It was the carrot harvest. Link and Ilia were both out in their field near Ordon village, separated by rows and rows of carrots now ripe for the taking. As Ilia inspected one carrot, pain shot through her like a lightning bolt. She supported herself with one hand on the fence next to her, and her other hand she pressed on her baby belly.
“Link!” she shouted. Link immediately looked up from his work and dropped the shovel he was holding.
“Oh my goddess Nayru! Ilia!” he shouted as he ran. He scooped her up bridal style and ran with her all the way to Uli’s house. He used his foot to practically kick down the door.
“Link, it’s coming,” Ilia moaned.
“I know. Just hold on,” Link said soothingly. Colin opened the door, and Link pushed past him to the back room where he lay Ilia on the bed and clutched her hand. “It’ll be ok. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
Uli came. “Link, go sit on the couch in front. Ilia, just a little longer now honey. You’re doing great.” Ilia released Link’s hand and Link forced himself to walk away and let his wife endure unbearable pain all by herself. He slumped onto the couch.
Ilia’s hips were on fire. The pain was unendurable, but she tried her best not to scream. If she screamed she’d worry Link. Instead she moaned and grunted while Uli made the necessary preparation.
“Ok, and push!” Uli ordered. Ilia tried her best, but the baby still wasn’t out. The pain was too much. She screamed.
Link jolted up on the couch and his muscles tensed. That was Ilia. In so much pain she was screaming like she’d been struck with the Master sword. Why oh why had they thought kids were a good idea? He listened closely for more. He slowly rose and edged toward the door.
Din, give Ilia strength. Link stalked by the door like a wolf stalking his prey. Ilia’s grunts subsided. And was that… a baby’s cry? It was! Throwing aside the mandate to wait, Link threw open the door and strode to Ilia.
“Are you alright?” he asked urgently, not even stopping to see what was in Ilia’s arms. Uli left silently at his entrance.
“I’m fine, darling. It’s all over now. But look.” Ilia moved her gaze to the bundle in her arms. “It’s a girl.”
Link looked at his daughter, literally thunderstruck. She was so beautiful. He lifted one finger to her cheek and slowly rubbed it against her pink, newborn skin.
“Here. Hold her,” Ilia said, raising the baby to him.
Link backed away with his arms raised in refusal. “But she’s so little and fragile. What if-”
“Oh Link, just stop. You know how to be gentle. You’re going to be a great father. Now hold her.” Link stepped forward and did as commanded. She was so light, yet so precious. There was nothing more gorgeous than that bundle in Link’s eyes right then.
“What should we name her?” Link asked. He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure if Ilia would be ok with that one.
“I already know what you want to name her, so I was going to let you pick,” said Ilia.
“Are you sure? It was never like that between me and her you know, so-”
“I know it wasn’t. You want to honor a noble, kind, selfless friend. And I’m fine with that. Giving our baby her name is an honor.”
Link smiled down at his new child. “Midna it is then.”
Monthly Archives: February 2014
“Drinking tea with a total stranger is one of life’s true delights.” -Uncle Iroh, “Avatar: the Last Airbender”
What can I say; Uncle Iroh has a lot of good quotes. :3 With this one, my point is this: Celebrate the small things in life. Now I’m not saying that you need to drink tea with a total stranger; that’s just unwise. But having a good conversation with someone over a good cup of tea is one of those small but fun things that we often forget to do in the midst of our busy lives. It’s the equivalent of “take time to smell the roses.” Notice and appreciate the small moments in life, and take the time to make them happen. Because years from now, you’ll no doubt be surprised by what you remember through the years and what you’ve forgotten with time.
Murder. Again. Molly had seen a lot of murders of course, working in the morgue. After a while it didn’t affect you anymore, and you sort of just learned to ignore it and carry on with life. And these days Molly almost looked forward to murders.
Not because she was an evil person. No, Molly was the kind of girl who used Comic Sans and kept pictures of kittens on her desktop. She didn’t look forward to it because of the event itself. It’s just, it was murder that brought Sherlock back again. When murders came around, especially mysterious murders, Sherlock would come striding through the doors to investigate. And that’s what Molly really looked forward to.
And one had happened. The body was brought in at 10:00, and it only took till 10:45 for Sherlock to follow. As per the norm, he and John had immediately gone to check the body and then almost immediately after that had left again.
So then the morgue had been quiet again and Molly returned to work. That’s what always happened: He comes, he observes, he leaves. Occasionally he’d come back for another look or to use a lab, but mostly that was that and Molly would go back to work wishing she and John could switch jobs.
So she didn’t expect the running from the hall at 13:00, right after lunch. She jolted at the sound and turned to the door just as it swung open. “I need a microscope, a gram of sodium chloride, and a pair of tweezers,” Sherlock announced. John slipped in behind him and caught the door before it could slam shut.
It took Molly a second to register what just happened and to formulate the correct response. “Um, ok. Ok, sure, yes, um, you know where the microscope is, and the tweezers, and I’ll just go get the… sodium chloride.” Salt? What on earth…? But is was Sherlock; best not to question it. As Sherlock wordlessly sat down to the nearest microscope Molly slid past him and out the door to fetch that salt.
When she returned Sherlock was impatient and John was annoyed. All was as normal. “Um, here, Sherlock. The salt. I got you two grams, you know, in case you wanted to do- whatever it is, twice.” She set the vials down on the desk space next to him and walked away.
After a second, Sherlock seemed startled and glanced up at her for a moment before lowering his gaze again. “Thank you,” he muttered. It was only a mutter, and barely polite, but Molly’s heart still skipped a beat like it did every single time Sherlock spoke to her.
“You’re- You’re welcome,” she squeaked.
“He won’t be needing us for a while,” said John. Molly nodded.
“Actually, about that. I’ll need Molly to look through the deceased’ records and find the blood analysis.”
John intervened. “Sherlock, I could-”
“No, Molly needs to do it.” John looked at her and shrugged and Molly left to find the records. Would they even have a finished analysis yet? Molly tended to doubt it, but nonetheless she searched for it.
And searched for it. And searched for it. Sure enough, there was simply no record of blood analysis to be found. It usually took at least twenty-four hours for one to be completed, and this one was no different. She made her way back to Sherlock as quickly as she could.
“There aren’t any records yet, um, Sherlock. Not till tomorrow.” John was still leaning against the wall to the left of the door and Sherlock was still right where she’d left him.
He rose and started to her. Or, you know, the door. Or maybe John. He started to one of the above. But it hardly mattered what he’d started for, because he tripped.
One second, he was striding across the room, next second, his arms were around her waist. Molly’s skin tingled and her mind went blank. She vaguely registered John slyly pulling his foot out of Sherlock’s path. Sherlock’s skin was warm and soft, and Molly found herself enjoying the experience. Of course, it didn’t last long.
Sherlock’s eyes widened considerably and his face went as white as one of the bodies in the next room. He immediately pulled away and took two steps back just to be sure. The wall on the right side suddenly became very interesting to him, and he took a few long moments to awkwardly readjust his already-too-tight purple shirt before facing her again.
What to say, what to say? What could one possibly say after something like that? “Um, Sherlock, will you be needing-” she stopped at the same time Sherlock did. They’d both begun talking at exactly the same moment and cut each other off at exactly the same time. They both tried their best to ignore the John’s suppressed chuckles.
Molly waited for him to continue, and eventually Sherlock caught on. “John and I need to go out and collect some supplies. We should be back before 19:00, but if we’re not, stay here. The blood needs to be analyzed tonight.
Molly stepped away from the door. “Um, ok. Sure. I’ll be here. Yeah.” And he was gone. John lingered behind a second, and just before he shut the door behind him, he winked at her. Molly didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t, and John shut the door.
The rest of the day flashed by before Molly could say “sugar and spice and all things nice.” Sherlock’s impromptu visit, and the events that had ensued, left her feeling fluttery all through the day. And he’d be coming back later. Well, maybe. He was Sherlock, after all.
19:00 came and went, and still there was no sign of Sherlock. Most of her coworkers went home and soon it was just Molly and a room of cold bodies. 19:00… 20:00… Molly yawned. The chemical high given her by Sherlock was wearing off. Hopefully he’d come soon. If he didn’t come by 21:00, she should give up and go home.
Molly watched the hands of the clock tick. 20:30… 20:45… 20:50… Come on, Sherlock… 20:55…
The doors of the morgue burst open. For the second time that day, Molly swung her head around to see Sherlock striding in with John behind him. As John again shut the door quietly, he nodded to her. “Sorry we were late. Murderers, you know how it is.” His tone was conversational.
Molly smiled. “It’s alright. Murderers can be that way, sometimes.”
“Terrible manners, murderers.” John grinned. Molly was about to reply when Sherlock cut her off.
“If you’re quite finished, the absence of your voices would be lovely.” Abruptly both Molly and John stopped smiling and glanced at opposite side of the room awkwardly. “As we’ve now got the necessary equipment, we can now commence blood analysis.”
Nodding, Molly quickly grabbed the supplies Sherlock had aquired and headed to work. Even with all the lengths Sherlock had gone to, making the analysis would take a while. Molly could expect at least another hour in the morgue, and she was already starting to fade.
An hour later, the analysis was almost completed, Sherlock was still mysteriously working with the mycroscope, and John was passed out in a chair in the waiting room a few halls down. Molly silently did paperwork and tried her best not to look like a fool in front of Sherlock. After that afternoon, anything would be awkward.
But, after fifteen minutes Molly felt that a little dialogue was necessary. “So, um, Sherlock, do you have any plans? For Christmas, I mean.” Sherlock made no response for several seconds and Molly nervously returned to work.
“Hm?” Suddenly Sherlock looked up and twisted his body so that he faced her. “Did you say something?”
“Um, I did actually. I asked if you had any plans for this Christmas. It’s December now, you know.” Did he know? He was Sherlock. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he’d erased Christmas from his Mind Palace or whatever.
“Oh.” Sherlock looked back down at his work. “Well, I might, if John weren’t going to Harry’s for Christmas.” Molly nodded and made an understanding ‘ah’ with her throat, but Sherlock kept on. “Honestly, Molly, he blurts these things out at the most inopportune times imaginable. Today, for instance, while on this very case he goes and mentions this! Can he not see? Does he not understand the importance of my work?”
“I’m sure he does, Sherlock,” Molly answered. What was Sherlock doing? Complaining about a flat mate, to her? Like a friend?
“I’m not so sure at times. Why don’t people just think? Why don’t they see? It’s all so obvious I simply will never understand how they seem to always miss the point.”
“Hm,” returned Molly. “Well, maybe we could have a Christmas party, before John leaves.”
“What’s the point? Christmas was always a ridiculous affair anyway.”
Even though Sherlock’s back was to her, Molly still turned away to hide the smile that was growing on her face. First Sherlock complains about John to her, like a normal human being, and then he goes on to pretend that he doesn’t care at all, just like a little kid. Ridiculous affair, indeed. Why, he said it himself, he might have had plans if John hadn’t made other arrangements. Maybe she should talk to Mrs. Hudson about that party idea…
Oh! But no matter! Molly picked up the right document from the pile she’d been going through. Sherlock needed this. “Sherlock! I found the papers you needed. Here,” Molly half-walked half-ran to give them to him.
Sherlock looked them over and made an annoyed face at the content. “We need an entirely new sample to analyze.” After a couple more seconds of scanning the page he added, “I’m going to need to stay here until morning. Give me the keys.” Sherlock put down the papers, kept his gaze on the microscope, and held out his left hand.
Molly scrunched her eyebrows and cocked her head slightly to one side. “I’m sorry?”
“Give me the keys. You are going to your place of residence since none of you lot can ever seem to go more then eighteen hours without sleep. It’s been nineteen already. I will stay here to conduct this other blood analysis and you will return tomorrow morning.”
Nineteen hours, he’d said, which would put Molly at waking up at 5:45. That was exactly accurate. She hadn’t gotten to work until 8:00, and Sherlock hadn’t come in until 10:45. So how could he have known that exact time? Of course, he was Sherlock. He’d probably deduced it by looking at the bags under her eyes or something. He couldn’t possibly have remembered that time last week when she’d mentioned it. No, he’d probably erased the memory or something like that.
“It’s ok. I don’t matter,” Molly said quickly as she passed Sherlock another blood sample. They were hot on this murderer’s trail now; she could stay up a bit past her bedtime.
Sherlock didn’t look up and placed the sample under the microscope. Molly started to turn away again, but Sherlock spoke before she could take a step. He sounded exasperated. “Don’t be an idiot. Of course you do. Go. Leave the keys on the desk.”
Molly stopped. Just, completely, stopped. What had he just said? No doubt he hadn’t meant it that way, no, certainly not. He just meant she mattered because she had to help him tomorrow. Regardless, Molly began to notice a kind of warm, feathery feeling in her chest, like Toby had curled up in there.
“Um…” Molly was torn. She could do as Sherlock told her and return tomorrow, or she could insist on staying all night. One the one hand, she was extraordinarily tired and it would soon start to show. On the other, staying up with Sherlock didn’t seem too bad.
And that’s when Molly got an idea. The idea that made her decision for her. “No, Sherlock, I’ll stay here. I’m fine, really. And you might need somebody. You know… to stay with you.”
“I’m not scared of the dark, if that’s you’re implication.”
“N-no! No, I know, it’s just… I want to stay.”
Sherlock shrugged and returned to work. “If you insist.”
Six hours later, at 5:30, John was still out cold and Molly and Sherlock had successfully completed the case. The rest of the work was DI Lestrade’s division. Which left Sherlock and Molly in the same hallway, alone together, neither with anything to do. Molly had that Friday off.
This was the moment Molly had stayed for. “So, um, Sherlock, I was just thinking that, since John isn’t awake yet and neither of us have anything better to do and we both stayed up rather late, we could maybe go get coffee. There’s a shop just down the street. And of course by the time we get back John would be awake again, so maybe we could get an extra and bring him one, and-”
“Yes, yes, why not, as long as John intends staying unconscious in the abandoned waiting room of a hospital. I’ve nothing better to do with my time. My only case has just been solved.” Sherlock’s answer, while less than romantic, was good enough for Molly. Finally, she’d done it! She’d asked Sherlock out for coffee, and they were going to go! Of course, it wasn’t really a date if they were just going to go and come back, but still, it was progress.
“Excellent! Good, yes, ok,” Molly turned slightly away to hopefully hide her cheeks, which were now quite hot.
Sherlock motioned to the door. “Shall we?” Molly nodded and the two started off. It was all Molly could handle trying not to turn radish red when Sherlock actually remembered to hold the door open for her. Lucky for her the December morning was crisp and rosy cheeks were not uncommon.
“Thank you,” said Molly as nonchalantly as she could. What to say next? Knowing Sherlock, it was up to her to start any kind of conversation. And, also knowing Sherlock, if he wasn’t immediately interested in the conversation he’d just drop it. So, what would immediately spark his interest? Obvious. His work. “So, this was your only case then?”
“Yes, it was. There hasn’t been a good case in days! What am I supposed to do if I can’t get a case? Lie around, watch Telly? Boring. I only took this one because I had no other options. Painfully obvious, this one.”
Obvious, was it? Is that why it took you all night to finish? The corners of Molly’s mouth twitched. Painfully obvious, indeed. “Well, at least the murderer is caught now and justice has been served. But, really, there isn’t anything else? I thought John’s blog was getting new offers all the time.”
“John’s blog, John’s blog, yes, it’s getting offers. But not recently, and not any good ones! Only a couple of robberies and one missing pet yellow-bellied sapsucker. Nothing new, nothing exciting, nothing good at all!”
As Sherlock became more and more emphatic in his speech he subconsciously sped up his pace significantly, forcing Molly to trot every couple of steps. “Sher- Sher- Sherlock, hold up, please, I-” Molly faltered.
Sherlock unexpectedly stopped moving forward and waited for Molly to catch up. “I am sorry, Molly, I’ve been leaving you behind. My walking pace is one meter with each step, while your legs can only sustain a walking pace of two thirds a meter. I will have to slow myself to adjust to your capabilities.” It took Molly a few seconds to comprehend Sherlock’s speech, but in the end she guessed it was Sherlock’s way of saying “sorry, I’ll go slower.” From then on she had no trouble keeping up.
As they rounded the corner the coffee shop became visible. It was still very early in the morning, so Sherlock and Molly were the first customers of the day. Suddenly, as they both walked to the register, Molly realized something she’d overlooked. Who was going to pay? She could pay for all three, of course, she’d brought up the idea of going in the first place. Or would Sherlock buy his own? Or-
“Hello, I’ll take one small black coffee, one medium-sized black coffee with milk, and one skinny vanilla latte with whipped cream… please,” said Sherlock to the man at the register.
Molly tried very hard not to let her cheeks turn red. He’d actually thought to do it himself! And he knew what she’d have ordered herself! Of course, he also knew that she wanted the one with fewer calories… but there was whipped cream! Whipped cream wasn’t low calorie! He didn’t think she was overweight. Did he?
“I hope I ordered correctly,” asked Sherlock as they waited for their beverages.
“Oh, um, yes! Yes, you did. Thank you.” And he’d even started his own conversation!
“I’m glad. It is now 6:00 and by the time we return it will be nearing 6:25. John should be awake by then.”
“Oh, yes, quite. I’m sure he will be. I’m sure.”
“Do you work later today?” he asked. What did he mean by that? Was it just an idle question, or did he want something out of her?
“No, I have today off. Will you be finding another case to work on?”
“I don’t know; John hasn’t checked his blog since last night. There was nothing then.”
“Except for the missing pet yellow-bellied sapsucker,” giggled Molly. Giggled? Was giggling ok? She shouldn’t have giggled! Oh, why did she always mess things up?
Sherlock smiled warmly—or, as close as Sherlock could come to warmly. “Except for the yellow-bellied sapsucker.” After a second he continued. “Actually, the yellow-bellied sapsucker could be interesting. Not overly difficult of course, but a decent way to pass the time. If you aren’t- oh, never mind.” Wait, what? Had he smiled at her? Had he almost invited her to go on a case with him? Molly couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Keep cool, keep cool…
“Never mind what?” she prompted.
“Oh, look, coffee,” Sherlock motioned to the three steaming cups that were being placed on the counter. Hastily he picked up all three in one sweep and carried them over. “Here,” he said as he handed the latte to her.
“Thanks,” replied Molly. As they were leaving, Molly was still fixed on getting him to repeat his question. “Now, where were we? You were saying something, right?”
“Right,” Sherlock responded. “I was going to ask if you wanted to accompany John and myself on the case of the missing pet yellow-bellied sapsucker.” Despite his coffee no doubt being much too hot, Sherlock took a rather large gulp with the last few words. Was he… nervous? Him?
“Oh,” started Molly, as if she’d had no idea that that’s what he was about to say. “Well, like I said I’m off work today, so I suppose I could go with you if you wanted.”
“Good,” was all Sherlock said to that. Was it? Was it good? Molly was elated. A case with Sherlock! And she’d actually got him to ask her! As Molly slowly sipped at her latte, she hid a small smile.
When they got back to the morgue, John was awake, and Sherlock handed him his coffee while speaking at his normal, Sherlock speeds. “You’ve been asleep for roughly seven hours, during which Molly and I solved the case and brought you that coffee. As soon as you’re ready all three of us will embark on the case of the missing pet yellow-bellied sapsucker.”
“The missing pet what? Yellow-bellied sapsucker? But you said that was boring!”
“I changed my mind,” said Sherlock.
“And Molly’s coming with us?”
“Yes, I am,” said Molly.
John looked from Molly to Sherlock and back again. “In that case,” he said. “let’s get going.”
“There is nothing wrong with letting people who love you help you.” -Uncle Iroh, “Avatar: the Last Airbender”
Once again, Uncle Iroh is completely correct. Life as a Christian is a long and narrow road, and there are bumps in it. Whether these bumps come from sin that we need to forsake or outside influences that are beyond our control, they can cause us to stumble. If you have a battle with a particular sin and you know that you can’t overcome it alone, ask for help! Ask for prayer from fellow Christians, and ask for advice from people you can trust, such as your parents or guardians, pastor, or any other godly person in your life. If they love you, they will be only too willing to help. And if the struggle is from the outside and you just don’t know where to turn, ask the people who love you! At the very least you can receive comfort and a person to rant to, and most of the time you’ll get some real, tangible help too. So when the road in front of you gets bumpy, don’t try to figure it out yourself. Let people help you.
I’m taking the tube. Get off my back. SH
Remember the last time. MH
Stepping on now. SH
I’ll have to come get you again. MH
No you won’t. Not like last time. Last time I wasn’t in control. I am now. SH
Sherlock, don’t. MH
Sherlock, please. MH
Sherlock switched off his mobile and set it to silent. He could take the tube if he wanted to take the tube. He didn’t have to listen to Mycroft anymore. Slipping his mobile into his coat pocket, Sherlock looked up.
The bench. Tweed, made in 1978. The last person to sit there was a mother, probably mid twenties, who held two infants on her lap. She-
Male, late forties. Low to middle class, probably a shop manager. Going home to a wife and two, correction: three, children. And one, correction: two, dogs. One Yorkshire terrier and one Ma-
Female, late teens, just got off shift at local hair salon. Bad at trigonometry, decent at grammar. Three younger siblings, all boys. Poor. Takes on much responsibility and therefore more mature than her peers. She-
Words flashed in front of Sherlock, describing every little detail of every little thing on the tube. Control it, control it. Stop it. Erase the words. Sherlock tried to imagine the world as a blackboard and he was wiping an eraser over it. Be normal for once. Be boring. Don’t give in.
Male, child, eight years old, enjoys football as a-
Don’t give in. Stop it. Erase it.
Male, child, seven years old, looks to other boy as role-model-
You’re stronger than this.
Female, child, eleven, on holiday with parents. Going to-
Don’t let Mycroft be right.
More words. Words, words, words, all words. Sherlock couldn’t see. The edges of his vision became red and cloudy. Red dots floated over his eyes. The shapes and colors that he could still see were brighter than they should have been and they glowed around the edges. A methodic pounding started on either temple and wouldn’t stop. Without warning, Sherlock’s legs buckled and he barely had enough time to clutch a metal beam to keep from falling.
Using the pole as a crutch Sherlock rose again. If he kept his eyes open and kept trying, if he didn’t give in, he could still beat this. Mycroft didn’t have to be right. Sherlock clung to the pole to keep from falling unconscious. Odd looks were starting to be passed his way.
Though his eyes were closing on him Sherlock forced them open. He had to hang on. If he closed them he’d pass out again, like the last time. He had to keep them open, but not look at anyth-
Female, mid thirties. The brown paper sack in her arms suggests having been out shopping. Quantity of food says that she’s alone. Not by choice-
No, no, no, no, no! Not now! Not again! Bile rose in Sherlock’s throat and he was powerless this time to keep his knees from giving up. Sherlock toppled to the ground and his eyes forced themselves shut. Even shut the lights were too bright. The banging in his head was too loud and he couldn’t hear anything else over the noise. First Sherlock tried covering his ears with his hands, but it didn’t help. He moved his hands to his eyes, but the light still found a way through. And then Sherlock knew no more.
Soft. Where was he? Wherever it was, it was soft. A bed. Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, expecting the light to force them shut again. But there was no light. No lights, no noise. He was free. The room was plain, but large, and the colors were all warm browns. Not too bright. He felt… home. Which was odd, considering he didn’t have a home. A house, yes, but not a home.
A door creaked open and Mycroft slipped through. “Welcome back. You were out cold for two days.”
Sherlock was still too tired to verbally spar with Mycroft, so he elected to ignore the comment. Had Mycroft been right? Yes. Did Sherlock have plans to admit it? Never.
“Oh, come now, don’t be a child. The least you can do is answer. I won’t even say ‘I told you so.'” Sherlock gave no response. Mycroft shook his head. “You always were a stubborn child. I’ve made arrangements with the cab services all around London. I will be billed for all your fares. There will be no more taking the tube for you, that is certain.” Since Sherlock again refused to respond, Mycroft simply shut the door behind himself and left Sherlock alone again.
So Mycroft had been right. Despite all that Sherlock had tried to take control of the deductions, they still always won out every time. Mycroft could control them. Why couldn’t he control them too? Why did Mycroft always have to be better?
It was all right though, Sherlock decided. Mycroft wasn’t always better. And even when he was, it didn’t mean that Sherlock would ever have to admit it.
“All mentors have a way of seeing more of our faults than we would like. It’s the only way we grow.” – Padme Amadala, “Attack of the Clones”
Well ain’t that a hard lesson to learn? Nobody likes criticism, and yet, if our mentors and teachers are to do their job and help us grow, they have to alert you to all the things you’re doing wrong—or sometimes even more interesting, all the stuff that you could be doing better. While we don’t like criticism of any kind, constructive criticism is absolutely necessary for growth in virtually any subject. So, while we don’t have to learn to like it, per say, criticism is something that we all need of learn to accept and appreciate.