Tears flooded as I was looking back on my home knowing it was the last time I would see it. My brother Leon kept telling me, "It's okay to cry. " But he wasn't. Maybe that's what big brothers are supposed to do.
Every soaked step he took made the house get smaller and smaller, yet the emotional anguish grew greater and greater. Leon wouldn't even tell me where we were going, but I knew it couldn't be good.
The same kid that wouldn't hold my hand in a grocery store parking lot if a tank were coming was carrying me down my street.
He didn't say much for the most part. Every time he had to position me better in his arms, he would grunt, but the longer we walked for, the more and more I doubted he was "grunting" at all.
Just last week he had me pinned to the ground, WWE style, trying to get me to say, "Mercy," "Uncle," and "Who's Your Daddy?" Before I submitted (like always), I put up a good fight. I took him by surprise and actually mounted him in an effort to pin his arms down. He was just too strong though and with a grunt and surge of energy, I was face-up yet again.
That grunt was manly, masculine. This isn't the same. It seems to be concealing something inside. I even heard a little "puberty squeak" in there once.
Nevertheless, I don't know who has it better. Leon, who faces forward and never looks back, or me, who is forced to only look back.
Maybe this was what Grandpa Williams was always talking about. He always told us, "To be a true man, you must never stop gaining ground, while never forgetting where you came from."
Every soaked step he took made the house get smaller and smaller, yet the emotional anguish grew greater and greater. Leon wouldn't even tell me where we were going, but I knew it couldn't be good.
The same kid that wouldn't hold my hand in a grocery store parking lot if a tank were coming was carrying me down my street.
He didn't say much for the most part. Every time he had to position me better in his arms, he would grunt, but the longer we walked for, the more and more I doubted he was "grunting" at all.
Just last week he had me pinned to the ground, WWE style, trying to get me to say, "Mercy," "Uncle," and "Who's Your Daddy?" Before I submitted (like always), I put up a good fight. I took him by surprise and actually mounted him in an effort to pin his arms down. He was just too strong though and with a grunt and surge of energy, I was face-up yet again.
That grunt was manly, masculine. This isn't the same. It seems to be concealing something inside. I even heard a little "puberty squeak" in there once.
Nevertheless, I don't know who has it better. Leon, who faces forward and never looks back, or me, who is forced to only look back.
Maybe this was what Grandpa Williams was always talking about. He always told us, "To be a true man, you must never stop gaining ground, while never forgetting where you came from."
He also told us never be afraid to cry.
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