An honest admission. After posting this piece, I had a feeling it was simply? … too much about me. Self serving in a way. Some who read this may come away feeling so as well. As I usually write from a mostly spontaneous stream of consciousness. This just came to me. Thought of taking it down. But thought, no. Open, honest this is. Thus I’ve posted it here …

As a young boy I suffered from strabismus … commonly known as crossed eyes. I was extremely self-conscious. My little friends reveled picking on me. My mother took her shots as well. Not intentional. She gave me my “bad message,” Little did my mother know the profound impact her “bad message” would have on me.

Mom’s “bad message?” “What’s wrong with you, Bobby?!” A sharp comment re a childish or bad behavior. When coupled with the feelings of my crossed eyes? Mom’s “message” cut much deeper than she could ever imagine. This was my mother’s “bad message.” Unfortunately, I carried this with me all through high school, college … and to some extent faintly even today.

Today, I’ll occasionally get a comment that I’m kinda good looking. Feels each time like a drop of water on a sun heated rock. “Maybe there’s not as much wrong with me as I thought, Mom!”

But then there was the antidote to mom’s early assertion. Her “bad message.” … “What’s wrong with you, Bobby!?” It was only last week it happened. Mom’s “good message” came to me. Was sent my way.

I’ve spent decades working with teams, coaching and helping people grow. Now, I’m an extremely “needy” person. Praise, atta boys, anything positive is my rocket fuel. Maybe that cross eyed little boy birthed this in me. No matter.

What resulted? Letters, cards, notes from those I’d helped along my journeys with them all. My oldest daughter Lisa decided these all had to be kept somewhere. As a birthday gift one year she gave me two large mahogany boxes. Today they overflow with the pieces of praise sent me over all the years.

Here’s where my mother’s “good message” surfaced …

It has taken me days to sort through all the pieces in both mahogany boxes. The other day I came upon a letter written to me by my mom. Her handwriting was unmistakable. Elegant. Classic. As if it just flowed from the tips of her fingers. I picked the letter up and began to read. The occasion was my 50^th birthday. My family had flown to Atlanta to surprise me. Mom’s letter congratulated me again on my birthday. There in her letter was my “good message” from her. Loving, sensitive. “I am so blessed to be your mother.” The pride she had in me. All I’d accomplished. Above all the beautiful family Nancy and I had nurtured. Mom’s “good message” could not have been more loving, more supportive of her oldest son. How much she loved me.

This “good message” drowned out the “bad.” Indeed, there was nothing wrong with me at all. Mom had gone through a lot in her early years as a parent. Too much to cover here. Indeed her “What’s wrong with you, Bobby?!” bad message had sprung from the “wrong” in her at the time. Her letter … her “good message” is what I hold onto in my late seventies as I remember her today.

Bobby, you’re wonderful … “I am so blessed to be your mother.” Nothing is wrong with you at all. Thanks be to God …