A Quote by Neil Bush
My mom was the organized enforcer. When someone crossed the line, mom was pretty clear-minded about how to... correct that error. But my dad led by his example, so we never wanted to do anything wrong that would, that would upset him or disturb him.
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The last thing I want my child to see is Dad running around in the middle of the pack. That would really upset me. And that would upset him. I would be embarrassed to take him to school with kids saying, 'Hey, how'd your dad do this weekend?' 'Well, he finished fifth or sixth'.
Because my dad was often gone, I never wanted to do anything that would make him stay away even longer. I became extra careful about what I said and how I said it, afraid he'd think I was angry or didn't love him. And the truth is, I was angry. I missed him and wanted him there.
One of the biggest things growing up that my dad taught me is that if I was okay to talk about my feelings and express how I felt and not get angry, then he would listen to me. If I had issues, I would just tell him, 'Here's how I feel, this is what I'm feeling,' either with him or with my mom.
My humanitarian work evolved from being with my family. My mom, my dad, they really set a great example for giving back. My mom was a nurse, my dad was a school teacher. But my mom did a lot of things for geriatrics and elderly people. She would do home visits for free.
When I realized I was having a baby boy, I wanted him to know that I'm there in his life: 'Dad loves him. Dad's always going to support him and be there for him.' I don't want him to have to worry about anything.
After school, my mom would pick me up and I would just go to visit my dad in the recording studio, and I would see him working with Mark Hamill or hear him doing the 'Transformers' or a 'G.I. Joe' or the 'Rugrats.'
My mom's a collector and my dad is also into jewelry. When I was young, my dad would buy my mom loose stones and she would design them and do the settings and everything. So I kinda grew up with that kind of love for anything sparkly.
I was blessed to be able to be born here. My dad crossed. My dad illegally went through the border and was living under a bridge; he was homeless. People are making fun of him, beating him up. All kinds of things. After he kind of figured out the situation, he brought my mom over.
Dad and Mom were frustrated artists - Dad wanted to study engineering or architecture and Mom wanted to be an actress - but the world was a different place when they were young so Dad became a public works foreman and Mom became a stay-at-home mom. When I said I wanted to be a writer, they were thrilled. They did everything in their power to support me.
There have been times when I have goofed up, and like every adolescent, I sometimes did get led the wrong way. I would come back home really scared to face my mom's wrath and anger, but surprisingly, I never got to face one. She would always tell me in a very nice manner that what I did was wrong and that I should correct myself.
I told my mom I was going to do a movie about a son who hears a story about his mom and takes her on a cross-country road trip, and I wanted to actually take the trip with my mom to see what it would be like to drive cross-country with your mom.
Alex decided he’d had enough. He put down his knife. “All right,” he said. “You’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t want to work with me. Well, that’s fine. Because I don’t want to work with you either. And for what it’s worth, nobody would ever believe you were my mom because no mom would ever behave like you.” “Alex…,” Carver began. “Forget it! I’m going back to London. And if you’re Mr. Byrne asks why, you can tell him I didn’t like the jelly, so I went home to get some jam.
Me and my dad never talked racing. We just didn't. I wouldn't go up and ask him about that unless I wanted to upset him.
If he looked into her face, he would see those haunted, loving eyes. The hauntedness would irritate him - the love would move him to fury. How dare she love him? Hadn't she any sense at all? What was he supposed to do about that? Return it? How? What could his calloused hands produce to make her smile? What of his knowledge of the world and of life could be useful to her? What could his heavy arms and befuddled brain accomplish that would earn him his own respect, that would in turn allow him to accept her love?
The greatest thing I could say about my son, and this is what you always worry about with your kids, that they kinda outgrow their Mom and Dad. But for him, when I see him, when he calls me Dad, and he can still hug me, he's still like my little boy. Even around his friends, he still calls me Dad.
My guess is my brother would call his mom and his dad pretty regularly, a lot more than I probably did.
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