Determination. It can be defined and viewed in various ways. Determination is, in fact, a key thing in life. Some people have this characteristic, and others, unfortunately don’t. How do you tell whether someone has this power or not? Look them in the eye. See if you can read their own personal story through their own two eyes. See if you can feel their pride and courage look straight back at you. If you can, then you can assume that at one time in their life they have been broken in one way or another. A stronger backbone, a brighter smile, and just a little bit more strut in their step is another way to feel this intangible force. With all of this, you realize that after they were broken down, they indeed got back up and somehow, some way built their life back to what it is now.
One night, when I was about the age of eight, my life completely shifted in a matter of seconds. In one night, my mother and father decided to file for a divorce. The divorce between my mom and dad was not pretty, not in any shape or form. Nights got lonely and long, fast. The only people that were in my life were my older sister, Dee, and my mom. My mom was left as a single mother to take care of two growing children. She was left to do everything a mom and dad should do together, with just two hands, one brain, and no spouse.
A few months went by and things kept going downhill rapidly. Finally when worse turned into worst, we needed to find a new home, quick. My mom searched and searched for a home, and after a few weeks, found one. She mentioned to us that our new home was no mansion. When my sister and I walked into the house for the first time, we had open hearts and minds; a three-bedroom trailer with smoke stained air, and horrible blue carpets. As an eight year old, it didn’t seem pretty to me at all, but I knew I needed to make the most of it. I decided to explore my new home and went into the bathroom my sister and I would be sharing. The walls were a pale yellow, and the carpet was gross. I knew in my heart that my mom had put everything she had into this house. So I ducked my head and walked away. And believe me, even as an eight year old, that was very hard to do.
A few years went by and I had gotten used to my house. My sister had moved out and gone to college so the bathroom was all mine. I walked in from school one day, and I saw my mom on hand and knees in my bathroom. I was curious, so I went to see what she was up to. As I walked closer, I realized what she had been doing. She was redoing the floors to my bathroom with her own two hands. My jaw dropped and an overwhelming feeling of realization came over me. I realized that, one, my mom was the single, most independent woman in the world and two, that she had built the exact physical and mental floor beneath her two feet. She pulled through the disturbing divorce and every single thing that came with it and made the foundation of her life and our lives strong.
My bathroom now has white walls, and a beautiful hand-crafted tiled floor because of her. She took something not very pretty, and made it beyond beautiful. (As is the rest of my house.)
I believe in tiling your own floors. Even if it may take a while, it will be worth the wait. You just have to take it, one tile at a time.
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