Listen to this little, harmless, laughable, almost poetical instance of parental frustrated aspiration projected onto the offspring, of mine:

In due time, my son will discover the almost-hidden small collection of unused but beautiful math books I got some years ago, before I gave up any hopes of majoring in Mathematics. He'll be fascinated and will read them up through sleepless nights, and that will be the starting gun in his way to become the genius mathematician of the century.

N.B. Mika, if you ever read this, and you happen to be a healthy, happy woodcutter, have no doubt I'll be the proudest and merriest of parents ;-)