A Passion for Living

A rose the symbol of love and passion

A rose the symbol of love and passion

To live is to love.
Ah, the passion of living.
Each moment precious.
Each day and year collecting

The good, the bad and
Even the ugly part of life.
Each experience precious
Even priceless.

My collection growing
As my hair is greying.
My appreciation of life’s variety
Expands until it Is boundless.

Originally written: January 11, 2004

I sat across from a friend and listened to the stories he was telling about his life. The stories reflected growing up in an envronment of anger and hate. Later, I was reminiscing on the conversation and how different my life was. I grew up in a poor family wearing hand-me-downs and shoes purchased from Goodwill stores. I admit there were days we hated our unreasonable father.

My sister was the only sibling that remained home to finish high school. All four boys got their high school diplomas later and several went on to college. I came the closest to staying at home until I finished high school. I left two weeks before graduation and went into the military receiving my diploma in the mail. As we grew into teenagers each of us began to have
an increasing number of conflicts with our father.

Yet, I must say we were privileged to grow up in that environment. We can face any challenge and know how to survive even thrive. Each experience we have had whether it was good, bad, or ugly enriched us. As I have grown in age, wisdom has provided a view of past happenings that has morphed from distaste to appreciation. In discussions with my brothers we discovered each of us has confidence in our abilities instilled by having been through difficult times.

I would even go so far as say each brother has a passion for living.

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