The Guilt of my Skin

I grew up with my dad and his parents, my grandparents on my dad’s side. My parents divorced when I was no older than three years of age. My dad won custody. I still got to visit my mom on occasion before turning eighteen. The reason I mention this comes down to socioeconomics. My dad was an attorney making above average money. My dad’s parents had a lot of money stored up.

My dad, and that set of grammy and grampy would fly from Arizona to Florida often as I grew up. That grammy and grampy has a daughter, my dad’s sister, my aunt. She was and is still married to the same man, they wound up having two amazing children. We went to visit our extended family, and, we went to visit Disney World, Busch Gardens, any movie theater we pleased. We vacationed somewhere in Florida once a year.

When we would visit we would sometimes stay at a club hotel place. Located right down the road from my aunt and uncle, it was an easy way for us re-group without hassle. It was also a quant place to stay in. Wasn’t that big at all, maybe a total of thirty guest rooms, give or take.

Saturday and Sunday morning a black lady would arrive to be the breakfast/brunch chef on duty. She made omelettes. Some of the best omelettes I’ve ever had.

I first saw this woman when I was no more than the age of ten or eleven. First impressions were amazing. She had a thick, heavy Southern accent. Her voice was so kind, so…unconditional in her love was what I now realize she was about. Something about me at that young age she appreciated. She probably could tell I wasn’t racist, didn’t discriminate against people based on the color of their skin. She wasn’t indifferent, or bitter towards open-minded white families. I’m sure I wasn’t the only kid white fair skin she was constantly kind towards. However, when I saw her and we talked, I felt like I was special.

You see, I don’t think I can really remember seeing black people out and about where I grew up at in Arizona. If I did it was a grocery shopper in passing- nothing memorable about the experiences with black folks in Arizona growing up.

So when I realized this woman was an American with African heritage, and she loved me like I was her own child… Well, it’s still important to me over two decades later to make an entire post about this woman. A name is just a word to identify certain humans. Lots of us share the same name. Yet each person named Chris is ever so different. I don’t feel ashamed, or embarrassed by not being able to recall her name. I can see her face, her body, her chef’s outfit with a chef’s hat. That she always was smiling.

The last time I saw this amazing person I doubt I’ll ever forget was when I was twenty-one or twenty-two. That’s over fourteen years ago now, crazy… Anyway, I was now a young man. No longer was I a little boy.

Did I mention she had a son about my age? She did. Some other things I might guess about her was maybe she didn’t have a lot of money. She probably made just enough to get by- maybe sometimes enduring through loss most people have never experienced. She continued to endure. I don’t know how her son was the last time I saw her. Now I wonder if maybe he’d made some mistakes and been in trouble with the law. No way to tell at this point.

That last time was different. She was still sweet, and kind. Although it was the bare minimum. Again, I wonder if she in fact gave most who she served the bare minimum. I don’t know.

What I think happened was she saw me still living the good life. Maybe she guessed I was getting away with more than her son because of my socioeconomic standing as it related to that side of my family. Also maybe that I for sure was given more chances, had many many more opportunities available than her or her son. That her son never was able to have the same opportunities. Most parents want nothing more than for their children to have opportunities provided to them they did not have. And I’m sure it hurts a single mother…To see some well off young man, in comparison to her son. I think I was old enough that it just made her sad inside. Sad that her son would have to go above and beyond, to have even a chance at the same opportunities that were handed to me freely. I didn’t have to earn most of my opportunities until recently, since about three or four years ago.

Even today I’m afforded what most would consider magnificent blessings and opportunities. It’s all coming together inside my mind my heart and my spirit. I want to deliver products that amaze, inspire. I want people to feel the passion when they read what I write or see what I say.

I continue to write so that I’m more often hitting the mark. Out of ten thousand words, six thousand words were amazing, on that first draft. If I keep at it I’m going to improve. I’ll put out good stuff on a more frequent basis. Even if I tweet a message or two per day, I want to maintain the positive energy every day moving forward.

I want it what I put out to be free for the most part. Easy to find. Easy to access. Easy to view. Easy to read. I want it to be a simple appeal. A modest attraction you find you enjoy seeing on a regular basis.

I will continue to build on what I’ve learned. I will be open to learn new useful information.

I plan to be someone who helps that chef who made omelettes. I want to help her son.

Real help takes more than gifting someone else with money. Sure, money as a gift that doesn’t need a return from the giver is an amazing thing in itself. If people don’t know how to go about life with unfair circumstances, or they do, but could use some motivation and inspiration to keep going. That I care about people who are seen as minorities. People without much way to bring in enough money. People who question giving up on life.

I cannot save a life. I don’t know how to save or rescue someone from the pain each of us experiences.

I know that the pain is temporary. And, circumstances can can. New circumstances can arise. People aren’t doomed to a lifetime of hardship and tribulations.

Keep looking for ways to make your dream happen. There are plenty of ways to earn money from a job on the side. Those side hustles do add up. Compound the interest. Find what misery you’re comfortable with, and you’ll be alright. Jerry Seinfeld said that in response to a statement made by Howard Stern. Jerry went on to say that finding the misery I am comfortable can apply to my friends, my job, my life partner, people in general.

The misery I’m comfortable with comes down to my attitude.

I’m in a naturally good place when and after I write. I’ll never tire from writing whatever I feel like writing. I also write stuff I don’t necessarily want to write. I sometimes babble on and it’s unnecessary, and maybe to you it seems miserable. It is, I’m still content within rambling on and on.

I want to create a workshop for those who want to live their best life. There are people whose best lives includes a job that doesn’t pay the big money. These people are comfortable where they’re at. I’m sure that lady overcame so much I don’t know about to get where she was when I met her.

How can I create a system that helps individuals like this mother’s son? Maybe he went on to do amazing things, and she is happy today for all of her child’s accomplishments.

On the moments I can gain exposure I want to be ready. I want to have a system in plan. Help others start with the basics of personal success. Illustrate and show through various examples how to overcome adversity. How to not let anyone steal one’s inner contentment, inner peace. Build on top of, compound interest.

I will. For now I think my phone is charged enough. I want to read some books on my kindle app on my phone. Or a book, at least.

See ya next time

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