They said I had a better chance of being incarcerated than being educated.
They said I was more likely to drop out or cop out.
They said I'd have children when I was a kid myself, and the kids would have to be cared for by somebody else.
They said my body would be plagued by poor and failing health.
They laughed at the prospect of me accumulating wealth.
They said I'd never marry and never live in a house.
They wrote me off as a "good for nothing louse".
Because I was born into poverty, they said that's where I'd remain.
They determined that before adulthood, I'd either kill or I'd be slain.
They said I'd never move out of the projects, and if I did, it would be with Section 8. They said that eventually I'd be sorry, but by then, it would be too late.
They said I'd spend all my money on frivolous things, like fancy cars,diamonds, and two-finger rings.
They said that saving and investing was beyond my comprehension.
They never even considered I could one day earn a pension.
They said that I was lazy and didn't really want to work.
They said I'd rather wait on the government "perks".
They said that I'd sell drugs, and if not, I'd be addicted.
They said I'd commit a crime and at some point, I'd get convicted.
They said I was more likely to get HIV than an MPA.
But I proved you wrong, didn't I "They"?
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Prize Fighter
Muhammad Ali. Mike Tyson. Joe Frazier. Sugar Ray Leonard. George Foreman. Evander Holyfield. No list of the greatest fighters to ever live would be complete without Rebecca Powell-Snoddy. Although many have never heard of the latter, she is indeed one of the greatest—a legend with a legacy like no other. You see, Rebecca battled an opponent who has never been beaten. Rebecca fought death. Here’s how it went down:
The first match happened more than twenty years ago, Rebecca was diagnosed with a brain tumor. For her, this proved to be nothing more than an exhibition fight. She battled back from both her first and second brain surgeries with unparalleled resilience. Not long after the second surgery, Rebecca was driving in her car when suddenly; she lost sight in her left eye. She described it as feeling like someone slowly pulling down a shade until she couldn’t see anything. This was indeed a major blow for “Unbeatable Becky” but it didn’t stop her. She regrouped and faced her challenges head on. Being blind in one eye seemed to give her a sharper focus on life and its importance. Unbeatable Becky was so busy finding ways to help others that she didn’t allow herself any time to be distracted by the Rope-a-Dope of worry, self-pity, and anger. Nope, she was too busy championing someone else’s cause for that.
Oh, and Death…she took the life out of him. He came back for re-match after re-match and Unbeatable Becky KO’d him time after time. Unbeatable Becky underwent her 4th brain surgery in 2009. The surgery was more than 18 hours long. Many didn’t think she had the stamina to beat death that time, but like the champion she is, she found a way to win. Within months, Unbeatable Becky had pulled off another major upset. She made a full recovery and was back to the business of helping and caring for others in no time at all.
In July 2010, bruised and battered, Death showed up again requesting a re-match. Rebecca’s physician advised her that the tumor had returned and would require a 5th brain surgery. Without surgery, the physician predicted that she would not live for more than one year. Wearily, Unbeatable Becky agreed to one final fight with Death. However, she changed the rules. This time, there would be no surgery. Unbeatable Becky conferred with her corner—none were prepared to offer coaching—but no coaching was needed. Unbeatable Becky had her own game plan and only needed help with execution. Unbeatable Becky planned her end of life care and assigned roles and responsibilities to those who were capable of carrying out her wishes as described. Afterwards, she returned to business as usual. She prioritized responsibilities and focused on things that mattered to her. Her order of business was simple: God first, followed by family, friends, and others in need of her help. She truly was a modern day Mother Teresa.
Unbeatable Becky fought valiantly. I’m sure that Death got more than he bargained for. Unbeatable Becky fought for twelve rounds—she never gave up. When the bell rang, she went to her corner, closed her eyes, and rested—awaiting the decision. When she opened them up and the angels welcomed her home, I’m sure she smiled and said “I beat Death for real this time”.
The first match happened more than twenty years ago, Rebecca was diagnosed with a brain tumor. For her, this proved to be nothing more than an exhibition fight. She battled back from both her first and second brain surgeries with unparalleled resilience. Not long after the second surgery, Rebecca was driving in her car when suddenly; she lost sight in her left eye. She described it as feeling like someone slowly pulling down a shade until she couldn’t see anything. This was indeed a major blow for “Unbeatable Becky” but it didn’t stop her. She regrouped and faced her challenges head on. Being blind in one eye seemed to give her a sharper focus on life and its importance. Unbeatable Becky was so busy finding ways to help others that she didn’t allow herself any time to be distracted by the Rope-a-Dope of worry, self-pity, and anger. Nope, she was too busy championing someone else’s cause for that.
Oh, and Death…she took the life out of him. He came back for re-match after re-match and Unbeatable Becky KO’d him time after time. Unbeatable Becky underwent her 4th brain surgery in 2009. The surgery was more than 18 hours long. Many didn’t think she had the stamina to beat death that time, but like the champion she is, she found a way to win. Within months, Unbeatable Becky had pulled off another major upset. She made a full recovery and was back to the business of helping and caring for others in no time at all.
In July 2010, bruised and battered, Death showed up again requesting a re-match. Rebecca’s physician advised her that the tumor had returned and would require a 5th brain surgery. Without surgery, the physician predicted that she would not live for more than one year. Wearily, Unbeatable Becky agreed to one final fight with Death. However, she changed the rules. This time, there would be no surgery. Unbeatable Becky conferred with her corner—none were prepared to offer coaching—but no coaching was needed. Unbeatable Becky had her own game plan and only needed help with execution. Unbeatable Becky planned her end of life care and assigned roles and responsibilities to those who were capable of carrying out her wishes as described. Afterwards, she returned to business as usual. She prioritized responsibilities and focused on things that mattered to her. Her order of business was simple: God first, followed by family, friends, and others in need of her help. She truly was a modern day Mother Teresa.
Unbeatable Becky fought valiantly. I’m sure that Death got more than he bargained for. Unbeatable Becky fought for twelve rounds—she never gave up. When the bell rang, she went to her corner, closed her eyes, and rested—awaiting the decision. When she opened them up and the angels welcomed her home, I’m sure she smiled and said “I beat Death for real this time”.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Children Learn What They Live...
Black people are bad, and they rob people. My seven-year old son overheard that statement in the school cafeteria.
When he mentioned it to my husband and me, we asked him did he say anything to the student. He told us that the student was not sitting at the same table as him and was not talking to him. He explained that he “overheard” the statement because he has “very good hearing”. I asked him what he thought or felt when he overheard the comment and he said that his thought was “that is so racist”.
Upon further probing, it became apparent that he was confused as to whether or not the statement was an accurate one. We were alarmed that he even considered that the statement could be true. This led us to ask the question “Do you believe what he said?” He replied with a statement even more troubling than his confusion—“Well, I always see black people who rob people on the news.” This undoubtedly, led to a discussion about the dangers associated with stereotyping and pre-judging others. We also discussed the difference between racism and pre-judging.
Lastly and most importantly, we did some “damage control”. Attending a school where 70% of the students are white and only 20% are black—and being the only black male student in your class could definitely make a kid feel isolated. We pointed out that in his experience he has never met a black person who robs people. We reminded him of all of the positive things that are happening in our family. We talked about his uncles, aunts, grandparents, brother, cousins and friends, reminding him of the qualities each exhibits. Then we told him to look at us—his parents, reminding him of the values that we have instilled in him and the methods and means we employ to ensure his physical, emotional, and social well-being.
By the end of our conversation, he had distanced himself from his initial perception. However, I was still concerned about the impact that such a statement could have had if we had not prodded him to share his thoughts. I was also deeply disturbed by the idea that the second grade student who made the statement had been misinformed and/or misguided and as a result, made an offensive remark based on what he perceived to be truth. Will he grow up believing that black people are bad? I also struggled with the idea of approaching the school administration to make them aware and perhaps, encourage them to introduce concepts like labeling, inclusiveness, and respecting differences.
This morning I told my son that I was going to meet with his principal to share his experience. I explained that I was not blaming the school principal because it was not her fault. I explained that in order to make things better, we have to make sure people know better. He said “Oh, I know what you mean. Yesterday, I saw that kid in recess…I ran after him—I had to run my fastest, and I told him that I heard what he said about black people”. He said that the kid replied “I wanted that to be a secret”. Then my son said to him “That’s not nice. You shouldn’t judge people by the color of their skin”. “I said it really nice too mom” he proudly shared. I asked him what he did next and he said “I just walked away…but the kid said that he was sorry”.
I’m sure my son learned a valuable lesson and I hope he taught the kid a lesson too. Hopefully, the kid will judge people by their actions and character, but chances are he’ll just be careful who hears him next time.
When he mentioned it to my husband and me, we asked him did he say anything to the student. He told us that the student was not sitting at the same table as him and was not talking to him. He explained that he “overheard” the statement because he has “very good hearing”. I asked him what he thought or felt when he overheard the comment and he said that his thought was “that is so racist”.
Upon further probing, it became apparent that he was confused as to whether or not the statement was an accurate one. We were alarmed that he even considered that the statement could be true. This led us to ask the question “Do you believe what he said?” He replied with a statement even more troubling than his confusion—“Well, I always see black people who rob people on the news.” This undoubtedly, led to a discussion about the dangers associated with stereotyping and pre-judging others. We also discussed the difference between racism and pre-judging.
Lastly and most importantly, we did some “damage control”. Attending a school where 70% of the students are white and only 20% are black—and being the only black male student in your class could definitely make a kid feel isolated. We pointed out that in his experience he has never met a black person who robs people. We reminded him of all of the positive things that are happening in our family. We talked about his uncles, aunts, grandparents, brother, cousins and friends, reminding him of the qualities each exhibits. Then we told him to look at us—his parents, reminding him of the values that we have instilled in him and the methods and means we employ to ensure his physical, emotional, and social well-being.
By the end of our conversation, he had distanced himself from his initial perception. However, I was still concerned about the impact that such a statement could have had if we had not prodded him to share his thoughts. I was also deeply disturbed by the idea that the second grade student who made the statement had been misinformed and/or misguided and as a result, made an offensive remark based on what he perceived to be truth. Will he grow up believing that black people are bad? I also struggled with the idea of approaching the school administration to make them aware and perhaps, encourage them to introduce concepts like labeling, inclusiveness, and respecting differences.
This morning I told my son that I was going to meet with his principal to share his experience. I explained that I was not blaming the school principal because it was not her fault. I explained that in order to make things better, we have to make sure people know better. He said “Oh, I know what you mean. Yesterday, I saw that kid in recess…I ran after him—I had to run my fastest, and I told him that I heard what he said about black people”. He said that the kid replied “I wanted that to be a secret”. Then my son said to him “That’s not nice. You shouldn’t judge people by the color of their skin”. “I said it really nice too mom” he proudly shared. I asked him what he did next and he said “I just walked away…but the kid said that he was sorry”.
I’m sure my son learned a valuable lesson and I hope he taught the kid a lesson too. Hopefully, the kid will judge people by their actions and character, but chances are he’ll just be careful who hears him next time.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Black History Month...Big Deal.
Twenty-eight days. I guess the fact that I’m not impressed makes me ungrateful. Well, I’m still not impressed. Each year during the month of February, kids in schools across America get to hear about Martin Luther King Jr., George Washington Carver, Harriet Tubman, Garrett Morgan and Jackie Robinson. Bulletin boards in schools across the nation are adorned with pictures, artwork, and biographical data in tribute to these and other black historical figures. African American communities host events to celebrate and corporate giants buy radio and television ads to show that they are culturally aware and committed to diversity. There are 365 days in a year and Black History gets 28 of them. Big deal.
I sincerely believe that there was a time—many years ago, when acknowledging Black History for one month really meant something. I’m sure that when Carter G. Woodson started Negro History Week in 1926, he never envisioned that fifty years later, an entire month would be designated to commemorate the history of African Americans. I’m guessing that in 1976, African American parents were elated when their young children came home with a picture of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. or were assigned to write a book report on a famous African American person. In 1976, the recognition of Black History month was a sign that our country had taken a huge step in the right direction. The country as a whole had moved from blatant discrimination to tolerance.
I’d like to think that in 1976, the parents of school aged children felt the same kind of pride that I felt when my kindergartener wore his Barack Obama t-shirt to school the day after the 2008 elections. For on that day, we were celebrating something unprecedented. We were celebrating the day that our nation—as a whole moved from mere tolerance to acceptance. Although “acceptance” still implies inferiority (since the person who accepts someone or something is bestowing approval or favor), it still felt like a major hurdle had been crossed.
I think it’s time for our nation to embrace the notion of equality. I subscribe to that notion. If one is an American, he or she should be afforded the same opportunities and privileges as any other American. Carter G. Woodson started Negro History with the dual purpose of getting African Americans to take pride in their worth as a people and getting others to embrace African Americans history as an important part of American History. To achieve the latter, our history must be infused into the history of our country—making every day black history day. As a nation, we have to go beyond the mere shout outs and mentions. We have to shift from the ideal of pacifying a people with trivial acts of tolerance and acceptance and instead, employ the universal ideology that tolerance and acceptance are patronizing at best, and at worst, insulting to the intelligence of the rational man.
I’m not suggesting that we do away with Black History Month, I’m suggesting we work harder at being inclusive and treating every American equally. When that happens, there would no longer be a need for the twenty-eight day garbage time, where second string citizens get to have their moment in the spotlight.
Until then, Happy Black History Month. I’m still not impressed.
I sincerely believe that there was a time—many years ago, when acknowledging Black History for one month really meant something. I’m sure that when Carter G. Woodson started Negro History Week in 1926, he never envisioned that fifty years later, an entire month would be designated to commemorate the history of African Americans. I’m guessing that in 1976, African American parents were elated when their young children came home with a picture of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. or were assigned to write a book report on a famous African American person. In 1976, the recognition of Black History month was a sign that our country had taken a huge step in the right direction. The country as a whole had moved from blatant discrimination to tolerance.
I’d like to think that in 1976, the parents of school aged children felt the same kind of pride that I felt when my kindergartener wore his Barack Obama t-shirt to school the day after the 2008 elections. For on that day, we were celebrating something unprecedented. We were celebrating the day that our nation—as a whole moved from mere tolerance to acceptance. Although “acceptance” still implies inferiority (since the person who accepts someone or something is bestowing approval or favor), it still felt like a major hurdle had been crossed.
I think it’s time for our nation to embrace the notion of equality. I subscribe to that notion. If one is an American, he or she should be afforded the same opportunities and privileges as any other American. Carter G. Woodson started Negro History with the dual purpose of getting African Americans to take pride in their worth as a people and getting others to embrace African Americans history as an important part of American History. To achieve the latter, our history must be infused into the history of our country—making every day black history day. As a nation, we have to go beyond the mere shout outs and mentions. We have to shift from the ideal of pacifying a people with trivial acts of tolerance and acceptance and instead, employ the universal ideology that tolerance and acceptance are patronizing at best, and at worst, insulting to the intelligence of the rational man.
I’m not suggesting that we do away with Black History Month, I’m suggesting we work harder at being inclusive and treating every American equally. When that happens, there would no longer be a need for the twenty-eight day garbage time, where second string citizens get to have their moment in the spotlight.
Until then, Happy Black History Month. I’m still not impressed.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
The Priceless Commodity
It’s gone. Just like that…it’s gone. I had it in the palm of my hands, so many plans. I can’t understand.
It’s wrong. Somehow it feels so wrong. I’d feel better if someone stole it, and I couldn’t control it, but…
I took it for granted. I’m so disenchanted. I’m frantic.
I was warned. I’ll admit that I was warned. Should’ve paid more attention, for it’s gone in an instant. I’m torn. I’m completely torn. My heart feels broken, and I’m not really copin’. I just keep hopin’ that I can retract…somehow, get it back. Simply change the fact.
It really disappeared, I swear! It was right here, and I didn’t know to care. Now, I don’t know where—and I’m in despair. It really doesn’t seem fair!
I’ve got to face it…I wasted it. Misused and abused it. Never knew I would lose it. What I wouldn’t give to re-do it. But it’s gone. That I know for sure. I can never get it back…but I do have some more.
So I’ll move on and live, learn to forgive—my own mistakes, it’s better late…than never, ‘cause “never” is forever.
But from now on,
I’ll treat it with respect instead of neglect, and I’ll be careful about who I select, to spend it with me. After all, it’s a precious commodity—that is hard to find. So I pledge to make the most of my TIME.
It’s wrong. Somehow it feels so wrong. I’d feel better if someone stole it, and I couldn’t control it, but…
I took it for granted. I’m so disenchanted. I’m frantic.
I was warned. I’ll admit that I was warned. Should’ve paid more attention, for it’s gone in an instant. I’m torn. I’m completely torn. My heart feels broken, and I’m not really copin’. I just keep hopin’ that I can retract…somehow, get it back. Simply change the fact.
It really disappeared, I swear! It was right here, and I didn’t know to care. Now, I don’t know where—and I’m in despair. It really doesn’t seem fair!
I’ve got to face it…I wasted it. Misused and abused it. Never knew I would lose it. What I wouldn’t give to re-do it. But it’s gone. That I know for sure. I can never get it back…but I do have some more.
So I’ll move on and live, learn to forgive—my own mistakes, it’s better late…than never, ‘cause “never” is forever.
But from now on,
I’ll treat it with respect instead of neglect, and I’ll be careful about who I select, to spend it with me. After all, it’s a precious commodity—that is hard to find. So I pledge to make the most of my TIME.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Kids are Dying for Us to Help Them
Earlier this week I learned about the death of a young man in New York City. Although I didn’t know him personally, the news left me feeling extremely melancholy. A teenager, in the prime of his life, was shot and killed in cold blood. At 19, he hadn’t even begun to live. From what I gather, this young man was caught in between two worlds, something that happens to many youth who grow up in the inner city.
On the positive side, he was a student athlete at a local college and was set to attend a four-year college on a scholarship…next month. That amazing opportunity died with him, and what a tragedy that is. Here was a kid who had enormous potential…there was even talk of a possible NFL career in his future, but that is a dream that he didn’t get the chance to realize. Why? Because some unidentified person decided that the issue that they had between them was worth killing him for. What can be so terrible as to drive one to take the life of another? How can we help our youth understand the value of human life? How can we get them to value their own lives and see a future filled with opportunity? Those questions have perplexed me for quite some time now.
Life in the “hood” has rules and norms of its own. In the “hood” many of our kids are willing to die for respect, and will risk going to jail for being disrespected. Some kids feel forced into negativity because the alternative is to be victimized by those who have embraced the thug mentality. It is here in the hood that statistics of high school drop outs, teenage pregnancy, gang activity, rampant drug and alcohol use, and kids dying too young cloud the vision and ability to dream. In the hood, there’s a state of emergency—because reality is killing dreams.
Who’s to blame though? Is it the parent of the kid who does the shooting? Did they do a poor job at raising their child? Are they too busy to pay attention to what’s going on with their child? Certainly there must be some signs that you have a child capable of such a heinous act. Is it the fault of the youth because they get themselves into situations and don’t know how to walk away? It should be easy to apologize, or at least agree to disagree, right? Is it the schools for not providing a curriculum that helps kids unveil their hidden talents, skills and abilities? Wouldn’t kids be willing to “do the right thing” if they had a clearer path to prosperity? Is it the media? Are these television, movie, and musical images dooming our kids to pursue the wrong things? Are they hypnotized and mesmerized by the facade?
I don’t know who’s to blame…and I’m not even sure if it matters. I just know that there has to be a way that collectively WE can be a part of changing this phenomenon. It’s such a huge undertaking that it overwhelms me to think about our ability to be successful. However, pointing blame, talking about the problem without offering action-oriented solutions, and ignoring the issues because they are not directly affecting our lives is unacceptable. So how do we do it? One kid at a time. Leave the comfort and convenience of your life and environment and get involved. Volunteer. Mentor. Donate to a charitable organization that works with at-risk youth. Reach out to a parent that may need advice. Please, just commit to doing something. I am tired of reading about and hearing about kids who “had” so much potential. It’s time for us to help them reach it.
On the positive side, he was a student athlete at a local college and was set to attend a four-year college on a scholarship…next month. That amazing opportunity died with him, and what a tragedy that is. Here was a kid who had enormous potential…there was even talk of a possible NFL career in his future, but that is a dream that he didn’t get the chance to realize. Why? Because some unidentified person decided that the issue that they had between them was worth killing him for. What can be so terrible as to drive one to take the life of another? How can we help our youth understand the value of human life? How can we get them to value their own lives and see a future filled with opportunity? Those questions have perplexed me for quite some time now.
Life in the “hood” has rules and norms of its own. In the “hood” many of our kids are willing to die for respect, and will risk going to jail for being disrespected. Some kids feel forced into negativity because the alternative is to be victimized by those who have embraced the thug mentality. It is here in the hood that statistics of high school drop outs, teenage pregnancy, gang activity, rampant drug and alcohol use, and kids dying too young cloud the vision and ability to dream. In the hood, there’s a state of emergency—because reality is killing dreams.
Who’s to blame though? Is it the parent of the kid who does the shooting? Did they do a poor job at raising their child? Are they too busy to pay attention to what’s going on with their child? Certainly there must be some signs that you have a child capable of such a heinous act. Is it the fault of the youth because they get themselves into situations and don’t know how to walk away? It should be easy to apologize, or at least agree to disagree, right? Is it the schools for not providing a curriculum that helps kids unveil their hidden talents, skills and abilities? Wouldn’t kids be willing to “do the right thing” if they had a clearer path to prosperity? Is it the media? Are these television, movie, and musical images dooming our kids to pursue the wrong things? Are they hypnotized and mesmerized by the facade?
I don’t know who’s to blame…and I’m not even sure if it matters. I just know that there has to be a way that collectively WE can be a part of changing this phenomenon. It’s such a huge undertaking that it overwhelms me to think about our ability to be successful. However, pointing blame, talking about the problem without offering action-oriented solutions, and ignoring the issues because they are not directly affecting our lives is unacceptable. So how do we do it? One kid at a time. Leave the comfort and convenience of your life and environment and get involved. Volunteer. Mentor. Donate to a charitable organization that works with at-risk youth. Reach out to a parent that may need advice. Please, just commit to doing something. I am tired of reading about and hearing about kids who “had” so much potential. It’s time for us to help them reach it.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
A Matter of Time...
“It seems like it was just yesterday.” “Time sure does fly.” “Time brings on change.” “I don’t know where the time has gone.” These are phrases we all know too well. But lately, I’ve really been thinking about time. How fast it passes, how much it changes, and how much it’s taken for granted. It seems like just yesterday I was a teenage girl coping with the death of one of my dearest friends. In that moment, tomorrow didn’t matter. Yesterday was all I could hope for. I remember naming my friend’s daughter. I haven’t seen her since our falling out just before her wedding… I wonder if her daughter knows my name. I remember being so excited to bottle feed my nephew. I’d examine his little fingers and toes while shaking him gently. Now he’s old enough to drink, he’s twenty-one. Five, four, three, twenty one…I remember playing that jump rope game with all of my friends in the double building. That was twenty five to thirty years ago, way back when Filippo Totti jeans and travel fox were in style. That takes me back to when Coca-Cola shirts, Spotbilts, Suspenders, “Yo Baby Yo Baby Yo…Good to Go” sweatshirts and acid washed everything were the fashion trends.
I remember the excitement of graduating from high school, going off to college, and turning 18. I remember when I thought that being 18 was being grown. Now I’m older and I know better.It seems like just yesterday I gave birth to a ten pound baby boy—after forty six hours of labor. Those 2,760 minutes seem so insignificant when compared to the sixteen years of watching him grow. Oh how time flies! Yes, I remember when my boyfriend had a high top fade, and then a bald fade. Now he’s my husband and he’s rockin’ a baldy. Yep…time brings on a change. I remember when my mother would break my neck if I said anything with the wrong tone, or the wrong choice of words. Now, her grandchildren can do no wrong. I remember when I was worried because my toddler wasn’t talking. Now he’s seven and learning a second language. A minute ago, I was changing his diaper, now he's closing the door on my nose for privacy. Sadly, I remember when my sister called to tell me that my brother had been killed. I felt like a part of me died the second she told me. That was five years ago and I’m still here...life goes on. I can't fprget the 1994 New York Knicks. Who could forget? “Go New York, Go New York, Go…” Was that really ’94? Yep. Indeed it was. I remember being upset whenever I got I.D.’d at a club or at a bar. Now I’m aggravated if they don’t ask for it. It seems like just yesterday that my mom was referring to me as her “baby girl.” Well ok…that was yesterday.
Seriously though, where has the time gone? It’s as if I blinked and people changed, the world changed, and more importantly, my prospective changed. So many things that seemed important twenty years ago are irrelevant now. So many things that happened that seemed to bring my world to a complete halt have become easier to live with…or without. Sure, there have been missed opportunities, mistakes, even regrets. But at the end of the day, I survived. There’s a lot that changes, but life goes on.
With that in mind, I’m going to work on enjoying the moment and not taking anything or anyone for granted. I’m going to work on letting go of things that won’t matter twenty years from now…and those that shouldn’t matter tomorrow. I’m going to take care of those things that matter as if they won’t be here tomorrow. After all, tomorrow isn’t promised...and death has a way of making life choices seem so insignificant. I’m going to work on making every experience meaningful and memorable. Life has no do-overs. Mike said it best…”This is it.” Contrary to popular belief, thirty is not the new twenty, and forty ain’t nothin’ but the old thiry-nine. So I plan to live my life like it’s golden…’cause it’s all I have--and every day, I’m running out of time.
My best friend gave me a watch for my birthday and she wrote in the card that I should take “time” for me. You know…that’s exactly what I intend to do!
I remember the excitement of graduating from high school, going off to college, and turning 18. I remember when I thought that being 18 was being grown. Now I’m older and I know better.It seems like just yesterday I gave birth to a ten pound baby boy—after forty six hours of labor. Those 2,760 minutes seem so insignificant when compared to the sixteen years of watching him grow. Oh how time flies! Yes, I remember when my boyfriend had a high top fade, and then a bald fade. Now he’s my husband and he’s rockin’ a baldy. Yep…time brings on a change. I remember when my mother would break my neck if I said anything with the wrong tone, or the wrong choice of words. Now, her grandchildren can do no wrong. I remember when I was worried because my toddler wasn’t talking. Now he’s seven and learning a second language. A minute ago, I was changing his diaper, now he's closing the door on my nose for privacy. Sadly, I remember when my sister called to tell me that my brother had been killed. I felt like a part of me died the second she told me. That was five years ago and I’m still here...life goes on. I can't fprget the 1994 New York Knicks. Who could forget? “Go New York, Go New York, Go…” Was that really ’94? Yep. Indeed it was. I remember being upset whenever I got I.D.’d at a club or at a bar. Now I’m aggravated if they don’t ask for it. It seems like just yesterday that my mom was referring to me as her “baby girl.” Well ok…that was yesterday.
Seriously though, where has the time gone? It’s as if I blinked and people changed, the world changed, and more importantly, my prospective changed. So many things that seemed important twenty years ago are irrelevant now. So many things that happened that seemed to bring my world to a complete halt have become easier to live with…or without. Sure, there have been missed opportunities, mistakes, even regrets. But at the end of the day, I survived. There’s a lot that changes, but life goes on.
With that in mind, I’m going to work on enjoying the moment and not taking anything or anyone for granted. I’m going to work on letting go of things that won’t matter twenty years from now…and those that shouldn’t matter tomorrow. I’m going to take care of those things that matter as if they won’t be here tomorrow. After all, tomorrow isn’t promised...and death has a way of making life choices seem so insignificant. I’m going to work on making every experience meaningful and memorable. Life has no do-overs. Mike said it best…”This is it.” Contrary to popular belief, thirty is not the new twenty, and forty ain’t nothin’ but the old thiry-nine. So I plan to live my life like it’s golden…’cause it’s all I have--and every day, I’m running out of time.
My best friend gave me a watch for my birthday and she wrote in the card that I should take “time” for me. You know…that’s exactly what I intend to do!
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