My parents were good people, but like the rest of us, they had their demons. My father talked about what it was like to grow-up “poor”. He got up every morning before school, put buckets on the handlebars of his bicycle, and rode up and down the alleyways of town collecting garbage to take home to feed the pigs. Because of that, the kids at school laughed at him and gave him the nickname “Slop Buckets”. Regardless of what else he did, all they saw was him on his bicycle with the buckets on the handlebars.
Dad died at age 87 after raising a family, working his way to the top in his career as a riverboat captain, and many other things proving that he was indeed a man of ability. But in our last conversations before he died, he talked once again about the pain of “Slop Buckets” that still haunted him. Dad did a lot of things in his life, but he was never able to enjoy them. Dad was never able to off of that bike.
Like dad, I’ve had my share of nicknames over the years. And like most of us, I’ve had my share of experiences that have haunted me. Of all the things my dad gave me, the one I am most grateful for is the understanding that I need to let go of those haunts that keep me from being who I truly am and “Get off the bike”. In a day when so many people are using labels as threats and weapons, dad taught me to ignore their labels, and refuse to allow them to tell me who I am. It is a daily adventure, and one I invite you to join me on.
This blog will be about that journey.
