Why Worry What Others Think

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So when I was young I played basketball. I loved it. I can recall a time when I was first starting out. We would go sometime before the season started to get physicals. For some reason we were going all the way to Jackson at the time, though I’m not entirely sure why. All the kids would load up on big yellow and head north.

This particular time I can remember arriving back at the designated pick-up place, which was somewhere in Wesson, MS. I waived bye to my friends after disembarking off the bus and headed toward my family’s van. I can remember being happy that they had shown up on time, and I did not have to wait like some of the other kids did.

After opening the sliding door to the van, my little brother handed me a pair of shoes. They were not a name brand.

Being right around that age where these things seemingly mattered at school, you could guess that I was not happy. I am not really sure what I was expecting, we were not rich, but neither were we poor. Either way, I was a total jerk. I grabbed the shoes, sat in the van and begin to expound upon all the reasons why I hated these shoes. Ungrateful is the only word that comes to mind. I was not following any of the values I had been taught. I was just, “Being a Teenager”.

All during my rant about how I did not like the shoes, my dad did not say a word. My mother tried to tell me about how they were not that bad, but I was not hearing that. The only thing I really could think about is how kids would make fun of me when I wore them to school.

After I had finished expressing my dislike, my mother simply said she would see if she could take them back. Until this day, I am not entirely sure what came over me. Seeing those shoes somehow pushed me into acting far from my character.

When the dust settled and I started to relax, I looked down at my little brother’s feet. He had on the same shoes. At that moment my heart dropped. I began to feel a pain that made me instantly want to take back all the mean things I had said.

As if this was not bad enough, I glanced up front to my father’s feet, and he had on the same shoes. My heart sunk even lower. At that moment I instantly knew I should apologize. I silently thought to myself, “If it is good enough for my dad, then it is good enough for me.” But it was too late. The words had been uttered. My dismay had been vocalized. I sat in silence. Needless to day, that was a long ride home.

I see that moment as a pivotal one in my life. One that I still feel bad about until this day. It taught me not to care about what others think, when that person does not care about you. It taught me to be more thoughtful, and always be grateful. To be not only be grateful for what you get, but for who it comes from. Especially if it is coming from someone you love.

The Reality Of Life

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This summer has been a particularly hard one for my family. The summer brought the passing of both my uncle and my grandfather. And while death is something that we could never get use to, it is in fact a reality of life.

I can recall of when I was younger, feeling a true sense of emptiness once I had been given the realization that everything that lives must die. If one positive can be deemed from this is that it gives us the impetus to make the best of the time we are given, while also preparing for the next life depending on your beliefs.

Uncle Sam was always very kind to me—in additional to making the best lasagna this side of the Mississippi. I can remember working with him the summer prior to going off to college. And although the actual process of setting up mobile homes across the state of Mississippi has never come in handy for me afterward, the added respect for hard work was worth more than its weight in gold. What I learned more than anything was exactly what type of work I did not want to do for the rest of my life, giving me a different perspective when looking at possible career options. Not to say that I would not—or could not—do that type of work, but it gave me a greater understanding of what I did not like. I immensely respect people who work outside, especially in extreme conditions, it cannot be easy.

Then there is my grandfather, whom I and my son share the same name. Whom we also called Big Dad, rather than granddad.

“Put that rock down. You better not throw that”, granddad shouted as I was having one of my particularly defiant moments. This being one of the few times I can remember being outright defiant toward my grandfather as a child—and obviously being absent minded of the consequences of disobeying a direct order. Rock thrown. Whipping followed. I can remember my grandfather saying he thought I’d be a handful when I got older. Thank goodness my path became much more straight and narrow than it began.

Then there were the great times we spent “hauling wood” for the winter with him, or going to his church for one of those “soul stirring” revivals. Things were not always perfect, but it was clear that love reigned supreme in our family.

There is no way these few words can give them justice, but I will miss both my uncle and grandfather. I will never forget the memories, guidance, faith, and love they showed. Talking a great game is one thing, but walking that walk is the greatest example you can give. Thank you.