Booker T Parson

A mind is a terrible thing to waste. I say that as a statement of fact not opinion. One opinion of mine is that what we often refer to as our "heart" is actually our brain.

I tell people all the time to keep on thinking. I say that because many times I have caused myself and others pain because my pride prevented me from realizing the truth because I stopped thinking. Knowing when- to-say-when is crucial, complicated, and necessary for thinking as well as drinking.

All actions have consequences. My actions come from my thoughts. I thought in high school that smoking weed in the bathroom with Gary from Eatonville was cool. My friends from "my side of the tracks" thought that was a betrayal or an act of treason. "Smoking with the enemy is why you got caught", one friend told me later. They thought many things about me and since I wasn't into robbing banks there wasn't much that we had in common.

I've been many places in the 27 years I've been on the planet. Never left the country but have lived in three states. One of the many things I've learned from my travels and tribulations is that I am blessed in many ways that it took me years to understand.

Being a Parson and spending much of my adolescent years in Orlando provided me advantages that many of my peers, regardless of which side of the tracks they hailed from, did not have. Being a Parson doesn't just mean you have dozens of cousins, a couple dozen aunts and uncles, and two of the most loving grandparents one could have. There is much more to being a Parson than numbers and multiplication. I know lots of people with large "extended families" but not many are like the Parson. That's Parson no "s".

Being a Parson to me means that I have the honor of being able to say that one of the two worst ass woopings I've ever endured came from a woman that my mother's brother was smart enough to marry. Cara is her 1^st name, Aunt Cara is what I call her. Aunt Cara was once referred to as Cara Williams until uncle Martie did me a favor and married her making her a Parson and us a Williams.

I say I'm a Williams because that's my Auntie and Mrs. Williams is her mother and Mr. Williams, may he rest in peace, is her father. I say that I had the honor of taking that ass kicking because…...hey, it is what it was.

I thought it hurt because I was letting pride blind me to the love that I was receiving as she berated me effectively, efficiently, and with more conviction than I thought a woman of her height could muster. Actually her height had nothing to do with it. I just couldn't understand at the time. While she was busy berating me in the office, down the hall at least two dozen packed classrooms full of students and teachers were peaking through the doors and windows that sit high up on the doors. She had peered through a similar window moments before. I am still not sure how she managed, at that height, to peer through at me and shrink me instantly about a foot.

I can remember wondering if Mr and Mrs Williams had another daughter I didn't know about because for a moment I thought Auntie had a twin. As we walked down the hall tears streamed down my face. I stopped my brain and decided I had lost all my pride and dignity subsequently making me think it hurt as she said "Your mother works too hard for you to be called while she's at work to come get yo ass cause you wanna smoke dope in the bathroom!!"

Another thing I tell people all the time is don't get caught on words as having cingular meanings. When I came out of the imaginary box I was hiding in to say "I wasn't smoking dope Auntie, it was weed". It was as if she was now the one who was a foot taller and I was the shorter one. What I had thought the whole time was her anger and rage was amplified by my stupidity, pride, and pain. I let the usage of one word along with the manner of it's delivery prevent me from seeing and understanding the TRUTH. She, along with my mother, were the ones who were hurt and in pain. She showed me what love is that day

I can't speak for my friends from Alton Illinois, West side of Orlando or Eatonville both in Florida, or my friends on the south and north sides of Chicago.

Luckily for me, Cameron, Miles, Shaquina, Marcus, and Jamal and the rest of my family, being a Parson rooted into the Parson Family Tree which has become a forest, means much more than numbers.

I have an advantage which most of my friends didn't have. Being me, and who I am, Booker T Parson. I can say, with pride, dignity and with all of my heart. I am proud and dignified for that verbal lashing and the love from which it came. If not for the love of my people, the things I've been taught, and lessons I've learned I may not have had the courage to be friends with Gary from Eatonville in spite of the feelings of John, Bobby, and Billy all from my side of town but now scattered throughout the country in Federal Prisons.