I would be ready to become a dad if I was with the right person.

When Mario Balotelli said, “I would be ready to become a dad if I was with the right person. I’d like a boy, though. Because they’re in charge,” he revealed more than a passing thought about family — he revealed a glimpse into the soul of manhood, and the eternal longing for both guidance and legacy. In these few words, both bold and vulnerable, we hear the echo of one who stands at the threshold between youth and maturity, between the hunger for freedom and the yearning for purpose. To desire fatherhood is to desire not only to create life but to be shaped by responsibility, to find meaning beyond the self. Balotelli’s reflection, though spoken casually, carries within it the timeless question every soul must face: When will I be ready to lead, and what does true leadership mean?

The origin of this quote lies not only in Balotelli’s own turbulent journey but in the universal experience of growing into adulthood. He was a man known for fire — for brilliance on the field and defiance off it. Yet in this moment, we see a quieter truth: the fierce athlete longing for stability, for a love that steadies the heart. His mention of “the right person” reminds us that fatherhood is not merely an act of creation, but a covenant — one that demands patience, humility, and partnership. The ancients would have understood this as the sacred balance between eros and ethos, between desire and duty. For in the union of two hearts rightly matched, the next generation finds its beginning.

When Balotelli says he would “like a boy, because they’re in charge,” we hear not arrogance, but the echo of an old belief — that sons carry the mantle of strength, that they become protectors of their lineage. This notion is as ancient as the mountains, woven through centuries of kings and warriors. Yet beneath it lies something deeper: a yearning not for power, but for continuity — for the chance to see one’s spirit live on through another. In ancient Greece, fathers raised their sons not merely to inherit their wealth, but to inherit their wisdom, to carry the flame of their character into the future. But wisdom teaches us this: being “in charge” is not about dominance, but about service, for the true leader does not rule others — he rules himself.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor of Rome. He bore the weight of empire and the burden of fatherhood. He raised his son Commodus, hoping to pass on not only his throne but his philosophy — the Stoic discipline that prizes self-control and virtue over indulgence and pride. Yet Commodus, blinded by the glitter of power, lost his father’s vision and brought ruin to the empire. This tale reminds us that being “in charge” is not a privilege of gender or birth, but a test of spirit. Leadership, whether of a nation or a family, demands the strength to restrain, to nurture, to protect. Balotelli’s words thus become both aspiration and warning: to wish for a child is easy — to prepare one’s heart to lead them rightly is divine work.

There is also humility in Balotelli’s confession — the awareness that readiness is not merely biological but spiritual. He does not declare himself a father; he declares the desire to become one when love and wisdom align. This humility echoes the wisdom of Confucius, who said that the superior man acts only when the time is right, and never before. For to guide another life without first mastering one’s own is to build a temple on sand. The right partner, the right purpose, the right heart — these are the pillars upon which fatherhood must stand. Without them, the title of “father” is empty; with them, it becomes sacred.

In this sense, Balotelli’s words are not the boast of a man, but the awakening of one. To long for a child, to imagine shaping a life, is to take the first step toward maturity. The ancients would say that every man must die twice — once when his body perishes, and once when his name is forgotten. But a father, through his children and the example he leaves, conquers that second death. He lives on through the virtues he teaches, the love he gives, the legacy he leaves behind. To desire that legacy is not vanity; it is the natural yearning of the soul to create meaning that endures.

So, my listener, take this lesson from Balotelli’s reflection: true readiness is born from love, not from pride. To lead, you must first learn to listen. To guide, you must first learn to grow. If you wish to bring life into the world — whether a child, a dream, or a creation — prepare your spirit as a gardener prepares his soil. Seek the “right person,” not only as a partner in love, but as a mirror for your better self. And remember that to be “in charge” is not to command others, but to command the storms within.

For in the end, fatherhood — and all forms of creation — are acts of courage. They demand patience, sacrifice, and vision. As Balotelli’s words remind us, to become a father is to accept both power and humility, to hold in one hand the flame of authority and in the other the gentleness of care. This is the eternal dance of strength and tenderness — the very dance by which the world itself is kept alive.