Prologue
Carter
Ican still remember, with the type of clarity that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, the very beginning of bullshit. At least, in my own life.
There he was—six-foot-four, true American blue eyes, and genuinely greedy—talking about how he wanted to invest in healthier menus for the kids in school.
He also wanted to help invest in better disciplinary ideals, since he knew of a certain child (it was me) who couldn’t stay out of trouble to save his life.
Still, none of those ideals warranted the ‘bullshit’ label.
The next ones did.
As he was toasting all his sponsors in the room, he lifted his glass and said, “I consider everyone here tonight to be a friend of mine. If you’re not a friend, it’s only because you’re family, and family is forever.
The main reason I’m saying this right now is because my own late father taught me a very important lesson that has stuck with me all these years.
Some people come into your life for a reason, some a season, and some a lifetime. ”
There was loud applause, lots of cheering and heartfelt “So true … So true …” responses tossed around the room at that moment. And then an older man stooped down to my level and said, “Your father is right, you know? Remember everything he just said.”
“What did he just say?”
“He said some people come into your life for a reason, some a season, and some a lifetime.” He smiled. “You should keep that in mind as much as you can in your life.” He winked at me and walked away.
I didn’t know it then, but my father and his fickle follower had practically predicted my future.
A few years after he gave that speech, he must’ve figured he’d obliged his “reason” in me and my mom’s life, because he left us both.
Several years after that, my mother decided that she was tired of being a mom, that her “season” of motherhood was done, and that her real calling could be found in smoke bars and casinos.
As far as for ‘a lifetime,’ I could only think of one person who ever came close.