My grandmother, Miz Lena, used to tell me, "If you don't like who yuh are, yore liable to die unhappy and early."
This time of the year, I do some internal soul searching. I ask myself pretty much the same questions every year. Am I where I want to be? Am I happy? Am I contributing? I make a vow to not make the same mistakes again, and I try to forgive those who have done me wrong.
Now's the time to begin to discard the "uglies" and clear the clogs. Sorta like that Drano TV commercial. Remember the one that shows a see-through, plugged-up pipe that eventually unclogs and fresh water flushes through it? Like that.
Just as there are two sides to every story, I believe that we all have more than one person inside. It's not a hard one to figure out. We're never the same way all the time.
Sometimes, we're happy, sometimes sad. Some days anxious, other times patient. My favorite me is calm and collected. The goal is to stay that way. In this world, at this particular time, it's tough to do.
Having been in the entertainment business for close to 40 years, I learned to never let them see me sweat, even if my insides were burning.
I don't know why, but there's a certain kind of person who sees you struggling and waits for first signs of weakness, then pounces. I don't care for these types of people. To my way of thinking, they're cowards. Cowards have no heart or conscience.
Most cowards are bullies. Used to be, not that long ago, I took a certain pleasure in smacking bullies around on behalf of their victims.
I've always felt that it's important for bullies to taste the same pain (and then some) that they've inflicted on the weak. I hate to see someone being picked on. I still remember how that felt when I was just a little guy.
I have a hard time doing the Christian thing and turning the other cheek. It's probably that 20% redneck I have running through my veins.
I just never fully grasped the message. If you've already been slapped once, why would you tee it back up for them? I realize that the passage is metaphoric, but metaphors are used to help explain things. Like I said, it's very confusing. I must have missed that Sunday School class.
Frankly, it wouldn't bother me if the Almighty decided to give those cowardly bullies a couple of swift kicks before he lets them in the gate or maybe send them south for a weekend to get a taste of hell.
I know I shouldn't go around feeling this way. Forgiving is the hardest thing for me to do. Especially, when they did it on purpose.
When I was a small child, Miz Lena told me, "Honey Baby, if yuh let hate stay in yore heart too long, it'll turn the good in yuh to bad. It happens when yore asleep. Before yuh know it, the devil owns yore soul. If yuh feel like he's close by, just say, "Git thee behind me, Satan."
I already had a couple of nighttime "hoolie-goolies" to deal with.
There was the half-frog, half-man creature with bugged-out eyeballs and frog legs under my bed. I'd never actually seen him, but that's what I imagined him to be. I'd take a run and jump. That way, he couldn't grab me by the ankles and pull me under.
Not just that, but every so often, a misty, blue-gray ghost woman stood over by the drapes and just stared at me. Her, I could see but just barely. She kinda looked like Mrs. Moody from Bowling Green, Kentucky.
Mrs. Moody owned and ran a preschool operation out of her home, just a few minutes up the hill. She had a big sign in her front yard that read, "Mrs. Moody's Happy Children Pre-School." When Mom needed a break, Dad would drop us off at Mrs. Moody's for the day.
Preschool makes her sound too legit. She didn't teach anything. She just turned on the TV. I can absolutely tell you that there were no "happy children" under her roof.
In actuality, Mrs. Moody was a mean old woman who wore dirty clothes and baby-sat 10 or 12 kids, my two younger brothers and I included. All three of us were under age 5. I was the oldest.
I remember her smelly house, her foul disposition, her awful body odor and her serving us small cartons of warm chocolate milk. She left it out rather than put it in the refrigerator. I registered complaints that fell on deaf adult ears.
Then she'd order us to take a nap. I wasn't sleepy. That was a problem. I could just imagine what "real school" was gonna be like.
After a few days of watching what turns Dad took, I figured out how to get back home. As soon as Mrs. Moody looked the other way, I was gone. Dad drove me back. I kept escaping. Finally, Dad stopped taking us up there.
So I'm already dealing with the frog-legged guy with crazy eyes, the Mrs. Moody ghost, and now I had to be on a nightly lookout for Satan attempting to penetrate my soul and suck the love from my heart.
At night, just after Grand Mom tucked me in and "cut off the lights," I lay there in the dark with great anxiety, trying to get rid of any hate that might be lingering in my heart.
No telling how many times I told the devil to get behind me. To this day, I still tell him to get gone. I guess it works. I'm still here.
Those of us who have been up and down a few times have found out who our true friends are.
I know folks who spend a lot of time running back and forth. If it appears you're down and out, they run to the "I told you so" side of the field. When you get up and over, they scurry back and say, "I knew you'd do it." Yeah. Right.
Here lately, my gut voice has been after me to forgive those who have done me wrong. That's a tough one. If someone's sorry, truly sorry, I end up giving them another shot at it. Really, two chances are enough.
It's a good thing that I've been given second chances on stupid stuff I've done, a lot of it in an inebriated state of being. I used to tell them that I never got drunk but that I'd been "overserved" many times.
You may remember Carroll O'Connor. He was a fantastic actor and a good guy. He was best known for his Archie Bunker TV character. I made his acquaintance in the '80s.
He owned a great little restaurant in Beverly Hills called Ginger Man. It had a hip bar crowd and served up some pretty good chow.
In the evenings, they had a who's who clientele. I used to meet up with Peter Lawford, and we'd drink the night away. Peter was overserved every night.
At a certain hour of the evening and after several toss-backs of Jack Daniel's, I put on my sunglasses and became Ray Charles. I pulled up a chair to complete strangers, looked to the ceiling, swayed back and forth and played their tables like a piano.
I sang "Hit the Road, Jack" and "I Can't Stop Loving You." Often, they'd sing along with me. Sometimes, others joined in.
Everyone seemed to have a good time with it. Mr. O'Connor did not. I remember him telling me, "Bill, I'm going to forgive you, this one more time." He gave me a lot of second chances.
I finally stopped drinking several years ago. I had to. I got into too much trouble, and I wasn't my best the following day. Plus, attorney's fees were eating me up.
So my annual checklist looks pretty good. I'm happy, but I could be happier. I'll work on that. I hope that my stories have been contributing. I'm close to done. It's taken me a while to adjust to a much slower pace of life, but I'm getting there. It's about time.
I'm sure that my wife, Jana, and I are where we should be. Returning to my Tennessee roots was just what the doctor ordered. A lot of very nice and decent people back here.
Most importantly, I've decided that I'm gonna give it all I have to forgive a few people. In fact, I have a couple of "I'm sorrys" that I hope will be accepted. Sometimes, all anybody needs is a second chance.
If you have a mind to, make yourself a list. Put some thought into what you can do to make yourself happier. Let go of the junk that, chances are, you've been carrying around for far too long.
If one of your New Year's resolutions has to do with dieting, remember that forgiving or being forgiven can take a load off.
Happy new year, y'all.
Bill StampsBill Stamps' books, "Miz Lena" and "Southern Folks," are available on Amazon. For signed copies, email bill_stamps@aol.com.