School and Life

If you are fearful of living as you were made then my life is not for you. If you dream of living off of the kindness of others, still faithful in the heart of man, then my life may be for you. People, like the most precious stones, bring beauty and worth to the world. They are more than numbers or stepping stones to where you wish to be. My life has been without affluence, but not without wealth. Where it has lacked in elegance it has doubled in extravagance. Through others I have become something better. The words of Thoreau echo through my past as if narrating my memories. Money is not
required to buy one necessity of the soul. What I have done is worth more than what I could do. My father married my mother and loved her to his fullest extent. He taught me to consider this love irreplaceable, and to therefore value it beyond tangible possessions. Being a man of the lord, he repented after cheating on my mother. The value of his love had not decreased, but contrarily multiplied in my mind. Not for flesh or money had he repented. He recognized his irreverence and sought to glorify the significance of love through acknowledgement and repentance. How often does one repent after telling a simple lie? The recognition that he had trespassed expressed the very respect one should have for love. This instilled in me a sense of complacency in regard to my familys economic situation. Never finishing college, my father was handicapped compared to the competitors he faced in his industry. Money, I was taught, is never to be considered a problem, but rather a necessary evil. This deeply confused me going through middle school, silently observing my peers as they explained to the class their exquisite holidays. One day, however, our earnest teacher assigned a paper in which we were to detail the best part of life in our own words. I had no previous luxuries to reference, no indulgences to allude to. I suddenly remembered the first time my baby nephew slept in my arms. I recalled how his heart, pressed against mine, felt like the ticking of a clock, counting down to his first steps, his first day of school, his first kiss, his wedding, and eventually his death. The infant curled in a deep slumber had no sense of sin, only love. I wrote about love: The best part of life.