Never Sacrifice your TRUEST-Community for Success: Or the Need to Feel Safe.

Never Sacrifice your TRUEST-Community for Success: or the need to feel safe.?

My story spans decades. I will do my best to share the details that will help you, and guide your community through the turbulent tides of challenge, change, and growth!?

I have admittedly received a high school diploma and some certification. I did attend college. I first attended college to be a cheerleader. I thought cheerleading was the answer to all my problems. I focused all of my attention on that sport and as you may already know or will one day experience for yourself, you cannot ever put all your eggs in one basket. No matter how bright and shiny that basket is! What I did do was listen, invest in myself, and take any mentorship that was offered. I like to consider my first mentor my mother. She would like me to stop being so gut-wrenchingly honest with her.?

We are on week two. Newsletter number 2. By definition, this is not a newsletter but more of a short story platform for me to spread wisdom. I won 3rd-grade UIL storytelling the year before that very skill was eliminated from the UIL list of competitions available. To me, this talent, once awarded, then overlooked and cast aside, now glorified in so many areas of my life, seems like a true waste of a now coveted skill. That is “full circle” and good self-love right there! I have been telling stories my whole life. “You’re welcome and Thank you, John-David”.?

I hope you are with me now. If?you are against me, know that I will “Never Give Up” and I have shared my most sacred source.? The GiFT, remembers Grit, Forgiveness, and True-love. With these three tools, you will never be able to give up again. Embodying these three qualities in your soul, you can weather any storm, climb any mountain, champion the change you see in your heart, and inevitably bring that change to the world that is desperately trying to heal itself. The only problem is, the next lesson tells us, you will never achieve true success alone without relying on your true community from time to time.?

Before you leave, thinking, “Wow, this guy should run for president.” which is not a compliment in my eyes, or decide, “he’s drunk,” to which I open my arms and mind to happily entertain any questions about my sobriety, if that is something you seek for yourself. Instead, imagine that I have begun facing what I will consider the last challenge of my life (I know it won’t be.) The loss of my immediate family. My first community.?

While I am blessed to still have my parents, aunt and uncle, cousins, 1st-cousins, 2nd-cousins, and other family's generational terms I may have misrepresented in “mean-girl fashion” (0.41 seconds in, you’re welcome) to add a little humor, that could be deep and dark; or light and relatable, I always have both handy. What I don’t have is my Nana. For context, Nana is my mom’s mom. She was the Chief of our beloved tribe of misfit family members and my first truest Community Leader.?

Everyone in town knew that my nana, Sandra Ann Ogle-Blackstock-Holley, was a metaphorical “pipe bomb”! Even the customer service manager at Walmart knew not to pull any policy on my nana. My nana came with an army that spanned all classes of society. Sure, it included everyone in our family, by choice or fear. It also included community members who knew the trouble and true love that my Nana has held, lost, and nurtured so close to her heart, in an effort to change the lives of our family, that’s me. Despite those delicate details, cross her, and she would unleash hell. When the proverbial fan got nailed by a Category 5-shit-storm, Nana would be there, faster than FEMA, to clean off the blades, establish blame, and move on.?

I did not know the dangerously delicate Nana everyone else smiled in fear or broke eyes in respect. I knew the “real” nana. The one that always had a space for me next to her. Whether that was in the car, in the bed, or in a fit of maniacal laughter, as she explained the interworkings of the world, and how she would “be damned, if anyone was going to hurt this family…besides me” hysterically smiling, and nodding down to her grandson, “awe” as she sees my face, misunderstanding, “I am kidding, I love you, ya little shit!”?

She would mold our family through tough love, anger, silence, humor, grand reward, and great depression. My nana was also known to destroy worlds seemingly in a heartbeat. Without regard to the mess she left behind. That is honest, but it is more than that, a child’s memory. I have sense, now. I have since begun a deep dive into my family, the first community I served.? I have found the ugliest and most beautiful thing…the truth!? Something I have found necessary in my relentless quest for understanding.?

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I remember practicing the dance for cheer camp in the summer sun. While I had fantasized about the after-school practices, Friday night jammy jams, filled with first-time secrets, and what I have now learned to call a True Sense of "Belonging;" (Brown,B. 2017p.26) I was alone. I still didn’t have a fancy mirror or a camcorder, any true community left, or faith in my family. The tape player of my mom’s new forest green talon would have to do. …5.6.7.8.

The dance remix would offer me “It’s Friday…you ain't got no job… you better” before the demand of the first move would call my attention. While this quote was from a famous movie called “Friday”, it was no #cheerstotheweekend in my world. Admittedly after watching that clip…makes sense. That is what life was like in Wester Lake Estates. A lot of front porch parties and things kids shouldn’t hear or see.?

For me, the song took on a different meaning. I did have a job. I had one since the start of 8th grade. About a year ago, when I had my last summer without cheerleading. While I did not make the 8th-grade team, I did learn how much it cost in terms of money. The cost was going to be up to me, the financial burden made clear. There was one person I knew who had a lot of money. That was my Nana! She would bullshit with my aunt, “hard work” pays off.? So that’s how I had planned to fund my extracurricular excursions. I could change my own world with hard, PAID, work. My first job was at Taco Bell, and I was 14 years old. Trust me. I fought hard to work that young. Barb was my manager. If you worked at the Weatherford, Texas, Taco Bell, on Southmain during my time in the ‘Ford... You may remember Barb. She has shaped my life in such a way that I feel comfortable talking about her. That said, when I was 15, Barb fired me for walking out on a shift one day.

I could not make it in that drive-thru. I did not offer any excuses. I just said I can’t. Barb was a manager, she did not have to offer me any options with that statement, it was Texas. She said, “Let’s try you on the line”.

“The line”, sounded safe. The line was made up of an organized mess of toppings, tools, and 3 employees. One employee stuffed the hot stuff, another stacked the cold stuff, and the anchor toasted, cleaned, and wrapped the delectable items. While each employee focused on their own task, seemingly without effort, passed and accepted the next round of food moving along the chevron-patterned grate. Sometimes they would yell out to each other, and that made my body buzz. I couldn’t focus on my job if there were two other jobs happening concurrently and also dependent on the speed of my “green” level of production. I quickly moved down the line, like a soft taco shell, torn by the rough edge, stuffed anyway, and eventually inspected and thrown in the trash. Barb abruptly demanded after her patience had worn thin, “Move”.

My body buzzed, and I saw red.?

By the time my Nana got to me, I was a wreck. I explained that I couldn’t work the drive-thru because everyone called me “ma’am”. Everyone would say it with such certainty over the drive-thru speaker. “Yes ma’am, that’s right”, as I repeated their order, with an easy tone and no confidence,? they were pleasantly shocked to find a "little boy", working the window. I was 14.

“Oh my god, I thought it was a woman,” smiling with shock, “how old are you?.... and you are working?”

The adults would congratulate me on being so responsible and respectful, while the kids from school would look at me with dismay, as their parents compared their latest atrocity to this little fairy boy, offering fairy tales of how hard work, true love, and a need to serve are going to re-write my history. If I could make it through the jokes about my voice the next day… yes lady.. it would.?

“The line”… was not safe. That place was worse than the honest mistakes that occurred at the drive-thru window. Like the nights I spent in my room. Pretending not to notice the vibrations of sound and commotion that seemed to ensue after a hard day's work; Every time one of my former drive-thur friends would find themselves in error, I would have to pretend I didn’t care when someone hustled a “dumbass” after their “No worries, mistakes happen” was yelled at an audible level for the town, and Barb to hear, that indeed, we were a team. I would love to say that I was able to internalize all this at the time and find similarities to cope.? Instead… I walked out, hands up.?

Giving up, for me, only accounted for cheerleading, that was the only goal I had and I could not deal with this environment. I gave up.

Fortunately, that is NOT how my Nana felt. I was more embarrassed than excited to see the slaughter of Barb. (Sorry, metaphorical, no actual murders here. Remember, Nana was at worst a little traumatizing, not murderous.)? My nana stormed the castle gates of the conquistador, the Spanish empire that I made Barb, and the Bell, out to be.

I mean it when I say, I lied, “She told me I was stupid.”, even if that was a lie, she made me feel that way. To me, the way I felt, was always the truth. I am humble enough to say that, while I can smell a little BS, I cannot always smell the truth, nor clean up the mess once I find the metaphorical pile-o-pooh. Especially, in the midst of an emotional red-buzzed haze, I’ve become so familiar with. I now know that this Red buzzed haze was/is anxiety.?

Nana knew that, but she didn't tell me. Instead, she talked to Barb. Who had, in fact, reigned as leader of this particular franchised community, for a few generations of our family. Several members of my Nana's community had come to know Barb, and no one tried to take her down. Until me, Nana did not know Barb, but they clearly respected each other. Maybe they had crossed paths before. I am not sure what battle had been carried out in place of their grievances, but they would not argue in rage again. The communities they now served could not take another war. Instead, I can only assume they had an adult conversation or what I have now come to know and actively seek a healthy debate. I like to think of it as war without recourse or personalized trauma. Please don’t sacrifice me if I am not perfect. I will do the same. This is, in my mind, the understanding among leaders who share hearts and a sense of TRUE-community.?

A week later, I had my job back. Not the same one. I was moved to the prep area. It had hot water. It is not quite boiling, but also, may be one degree away from exploding. There was controllable danger in this new area and I was the controller. Most of the time I spent alone, but I was now in charge of prepping the hot toppings ahead of the predicted daily rush times. Barb would schedule me to open with her from now on. We would work together and open the store. She would teach me extra things and inspire me to take chances or help others who were struggling to see the bigger picture she had so loveling described to me over diced green onions. Later, when my confidence and all-around experience had given me more tools to deal with tough situations, she took me to the front lines.?We battled together!

I know, I did not literally attempt to get my Nana to sacrifice Barb. In a sense, I wanted her to. Yikes! Instead, I unleashed Nana on her. Up to that moment, when I unleashed Nana, there were no prisoners. That was my experience. But what I learned that day, was. You can never Sacrifice a member of your true community. They will stay with you, as you grow, they will challenge you to come to the plate with fully-fleshed ideas to move forward. They will always hear you out. They will always compromise, with you at the table, because both of you know what it looks like to go toe-to-toe and no one wins when TRUE-Community is dead.?

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Sending Peace and All the Karma I got to the communities all but destroyed by terrorism, both foreign and domestic. I know this blog may seem a bit off-base with everything going on in the world. I don’t watch, because while they're are communities across the globe under attack, while we all lie in fear, awaiting our fates,? white flags for communities in our own homes are metaphorically burning as they fall under attack. As I started this article, I truly had no sense of where I was going, once again. Now that my grandma is gone…my mom has been the last in line as far as my eyes could see. I spent the week helping her find her way through the dark with the only thing I knew to fix the heart, the truth. In that journey, I have found a stronger connection to my roots and a greater appreciation for EVERYONE in this misfit family of mine.?

That said, emotional terrorism is real, and I am, in that regard, guilty. So I offer a sincere apology to all previously known enemies of my tribe, both foreign and domestic. I offer you open arms and a solid hug. We can figure everything else out later after the bleeding stops.?#Community

Sources for courage and quoted text.

Brown, B. (2017) "Braving the Wildnerness", Vermilion