I grew up in a blue-collar town. I'm proud of many things, including:
That one neighbor kept his car on cinder blocks on his front lawn.
That we learned to play softball on a gravel field.
That my first job at 13 was to be a scorekeeper for recreational softball - 20 somethings swingin and drinkin, talkin; too close to the young thang that I was
That it was not abnormal that I had a job at 13 or that drunk men were around me
That the best job you could hope for was a steady paying one (welcome to the motor city)
That we played volleyball over a chain link fence on tarmac. Yes, a four-foot fence, but it was something to play over.
That one neighbor took in six foster kids in a three-bedroom house. And it was good, not predatory.
That one of my good friends (first people to help corrupt a good catholic girl) had and still has a brother in local government...who is way more lecherous than his brother my corrupter ever was (Hi shoemaker family!!)
That it was never abnormal to have a second job. Or work full time while going to school full time.
That any job was a good job, because it paid.
That my first friend to get pregnant was 14. And kept it. (Now that kid is 20...me with a kid that age, just think here)
That growing up I was surrounded every day by hardworking people who struggled every day for their existence. And who enjoyed life to the fullest. They didn't bitch or moan because they didn't get the latest vista upgrade. They bitched about a boss that was unfair and a wage that was cruel. They had every right.
But they let go of that shit damn quick; because they known life is short and you goddamn well better appreciate what you have.
Every day I have here is a gift. I don't forget.
The History Of Yoga
5 months ago