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(A piece of paper fell from the rocking chair. It was a folded piece of paper. Below was what was written inside. . .)
I was never taught not to care about what other people thought about me.
I was never taught patience, kindness, and gentleness.
I was never taught that credit was more important than strip club spending, or that the only significant air Air Force One I needed to be knowledgeable about was the one that would take me to the hoop.
But I was certainly taught that the dirtiest dog gets the bone. That the world sees color. And that Jesus was too good to be black. I was certainly taught that the more girls the better, that Weedsmoke is the best smoke, and that a desert eagle solves all of my problems.
Ok, Ok. Foster care reared a little discipline somewhere in there.
Then, education gave me a glimpse into the way the white man does things.
More education gave me a glimpse into how the government does things.
And more education gave me a glimpse into how the white man and the government rule the world.
All of a sudden, education (everyone respects degrees, right?) + foster care (because animals need taming) + black = 1,000 broken mirrors.
It's a shame I can't see who I am. I'm spending too much time basking in your image.
That'll certainly cause me many, many problems...
I sat in my rocking chair today. It's a significant event for me because I hardly ever slow down to sit in my rocking chair.
My rocking chair wears many hats. It takes my postural instabilities, and for a moment, makes them feel as if I've never had them. My rocking chair compresses my problems. My worries. My insecurities. Quite frankly, I'm surprised my rocking chair is still capable of supporting my ass.
But today, I let it all go. No, not my rocking chair. But everything I gave to it. I usually pick it all back up the moment I remove myself from my rocking chair. But today, for the first time ever, I saw everything I gave to my rocking chair fall to the ground - and disappear.
Time gave me the chance to be with my rocking chair. Time showed me how precious I was. Time showed me how transient my preciousness is. Time showed me that my rocking chair won't always be there. Time showed me that everything I gave to my rocking chair was beautiful, no matter how hard, how inconceivable, how sad, or how hideous those things appeared to be.
Because as I removed myself from the rocking chair, in a few fleeting moments, it all hit the ground. And even if my precious hand decides to pick them up again, it'll never be the same.
Time made sure of that. And it made sure to show me why it's most important.
. . . If you'd like to see some of the things I dropped from the rocking chair, start with this letter that fell first.