This “30 Days of Truth” thing is kind of hard. Really, it is. Don’t believe me? Try it for yourself. Contrary to popular belief, I truly despise talking (or writing) about myself. I struggle to find the right tone. I fail to come up with anything interesting. Anyway, as usual, I am just rambling about random shit. Now, on to the next truth!
Day 2-Something you love about yourself
Something I love about myself, huh? Well, besides the fact that I am pretty fly for a white guy, I consider myself to be an extremely loyal person. My loyalty is often unmatched by anyone I know. This sounds really conceited of me, but it’s the truth. If I have accepted you into my life, I accept everything about you. Period, point, blank. No matter what you do or what you do to me, I will always be by your side. This is both a gift and a curse. I put up with A LOT of shit that people might think are total deal breakers. Now, that might make me sound like I am stupid or naive, but it’s actually quite the opposite. I am not a total dumbass. I know what’s going on most of the time. I just figure if I’ve let you into my life, there is a reason for you to be there. In my mind, I hope that you’ll be as loyal to me as I am to you. That doesn’t always happen, but I am always willing to give you the benefit of the doubt no matter what.
Not to get all psychological on you, but I truly believe my loyalty has been entrenched in me since childhood. I grew up with just my little sister and my mother around. Just us three. If you’ve ever grown up in that type of situation, you learn to cherish and respect loyalty. Watching a single mother work two jobs to provide for her two children teaches you the utmost respect for how much loyalty there is in this world. Many nights, I would watch my mother come in after a double shift at the local restaurant chain. Her hair would smell like grease. Her feet ached from 14 non-stop hours of standing on her feet. Still, the first thing she would do? Ask my sister and I, “How was your day?” Even at a young age, I knew she hurt. I could see the years of physical pain catch up to her as she limped down the hallway past my door. I could see the decades of emotional loss behind the specks of gray and blue in her eyes. Nothing that happened to her that day mattered anymore. The previous 14 hours seemed to melt away as my sister and I jabbered on about our respective days. She knew she was safe now. She was at home, with the two people that adored her the most. For the first time all day, should could breathe. My sister and I were her air. This I knew because no matter how bumpy the road was, she always reminded us just how important we were to her.
A lot of people looked down on us because we were that “broken home”. Sure, we weren’t that prototypical nuclear family of four. There wasn’t a white picket fence. There wasn’t a dog in the backyard. What we lacked in appearances, we made up in love. And actually, in reality, there wasn’t a thing broken about us at all. “Broken” was a label for outsiders who didn’t understand. A way for them to categorize us as something different than the socially accepted norm. But we knew exactly who we were. We didn’t need labels, white fences, or extravagant things. We didn’t need anything else to feel complete. Our family unit was tight-knit. Collectively hellbent on protecting each other at no cost, with no regard for our own happiness or safety. At the end of each day, we always knew we could count on each other even when we couldn’t count on much else. Through thick, thin, heartbreak and happiness, we had each others backs. Even at the age of thirty, I know that stands true today. And if that isn’t loyalty, I don’t know what is.