I remember Mississippi. And I remember my Uncle Ben.
Sometimes, I talk to my therapist about him.
On our trips to the South, I always tried to get close to him. He lived in this slick, double-wide trailer with hardwood floors and marble countertops on my Uncle Cummings' farm. It was the early 1990s, so his surround-sound setup seemed fresh and futuristic.
"Listen to this," he'd say and put on some old blues joints.
He wore this cologne that made him smell like hope and joy. And whenever we were done riding the ATVs on the mushy terrain during those 100-degree mornings, I'd sit on the back porch with my uncles and listen to them talk about the day ahead. One time I interrupted them and said something like, "'Oh, I'll be back 'round 'leven o'clock,'" in the faux Southern accent I only adopted when I visited them. They both looked at me like I'd committed a crime. I never used the accent again.
My Uncle Ben represented the generation of men who raised me. He was strong and independent. He'd fought in wars. He'd thrived on his own. Even as he aged, he stayed youthful. He always showed up to family events with a woman a few decades his junior. He dressed with flash that accompanied his energized spirit.
I'm grateful to those men for teaching me about resilience. I don't know how I would have overcome the greatest challenges of my life without it. They also showed me determination. Are you hurt? Get up. Keep fighting. Are you hungry? Get a job and feed yourself and those who depend on you. Are you worried? Control what you can and keep living.
That autonomy helped me achieve my dreams.It is also responsible for my ability to thrive as a single, co-parenting father of my three daughters. I have an "I got this" attitude. But what about the days I don't?