I’ve written before about how my wife and I raised seven children — one boy and six girls. An interesting thing happened with some of my children. When they turned 18, they got tired of me telling them what I thought they should be doing and declared that because they were 18, they were now adults who could make their own decisions. The first time I heard that proclamation, I laughed and asked what happened on their 18th birthday that transformed them into the type of person who no longer needed to listen to their parents. The response I got was, “I’m an adult now and I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”
Last week, I wrote about how we spend a good part of our lives in sorrow because of suffering that is, in most cases, unavoidable. I provided a short but specific definition of the word “suffer,” which is, “to undergo or feel pain or distress.” I then provided the definition of “sorrow,” which is “a feeling of deep distress caused by loss, disappointment, or other misfortune suffered by oneself or others.”
Her name is Melissa Viviane Jefferson. Have you ever heard of her? Me neither. The first time I was aware that she existed was last week when I saw a headline on a news website that said she had made an announcement that she was quitting Twitter. Apparently, several people on Twitter had posted cruel comments and memes about her size and weight.
Over the years, I’ve periodically been accused by various family members, friends, employees, colleagues, and individuals who read my weekly articles that I am sometimes too blunt and harsh. I admit that this type of behavior is purposeful and intentional. One of the reasons that I behave in this way is because I initially learned it from the three men who had the most influence on me while I was growing up: my dad, Carl Williams, my grandfather, Tom Williams, and my uncle, Bill Williams.
I fired another client last week. The reason I used the word “another” is because I’ve fired more clients this year than I fired in the previous three years. At my age (62), I no longer have the patience to put up with the whining and abuse that I receive from some of my clients. I can put up with a lot, but there’s a point when a switch in my head goes off and my attitude toward a client shifts to such an extent that I put an end to our relationship.
I recently had a conversation with a young lady — I’ll call her Addison — who is the same age as my youngest daughter Teresa — 23 years old. I don’t know Addison very well, but I’ve known her parents for more than 20 years. Addison was raised as a Catholic and attended a Catholic grade school, Catholic high school, and a private, secular college.
In August 1971, I started my freshman year at Limestone High School in Bartonville, Illinois. In May of that year, one of my cousins on the Williams side of the family — I’ll call him Jason — had graduated from Limestone. Jason was an average student, but there was one thing that he accomplished during his high school years that his mom was extremely proud of. During his senior year, his classmates took a vote and named him “the toughest guy in the school.”