reduced life.
My father believed in astrology. His astrologer had predicted that his daughter would become a writer someday. My father would nag me, but I didn't write a word till he passed away. I wish he could see me now.
My father told me never to take my foot off a ladder to kick at someone who was kicking at me. When I did that, I would no longer be climbing. While they are kicking, my father told me, I should keep stepping. They can kick only one time. If I continued to climb, they would be left behind. In trying to hurt me, to impede my progress, they would get left behind because they allowed themselves to get sidetracked from their agenda.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!