Riding the pinto home

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If we are to realize what is before us, sometimes we must look back.
One of my fascinations since I was first handed the keys to my first car, a Ford Pinto, I looked out from the driveway thinking, I now have the freedom to go anywhere the road takes me.
Of course, that was a little over stated in my 17-year-old mind. There was a little thing like, how do I pay for gas, insurance, tires. I had to get to work on time. I have a project due at school. I guess this means I need a parking pass at High School now.
So, freedom wasn’t really free.
Despite those limitations, I still did have the ability to go places on my own.
While the vehicle bought at auction was not the hottest ride on the teenage scene and it certainly was not going to bring about the potential of any dates.
Four wheels and an engine were much better than pedaling or being driven by a parent.
Whenever I was able to reach the outskirts of the suburban life my parent’s had built outside Atlanta back towards the Appalachian hills of home, I always breathed a little easier. The green fields and the mountains made me feel better.
As the blacktops turned to gravel or dirt, its amazing how those changes made my heart grow the desire to just sit on top of a mountain and look off into the distance.
Of course, where our folks came from, you didn’t just sit on anyone’s mountain.
When you turned up a road before long everybody knew you were there and headed his or her way.
They knew if you friend, foe, kin or a lost stranger and soon had you sized up.
Friends and kin would see folks waving. If the road was a one lane and you met another, one of you would back up until the other could pass.
That of course gave an opportunity to pass the time of day, find out how their mom and them were, how’s the fishing, if anyone was sick back up that way.
The visit might even get you an invite to dinner, or a suggestion about a neighbor needing help with some chores.
If you were foe, needless to say, the waves would turn into leering stern looks depending on how much of a foe.
Strangers were given grace to a point until they realized when they got to the end of the road, they were either at someone’s house or someone’s closed gate. Then a bit of stern kindness “Neighbor, where are you trying to get to? – Who are going to see there? – Well, let me tell you how to get there.”
As soon as they wave you out of sight, they are burning up the phone lines to check on whomever you mentioned to let them know.
No matter the experience, the country road, the mountains, the streams uplifted my spirits and strengthened my being.
While the years are long gone from those days with the Ford Pinto, I still point my vehicle towards those old familiar mountain paths. More are paved, folks don’t take the time with each other they once did, but the underlying caring still remains. The pleasant encounters, the laughing with old friends, the occasional pickin’ and grinnin’ still remain and bring me smiles of the heart! That’s something we all need. You may not find yours where I find mine, but you should look just the same until you do.
So, get on your pinto and ride man, ride.

The colors of things yet to be seen

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As I drove through the mountains last fall looking at bright yellows, deep reds and variety of greens and browns, I felt a warmness coming over me beckoning back to my childhood riding in the back seat of my parents blue 1964 Chevy Malibu as we made our way through the mountains heading to who knows where.

The adventure of travel was something that we all enjoyed, trying to find something we had not seen, something that would be an experience we could share throughout our memories.
I don’t know what it was that made those trips through the hills and hollers in full color that drew me into a sense of security while yet being awed by the change of the seasons enveloping us.
As we drove I would watch the leaves whisk around in our wake as the car sped through the countryside, often as we would unexpectedly swoop over a hill I would feel my stomach jump like being on a roller coaster.
If we travelled into the night and the temperature began to drop, I was allowed to curl up in the floorboard near the heater vent and I would drift off to sleep until my father scooped me up in his arms and took me into our destination for a night’s rest. Today, I know that is something children will never experience and probably for safety reasons for the best.
We would roll through small town after small town sometimes stopping for a visit, sometimes not, but eventually our journey would take us to somewhere we had never been before.
In a way, I guess in the modern sense this was the pioneering blood deep within our spirits that inspired the need to see something new. Unlike a generation before when travel meant horses, wagons or even train trips, if you could afford it, we were blessed with affordable gasoline and the advantage and freedom of travel by automobile as far as the roads could take us.
Unlike our forbearers, we weren’t the first to see a thing unseen by previous frontiersman, but still there was a sense of the unknown especially for me as a child.
I guess that has never left me, even as I pour over faded photos of those trips, sights that are now just a memory, I still feel that exhilaration, I see the sights through the window of that Malibu.
Even today with the higher cost of gas and travel, I still feel an excitement when I slip behind the wheel and head off to some place I have never been before. The same is true for spring and summer excursions across the country. Although after years of travel as an entertainer, I have to travel much farther away to see those unknowns but I still seek the sights.
As you travel, I hope you and your family and friends, find new sights, make new memories, and are blessed with the beauty of America byways!

 

 

Reaching back to push forward

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Life is something that we should cherish with every passing breath. Often times we do not appreciate the simplest things like the feel of cool breeze on a hot summer day; the taste of a fresh glass of homemade lemonade so cold that the outside of the glass drips; the deep red color of a vine-ripened tomato as its thinly sliced for a tomato sandwich slightly smeared with JFG mayonnaise.

This morning I have pondered along with some of my fellow writers what common ground there is between the generations of Americans that now bind us as a people. At one time it was our country’s deep agricultural heritage, the connection to the soil and what through sweat and hard work it could provide for both the sustenance and financial gain of the family.

Generations of Americans even those that lived in the cities, depended upon family farms to provide what our country needed to survive. In my lifetime, we have seen much of farming shift to larger business concerns and there has been a generation, possibly two, of individuals which have no close connection to the land, they didn’t grow up on the farm or even spend days helping their grandparents haul hay, cut okra, pick tomatoes or pull corn.

So what does this mean for the future of our country, for the preservation of our lifestyle and the heritage of our communities? Are we destined to one-day build museums dedicated to the preservation of subdivisions? What values of history are we giving the current generation? Will they look back at a tractor and ask, “What’s that?”

With generations of Americans who have little or no practical daily connection to the land, how will they sustain themselves in an emergency such as the upcoming worldwide medical pandemic that is being heralded by the media? What happens when milk can no longer be sent from the far off mega-farms of the west? I bet there aren’t many households that have shelves lined with canned goods enough to get the family through to the next growing season, as was our ancestors’ custom. What will happen to a generation with no food because there will be no way to move it from place to place?

During the worst period in this country’s history, the Great Depression, even the poorest farmer, who was not devastated by natural disaster, had some amount of food to eat. Thousands of people who lived in the cities were able to receive food in soup lines because many farmers were able to keep working the land and caring people were willing to help those in need. They all had a connection to the land.

If our state, our county, our community was totally cut off from the outside world could we survive? Do we have a plan in place to feed and meet the needs of our population? Could we create the items needed for day to day life? Do we have the people who have the knowledge to do that?

While I’ll say that I believe that many leaders have considered the possibility, I do not think that we have a plan in place that could keep our state or county functioning on its own. It will take a joint effort at a local level, community to community, neighbor to neighbor, to see that each family or person makes it through in such a situation.

Will America ever face some catastrophe that will throw us backwards in time wishing that we had a few acres to plant potatoes and a milk cow to provide some milk and a horse to ride to town? I don’t know but even if it didn’t, it probably wouldn’t hurt if everybody knew how to dig taters, which part of the cow the milk comes from and how to get it to come out and just how do you get the key in a horse’s ignition and more important where are the brakes on one of them things. Just kidding, of course I know where the brakes are.

Do I have the answers as to what the future will be like, of course not, that is only in the Hands of God. Do I have a hope as to what I would like it to be? I certainly do.

I see an America that is covered with strong communities of caring and loving individuals who give their neighbors a helping hand when its needed. They go out of their way to help pick up a man when he is down, brush him off and help him along life’s road.

I see an America where greed and crime is something that exists only in the minds of creative novelists and film directors instead of the eyes our fellow man. I see an America where you make choices that are good for all the people not just a chosen few. I see an America where when a leader actually stands up and says something he or she actually believes rather than what the public wants to hear. Where his or her words of inspiration can actually mobilize this country towards a common good of creating a world that will be something our future generations can build from rather than have to pay for.

I see an America where each community is capable of standing on its own using the talents of its citizenry and the abilities of its businesses and industries no matter what the country as a whole may have to withstand in its future.

My friends the future of America is up to each one of us, its not just the job of Washington, Atlanta, Chattanooga, the guy next door, its not just the job of the woman down the street, it takes each of us working every single day improving our community as a whole by stepping outside our comfort zones and reaching out to make a difference.

It is up to us to have our own lives prepared for emergencies and to work with our local leaders to make sure that plans are in place. It is only through preparation that we as individuals or communities can reach out and help others, secure in the knowledge that our own families and communities are safe and adequate supplies are available to meet the needs at home.

Will this generation and those that follow be less because they are further removed from America’s roots? I think as long as our society continues to head in the same direction, each generation will make their way into the brave new world but it’s the what ifs that sometime worry me and make me thankful that God is in control. But even with God’s control He expects all of us to do our part. Perhaps getting closer to and understanding the role that the land plays in our lives and making sure that that role never vanishes might be one way we can improve our little corner of the world.

Learning to be a host

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     The sun swept across the dark wood floor forming a light spot in the shape of a heart that I noticed as my mother buzzed around the room with dishes in her hand setting the table.
On the kitchen stove, pans were gurgling as meatballs simmered in a sauce, angel hair pasta boiled with a hint of basil filling the air.
The evening was close at hand and she was expecting the neighbors over for a light spaghetti dinner and an evening of cards and conversation.
In the fall prior to election, the conversation often leaned more to political strategies of mustering the neighbors and friends to get out and campaign or vote for one of the candidates my mother was sold upon, After election, the dialogue kept to local gossip and plans for the holidays.
For me an evening such as this meant I would be relegated to the children’s table for supper and the other children and I would be occupying us in another room with a board game of some nature.
While I didn’t mind these evenings generally. Unfortunately, often times my mother’s friends had an abundance of female children. While I guess that wasn’t unfortunate to them, for me, that meant in addition to being relegated to eating with them at the children’s table and minding my manners, I would have to mind my manners all evening as we played. With the girls, there was no running like wild Indians, no rough housing, we played civilized games such as Go Fish, Monopoly, Operation, Life or whichever board game suited my guest’s fancies.
Cheating was out of the question in these circumstances. I was the host; I had to make sure everyone was following the rules including me. This action sometimes got me into some very heated discussions with my guests. I realized that sometimes girls were not the frills and lace I was led to believe as some of them would get right mean when they didn’t get their way.
If it had been a guy, we could have settled our differences with a short wrestling match or a few exchanged fists, with the victor getting their way in the disagreement and the game continued. You couldn’t do that with the girls. They might have won and then I would have never heard the end of it. Of course, I am kidding, I was taught not to fight with a girl, even though a few of them needed a whoopin’, I would have to leave that to their folks.
Now that is not to say a girl didn’t hit me a couple of times in these engagements. They did and then they would escape to the safety of the living room where the adults were engaged in civilized pursuits.
Did I ever do the same, well, let’s just say, I usually found a way to get even by pulling a return prank of some description.
After all it was my job to see all the kids had a good time. If one was acting out of line, thee best way to accomplish a good time were to bring the askew kid back into plum with the rest of us. Sometimes that took some creative comeupens.
Despite whether my guests were female or male, I did always enjoy these times when I was asked to entertain. It was an opportunity to learn some of the basic expectations for treating friends in your home,
So friends, have you taught your children and grandchildren how to be a host. Not just a friend but also a host in their home.
Depending on your customs and traditions, such a skill can lay the groundwork for opportunities in which they will serve both in their lives and at work.

Overcome the news, look close to home

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If you watch a lot of news reports, especially since many stories air over and over again at noon, 5:00, 5:30, 6:00 and 11:00, you may soon come to believe that the world is in terrible trouble. Violence, crime and tragedies permeate everywhere you look. How many of you have asked, “What is the world coming to?”

I have heard that one of the first things some therapists do to treat depression is encourage the patient to stop watching the news. Amazingly, it often helps.

People often carry the weight of what they see and hear in the news with them. They worry about the family who lost their home to a fire, the child who disappeared from his home, the children of a mother killed by a drunk driver, the elderly woman who was the victim of a robbery, and the victims of plagues or violence of war.

Have you ever heard someone say, “People just don’t care about others anymore.” I think some do not, but the majority of people does care. I think people earnestly care, but often do not know what to do about it or do not think they have the time.

In my past career as a journalist, I had an opportunity to read through a volume of news, good and bad. There were a number of tragedies in the pages, sadness because of loss of family and friends, crimes throughout our county and the like.

Also within those pages were stories of people who do care. People who went the extra mile to make a difference. People who were honored with awards for their service. Public servants who try their best to serve the people to the best of their abilities.

Where I have found the greatest nature of caring is not in the big headlines and the artistic photos but within the community calendar each week. There are organizations needing volunteers to help relieve many of the horrors that are reported on the evening news.

I would like to encourage you to take the time to read these. You can make a difference right in your hometown. It might be something as little as buying a suitcase to donate through to a new foster child so he/she will have a place to keep their belongings rather than in a paper sack. It might be giving time a Literacy program to help someone read, or just to watch folks children while they learn. It might be giving blood to help an accident victim. It might be cleaning out your closet to donate items that can be used by someone else, which provides help to area families in need. These are just a few of dozens of groups and organizations that are included in community calendars. By sharing a few hours a week, or just an hour every now and then, you could really make a dent in making our world a better place.

Life is only made better by the efforts of the hands and feet of those that care. Our world is filled with worries, concerns, problems that we cannot solve. Within our abilities maybe we can make a dent in a need near our home. We generally cannot even aide in the issues that fly across our screens as thanks to connectiveness we are visually able to see misery at the four corners of the earth. But at our own back door, through our own windows the needs are great and we can strive to one by one make those needs evaporate.

I hope all of you can find something within your local news that makes you feel good about the community you call home. I hope the good news within these pages always outweighs the bad.

Words can inspire in many forms

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Writing is a constant companion to me. It has been since my early days in school. Perhaps it is something in the genetic make up passed along similarly as in my more well-known cousins whose works have inspired the world – Mark Twain, Agatha Christie, Robert Louis Stevenson, Emily Dickinson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, T.S. Eliot, and Edgar Allan Poe.

My efforts to string words upon a page so readers can cast their eyes and evoke a stream of thought or create an emotion, pale in comparison to the least of theirs.

For those of you who have journeyed with me in my 23 years of creating this column, I thank you for sharing your time in my continuing opportunity to reach you with what flows from my heart and mind.

Many of you have delved a bit farther by reading one of my non-fiction books or even my mystery “A Badge or an Old Guitar.” This year I plan to take readers into a new place with my novella “Southern Crossing” and hopefully inspire with a devotional.

My tenth book recently came out and it was my third co-author. I spent a year with 93-year-old former Ringgold, Ga. Mayor Joe Barger and his wife Barbara. My earlier works in this area were with entertainers Ramblin’ “Doc” Tommy Scott and Violet Hensley. A foray into metallurgical engineering, his occupation, was a stretch for me although I easily grasp the area of government and politics he also inhabited for 48 years.

“I worked closely with Randall while I was mayor, I knew there was no one I trusted more to help me chronicle my 93 years and share Barbara’s and my story,” he said in an interview following its release.

Hearing this was uplifting to me. Joe and I served side by side for six years on the city council. I was his vice mayor. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but we found the best way forward for our city’s residents and businesses.

As part of the book, I spent weeks at the city hall. I read all the minutes from his 48 years in office and transcribed what I felt he might like to share and then we worked through the years adding context and stories about the people he worked with and those that lived in the town.

He was introduced to Ringgold by joining a college friend on a trip back home in the 1950s. He would later land a job with Combustion Engineering in Chattanooga, Tenn. which began his passion for metallurgy, he said.

Though the North Carolinian loved serving his neighbors, he wanted to write about his professional experiences as a metallurgical engineer to share some of his wisdom with future generations of welders.

“There were so many lessons that I learned as Combustion Engineering allowed me to develop new patents on so many applications to enhance what we did in nuclear energy development,” he said. “And there are many simple aspects of welding that I thought might help other young welders. I wanted to write some of that down.”

After serving in army intelligence during the Korean War, Barger returned to Ringgold to marry the love of his life and regain his position at Combustion, he said.

“My job took me around the world solving problems and sharing the success of what we were doing for Combustion in Chattanooga,” he said. “I couldn’t asked for a better company to work for or a better bunch of people to work beside helping light up the world.”

Working closely with Joe and Barbara on this book has been one of the greatest experiences in my life.

Their story is in many ways, the story of small town America. I think his book will be a great resource for anyone who might like to look back at what Ringgold was and how it got to where it is today.

“Testing the Metal of Life: The Joe Barger Story” by Joe Barger and Randall Franks is a 496-page book featuring over 550 photos and is available at www.RandallFranks.com/Joe-Barger .

Future or past, which has more?

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My brother asked me, ‘Are you living in the past?’ I often do find myself lingering within my memories. As time passes, I think it is easy to place more emphasis on what has gone by in your life than what is ahead.
That is probably especially so for someone who spends a great deal of time writing. You depend on your memories of experiences, people, places to bring your writing to life, add color, excitement and depth.
You think about the summer days running through a spraying sprinkler with friends with slippery green grass beneath you bare feet. A call from the porch brings us running and dripping as my folks cut up an ice cold watermelon on the back porch handing a piece to each of the kids. As we smiled while chewing it to the deep green rind the red juice ran down our faces and hands leaving us so sticky but oh so satisfied.
Standing outside the closed green apartment door, I wait for my first date or someone to answer it. I’m afraid that I might do something that would embarrass her or myself in some way as the evening progressed. And finally when the evening was a success, after finding that I didn’t make a fool of myself. I realized there was some hope she might actually like me.
Looking out from behind the deep burgundy curtains to see one of the first audiences for which I would perform at my elementary school, feeling my heart beat faster and faster; hearing the parents and students talk among themselves as the curtain came close to the opening.
The smell of diesel fills the air. I’m standing outside the tour bus anxiously waiting to catch a glimpse or maybe even shake the hand of an icon. He’s about to enter the Cathedral Caverns to record an album. I had not yet met the man who would play such a huge role in my life. His name was Bill Monroe.
Looking across a wooded area where we were filming a TV show, I was waiting to see the arrival of television icon Carroll O’Connor. I could have never imagined the impact the steps he took into my life that day could change the rest of my life.
Holding the hands of my father and mother as they stepped through to the other side, I remember them leaving their shared memories, deepest cares, greatest concerns, highest hopes and wonderful dreams with me.
A few years back, I wrote a book series called Encouragers that has kept me embedded in the past for about three years. It provided me with some wonderful times folding myself into the past. It can be a great inspiration to look back and it can also bring great sorrow if one dwells too much on what is gone rather than what is to be.
With the conclusion of the writing stage of of my three-book Encouragers series: Finding the Light; Walking with the Masters; A Guiding Hand; I was hopeful and excited to look towards the future to create new opportunities, new adventures and new memories to write about.
Each day that dawns gives us the chance to write another chapter in our life or the life of another we may not even have met yet. Will you use this day to create a great adventure and make a difference? I am going to do my best to achieve that same goal, I hope you do too!

A laugh to make life worthwhile

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When I find myself frustrated with the things that come my way, there are always two places I go. First, I go to the word of God; secondly, I go to God’s gift to the world — comedy. God must have a sense of humor; just look at all the great things he gives us to laugh at.

When I was little, I always looked forward to “The Red Skelton Show.” When the network finally took it off, I remember being very upset. I remember literally rolling in the floor and laughing, ‘til it hurt, at the routines and characters of this master entertainer.

As a musician, the craftsmanship of musical comedy by Victor Borge still fascinates me.

These skilled conveyors of mirth made me and millions of others laugh without bad language, lewd comments or off-color humor.

So many people have made me feel better in my life with just a few minutes of their artistry.

The situation comedies that I have seen a thousand times still can take me away and lighten my heart, shows like “The Beverly Hillbillies.” The network did not envision the impact those characters would have on America and the world. I am blessed to know Donna Douglas “Elly Mae Clampett.” She and Buddy Ebsen, Max Baer, Jr., and Irene Ryan have brought me endless hours of feeling good.

Irene Ryan’s “Granny” became so much a part of my childhood that her real life passing affected me as if she was a member of my family. I still have the newspaper clipping in my Bible after all these years.

She had worked a lifetime enjoying many successes, but it was not until God opened the door for her to play “Granny” that she lifted millions around the world out of their problems for a few minutes a day. I just have to think about some of the outlandish things that she, the Hillbillies and their support cast did to bring me out of the doldrums.

Saturday nights at seven at our house were the “Hee Haw” hour. It would be impossible to list all the wonderful cast members of that show.

Grandpa Jones, Minnie Pearl, Junior Samples, Archie Campbell, Gordy Tapp, Roni Stoneman and the entire cast could take the corniest routines and bring them life. They made Saturdays at seven something to look forward to.

I would be remiss not to mention the comedy talent of all the cast of “The Andy Griffith Show.” Don Knotts’ unique ability to take the simplest sentence or reaction and make it funny is an amazement. If there were comedic actors like that today, new television comedies might be worth watching.

I did enjoy the sit-com  “Frazier” in the early 2000s also. Those actors truly are superb with the material the writers gave them, but I still would rather see Andy, Opie and all the gang.

I was once told that as an entertainer it is our job to take folks away from their problems, whether with a three-minute song, an hour-long television show or a live appearance.

I hope that my walk down memory lane with some of my favorite comedy people may have helped you think of something that makes you laugh, and thus makes you feel a whole lot better. I know I do.

Where are we headed?

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Freedom of movement is an opportunity many Americans take for
granted.
If you have the money, you can travel by bus or train to points
around the continent and via plane or ship overseas. A personal car
or truck is also a blessing to those who may have the means of
purchase, upkeep, gas and oil.

For generations back to people moving around on bear feet, then
horses, donkeys and mules, when our ancestors took the notion, they
simply packed a few items and point.

Movement was so important to the Ancient Romans; they built roads
connecting points around the empire. Feet carried merchants,
soldiers, slaves and free citizens to places they never imagined.

I remember growing up around folks who seldom travel farther than a
day’s walk or horse ride from home. In fact, taking the annual or
bi-annual production of the farm or hunting was often the longest
trip seen.

With the addition of Mr. Ford’s affordable vehicles to the mix, the
common man could venture beyond their normal circumstances. People
who had never seen a city, the mountains, the deserts, and the sea
were able to do so at their own speed. They were no longer tied to
the cost of a ticket, a stagecoach, or a train, or later the bus.

I remember traveling on the Greyhound and Trailway buses. I even took
two extended passenger train trips. It was generally a cheaper way if
your family couldn’t afford a car or couldn’t spare it to take a
trip away.

As I look upon the landscape of what we see around us, I have the
feeling that there are those who wish to catapult those of us with
little back to the days when we are confined to where our feet might
carry us and no farther. Vehicles are becoming so expensive, for
many, they will not be able to have one. Passenger trains are being
heralded as a future option in my region again, I imagine they will
rebuild all the bus and train stations as they push us further back
in historical practice.

In the early days of vehicles, there were all kinds of ones being
invented. There were some pretty durable electric cars in that first
30 years. Once again, they are pushing us that direction, but to me
their ability for durability, reliability, providing power, is a pipe
dream. I watched a report about a man whose car was recently stranded
where he was vacationing due to extreme cold and an inability of
charging stations to work. He had to find another way home and have
it shipped back.

Men, women, families are amazingly resilient. We have survived for
thousands of years. We have migrated throughout the world on foot
before the first wheel was invented. Then the four-legged animals
joined us in our efforts making travel better. With each leap
forward, we went farther, but our feet still came along for the ride.
While there are segments of our world looking to carry us towards the
stars, there are others wishing to limit our freedom of movement and
keep us within 15 minutes of our home for most of our life. They will
have various reasons, none of which matter in the spectrum of human
history. Ultimately, it will be the freedom of the human spirit that
will decide, where we go, and when. The how may take us backwards, or
it may take us farther than we imagined. Either way, we humans will
maintain our freedom of movement; it’s a natural as breathing. We
will.

Living Up to Family Legacies

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One is the sum of all that creates what you are – genes, heritage,
education, experience, wisdom, history, and view. Though I come from
meager Appalachian beginnings – God fearing parents and
grandparents who worked and dreamed for better for their children.
God has opened doors for me beyond my wildest dreams.
Within my genes He imprinted the memories of generations past that
reached to the corners of the world in every imaginable way – as
pilgrims, sea captains, explorers, clergy, merchants, founders,
musicians, soldiers, actors, writers, teachers, generals, peasants,
slaves, lords, ladies, kings, queens, and emperors.
From the days before the Roman Empire we have touched those who have
had a hand in forging the human collective forward. Across the world,
I can point to historical elements that weave their way into my
people, my life. I could stand at the feet of statues of many of them
in cities I hope one day to visit; or outside castles, palaces, or
buildings they have built that remain as a testament to their lives.
There were some good people, some bad, and many in between. In life,
He has allowed me to come to know many of their achievements that
have inspired me to strive to create my own and to learn from their
failures and follies.
In my three score and ten, I may not change the world as many of my
grandparents, uncles and aunts did. I may not lead great nations, nor
forge great conquests with my armies as many of them did. I may not
inspire religious dedication bringing the faithful to believe and
serve as some of them did.
I will do though, what is within my power to continue carrying the
light of the family spark each and every day. For centuries the spark
passed, it has inspired men to the call of battle; it inspired men to
write and say words that changed the direction of the world.
I pray just one line I write, one performance I share, one person I
inspire holds fast with the impact as long as some of my
grandfathers’ and grandmother’s actions continuing their tradition.
I am blessed to be a descendant of many great men and women. We all
owe those behind us a great debt for what they gave us.
Take the time to remember and learn from them.