My father wasn't around when I was a kid, and I used to always

In these words of LeBron James, we hear the cry of a child who once asked, “Why me?”—a lament that has been echoed through countless generations by those who feel the absence of a guiding hand. The absence of a father left a void, and in his youth, LeBron’s soul was burdened with questions of abandonment and loss. Yet, with the passage of time, that lament turned into wisdom. He came to see that even pain, even loss, may shape a man into the person he is destined to become. The question of “Why me?” transformed into the revelation of “Perhaps it was necessary.”

This reflection is not merely about a boy and his father. It speaks to the greater truth of life’s adversity. Often, when trials come upon us, we think only of our suffering. We see the wound but not the scar that later serves as armor. We see the absence, but not the strength that absence compels us to cultivate. LeBron’s journey is a testimony that the weight of an early wound may forge endurance, discipline, and hunger for greatness—qualities that might never have been awakened in a life of ease.

Consider also the story of Abraham Lincoln, who lost his mother at the tender age of nine and whose father was often distant and harsh. In his loneliness, he turned to books, to self-education, to the quiet forge of thought. Out of the silence of abandonment grew the voice that one day called a nation to unity. Just as LeBron wondered whether his father’s presence would have altered his destiny, so too can we see in Lincoln that hardship carved out the very space into which greatness could grow.

LeBron’s words also whisper of empathy. In his youth, he asked only about his own sorrow. But in maturity, he pondered what his father must have endured, what storms of spirit led to his absence. This is a higher vision: to rise from self-pity into compassion, from anger into understanding. Such perspective is not weakness; it is strength of the rarest kind, for it transforms bitterness into mercy.

To the young who listen: know this—life may deny you what you long for, and people may abandon you. But these very absences can be the soil in which your unique purpose grows. Do not curse the emptiness; learn to shape it. Do not let loss enslave you; let it awaken within you the fire that will carry you forward.

The lesson here is twofold. First, do not dwell endlessly on “Why me?”, for that question leads only to sorrow. Ask instead, “What can I make of this?” Second, remember that those who fail you are also caught in their own unseen battles. Do not let their weakness turn your heart into stone. Instead, let it turn your heart toward resilience and mercy.

Practical wisdom for daily life: when you face hardship, write down not only your pain, but also what strength it forces you to develop. When you feel abandoned, do not retreat into bitterness—seek out mentors, teachers, or communities who can fill the role of guidance. And most of all, remember that what feels like loss today may tomorrow be revealed as the very path that made you who you are meant to be.

Thus, let this teaching be carried onward: adversity is not the end but the beginning, and even absence can be a gift disguised in shadow. As the river carves the stone through pressure and time, so too does hardship carve the soul into its fullest form. LeBron’s story is not just his own—it is a mirror for all who wonder “Why me?” and a torch showing that through suffering, greatness may yet be born.