I remember when I was 10, I was waiting for my mom to pick me up from school. I was standing with a bunch of my schoolmates and my mom finally showed up. When she did, I was eager to go home. One of the girls standing nearby made an offhand comment, “is that your grandma?” I immediately fell silent.
Both my ma and my dad are much older then your average parent. And my insecurity about it would span into my adolescence. I was ashamed that my parents were old, ashamed that my father was not an able bodied man. This is even when no one ever made spiteful comments about it.
Funny thing is, I don’t even remember most of the faces of those that made these observational comments. I don’t remember because it don’t matter who made those remarks. And when I was unable to answer the question, “what does your daddy do?” because he’s retired and I had tears well up in my eye because of it, that’s a part of me. Those are my roots. And the further I reach despite shortcomings, the more significant they my achievements become.
In the end you do what you gotta do, go where you gotta go, achieve what you were meant to achieve & you always remember your roots. You’re defining moments are often hidden away in mundane archives. And how can you instill change into the world without first examining yourself in the mirror?