It's not easy to be an astronaut's son ,Everybody

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It's hard being an astronaut's son. I mean, everybody expects you to be special or perfect, and I'm just an average elevenyear-old kid. I'm an average student, and I'm average, too, when it es to basketball, football, soccer, and baseball.
I often wonder how my father ever had a son like me. I mean he's so special and so good at everything he does. In high school he was captain of the football team, class president, and editor of the school newspaper.
Well, to tell you the truth,I do have a little talent that nobody knows about. I write poems and stories and keep them in a red notebook in my bottom desk drawer.
Nowadays I dream about being a famous writer, but I used to dream about doing something spectacular to impress my father and make him proud of me-something like rescuing a child from a burning building or chasing a robber away from an old lady.
I was daydreaming in school one morning ( which I do often). I was daydreaming about being some kind of hero, like discovering an instant cure for cancer or a shot for mental illness, when I heard my English teacher announce a Father's Day essay contest for the whole school.
I hope we have a winner right here in my English class,
she said. The PTA has donated three cash prizes- one hundred dollars for first prize, fifty dollars for second, and twenty-five dollars for third prize.
After school I walked home, thinking about the essay I would write. My father is an astronaut, I would start out. No, I decided. I wouldn't do that. The whole country and maybe even the whole world saw my father as an astronaut , but that wasn't the way I saw him.
When Igot home, I kissed my mom quickly. Then I went upstairs to my room and sat down with a pen and a pad of paper. I started to think about what I would write.
How did I see my father. Hmm.
I saw him sitting with me in the dark23 when I was a little kid and had a nightmare.
I saw him teaching me how to use a bat and how to throw a baseball.
I remembered how he hugged me for hours when my dog Spotty was hit and killed by a car.
And I remembered how he surprised me with a new puppy at my eighth birthday party. When I started to cry, he told all the kids that I had a bad allergy. David's allergy bothers him a lot this time of year, Dad said.
And I remembered how he sat and tried to explain death to me when Grandpa Bob died.
These were the things I was going to write about my dad. To me, he wasn't just a world-famous astronaut. He was my dad.
I wrote about all these memori