By human nature, we are self-actualization beings. Self preservation initiates a sense within us to realize a feature of us that may not the best side or prompts us to when a change needs to be made. To some that mechanism may be rock bottom for others it could be the whispers on the wind. Maybe it is a matter of how in tune you are to that inner voice. The voice that tells the 350 pounder that he is one big steak from cardiac arrest of the voice that tells the cheater that his wife has just pulled into the driveway and the nanny needs to get back to work.
While on the couch, watching my favorite team hand out the customary beating during the homecoming game and preparing to rip into a three piece snack pack, I had an epiphany. It was a bright flash that was so startling that it toppled my sons fire engine that I was using as an ottoman, my suicide (a soft drink that is a mixture of Sprite, Dr. Pepper, and Strawberry sodas) goes flying through the air, Vince Young has just thrown an interception to one of the worse defensive teams in college football, and my wife threatens that if that drink hits her hardwood - my ass is grass. The moment of clarity was driven by the fact that the legs (drumsticks) that Church's serves now are incredibly smaller than they used to be. I mentioned this to my better half and she maintained that maybe my hands are larger than they used to be. Granted that could play a factor, but for the degree of difference in the size I would have had to have been Tiny Tim back when I tore into my first juicy drumstick from the aforementioned eatery. I cried shenanigans then, I cry shenanigans now, but that is what brings me to my point.
Little Jeffrey that lived on the corner of your street - you know the guy that you used to trick into swallowing coins or the kid who would mine for refugees in his nose and make his own snack pack, could have just found the cure for the common cold and donated any possible proceeds to various charities. When you get wind of this monumentous event, by nature your first thought is back to when you convinced him to swallow a quarter for a quarter. As you double over chuckling, reminiscing about the look on his face when he found out that the quarter that you were paying was the quarter he just swallowed, the accomplishment has pretty much lost its cache.
So as I leapt from the imprint that I have left in my couch from lying in that exact same spot for years, executing a spin move to avoid my daughter, and stiff-armed my son trying to tackle me and get the miniscule drumstick that I still had in my clutches to catch the drink that had hovered for seemingly 30 minutes. After securing the drink and devouring the leg with a wink to my boy, I realized that I have been guilty of not allowing those around me their personal growth. I don't do the things today that I did twenty years ago. Hopefully, I am capable of doing far more today than I could twenty years ago. And I can only pray that somehow, someway, I am a fraction wiser than I was twenty tears ago. If I can accept that for myself, I should allow that for everyone from my past and those in my future that will become part of my past.
Now there is a caveat to this as most situations, I can change the part of me that will look at my best pal in high school as the guy that tried to hit everything that moved and accept him now as the domesticated family man he has become. Six kids indicates that he still likes to get his thing on, but I can accept that it is with one woman now as opposed to when we were kids. And this is the rub, you can go on to do great things and if recognition is your thing, I say that you should get it and people that have known your former lives should accept the present day you. The exception, though, is the type of person you are. Your personality speaks truer to your heart because you can not escape that person. You can redirect your energies and rechannel your efforts, but the heart rings true. So if I detect multiple personalities, you could have just invented beer that gets you drunk with no slurring or hangover, I don't care. You are still Lon Chaney (The Man of a Thousand Faces) to me and its hard more me to validate you as even partially credible. Thanks for the discovery, but I will rarely give any credence to anything coming from your piehole.
So if Col. Sanders, Mrs. Church, Popeye, or any other chicken fryer is reading this post, bring back the big chicken. If not, I can accept that and possibly take whatever you have, but when you announce the next big thing, I will scoff at you because I feel betrayed and lied to when you started passing off these leg of squab as drumsticks.