July in Mississippi is relentless. The heat has been melting everything since May. The promise of a low humidity 80 degree day in September creates Pavlovian drool in most residents. The heat seems endless. There's two more months of sweat and breathable moisture.
I love the summer, can't get enough of the July heat. Every summer is memorable for me, and last year was no different. One evening I was sitting on my toilet, surfing the internet for new board shorts. I was vocalizing to my wife that I just NEEDED a new pair. The ones I had were three years old. The black had faded to almost a gray color. They were old. I didn't like them as much. I got tired of going to the lake consecutive days and having to wear the same pair. If I was going to go skiing two straight days I needed different pairs of swim attire. I wanted a new pair, yes. But if I thought about it, I NEEDED a new pair.
I put off purchasing any because I never make impulse decisions on the toilet. I may do my thinking there, but I'll never use the throne as a place for final judgement. As I entered the living room, I started folding clothes.
Just then, a neighbor kid came walking in. I'll call him Sam. Sam cuts our grass occasionally. We pay him for it because he needs some walking around money. Sam usually is hungry, so we feed him. He usually is hot, so we often ask him inside. As Sam is in our house talking to us, I notice he has on a pair of jeans.
No teenager wears jeans in Mississippi in the summer. It's simply not done. But he was. When I asked about why he was wearing jeans, he told me he simply didn't own a pair of shorts. Not one. He only had the one pair of jeans.
Sam, sweating in my living room talking about how he didn't own a pair of shorts.
Me, complaining about needing some more shorts while I fold six pairs in front of him.
Now, this is obviously the point in the story where I talk about how guilty I felt. Honestly, I didn't feel any guilt. I just felt like someone gave me a nice big bowl of perspective. Language is a funny thing, and when we live in America we start talking about things we need. It turns out most of those things aren't needed at all. I need water and food. I need sleep. What I don't need is a seventh pair of shorts to wear to the lake just so I'll look cool.
Since that summer, I've tried to correct myself when I start thinking I need something. I want it, yes. It's not a sin to have it, but I don't really need it.
I just want it.
I love the summer, can't get enough of the July heat. Every summer is memorable for me, and last year was no different. One evening I was sitting on my toilet, surfing the internet for new board shorts. I was vocalizing to my wife that I just NEEDED a new pair. The ones I had were three years old. The black had faded to almost a gray color. They were old. I didn't like them as much. I got tired of going to the lake consecutive days and having to wear the same pair. If I was going to go skiing two straight days I needed different pairs of swim attire. I wanted a new pair, yes. But if I thought about it, I NEEDED a new pair.
I put off purchasing any because I never make impulse decisions on the toilet. I may do my thinking there, but I'll never use the throne as a place for final judgement. As I entered the living room, I started folding clothes.
Just then, a neighbor kid came walking in. I'll call him Sam. Sam cuts our grass occasionally. We pay him for it because he needs some walking around money. Sam usually is hungry, so we feed him. He usually is hot, so we often ask him inside. As Sam is in our house talking to us, I notice he has on a pair of jeans.
No teenager wears jeans in Mississippi in the summer. It's simply not done. But he was. When I asked about why he was wearing jeans, he told me he simply didn't own a pair of shorts. Not one. He only had the one pair of jeans.
Sam, sweating in my living room talking about how he didn't own a pair of shorts.
Me, complaining about needing some more shorts while I fold six pairs in front of him.
Now, this is obviously the point in the story where I talk about how guilty I felt. Honestly, I didn't feel any guilt. I just felt like someone gave me a nice big bowl of perspective. Language is a funny thing, and when we live in America we start talking about things we need. It turns out most of those things aren't needed at all. I need water and food. I need sleep. What I don't need is a seventh pair of shorts to wear to the lake just so I'll look cool.
Since that summer, I've tried to correct myself when I start thinking I need something. I want it, yes. It's not a sin to have it, but I don't really need it.
I just want it.
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