It was hard to stand up to a guy who had a park named after him.  Or whose daddy had a park named after him.

I was in the sixth grade – easily the worst year of my life – and this kid was mouthing off on the soccer field about my mamma.  You just don’t talk about a boy’s mamma.  That’s a good way to get killt, you know?

I didn’t kill him.  I just ran him over with my mouth.  It’s a gift.

And he stood there speechless, his friends giggling all around us.  Then he said, “Well, I’m not poor.” The inference being, of course, that I was.

Of course I wasn’t.  I woke up in a bed under a roof and had breakfast that day – Capn’ Crunch more than likely – and rode to school on my sweet bike.  I wasn’t poor.  But Tyler, Texas can sure make you feel that way – or the half I grew up in anyway.

This morning I’m flying home to Texas.  I’ll speak at Carpenter’s Way in Lufkin on Sunday morning and then make some music at First Baptist Magnolia – the church Brian‘s dad pastors near Houston.  And then I’m heading to Tyler. To run some rich kids over with my mouth. It’s a gift.

I’m speaking at a private school – every building named after somebody in town.  I’ve been brought in by the school’s headmaster – a mentor, savior of sorts, and close friend of mine – to teach “service” to his students. It’s a different kind of school than the one I attended.  And the students are different from the prideful bully on that soccer field years ago.  And lots of years have passed.  So why do I feel a small amount of the same kind of feelings now?

I’ve been rich but I still have a hard time feeling comfortable among the wealthy.  I feel as if I’m doing everything less well than them, you know?  Not their fault at all.  Totally mine.  There’s some damage that never heals I suppose.  I mostly feel excited and humbled to be asked to speak at this prestigious place – I should focus more on that and just relax, breathe, do my thing.

I’m sure I’ll be fine when the time comes.  As long as nobody talks about my mamma..

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