The Secret to Success

Character isn’t something that happens to you. With each decision that I made, I was consciously or subconsciously forming my character. Character is like my fingerprint; it identifies me from everyone else in the world. It says who I am and where I am headed. Bob helped me realize that I had a choice and that I needed to exercise my choice.

I was famous for saying that my teachers didn’t like me, but not once did I ask the question why? Why did my teachers not like me? I was always the victim, I was the one being picked on or judged by my teachers, but I never stopped to consider how the quality of my character affected how my teachers viewed and treated me. It wasn’t that my teachers didn’t like me or that they were picking on me, it was the messages I was conveying through my character. My mouth said I wanted to be in class and I wanted to learn, but my character was speaking so loudly, the teachers couldn’t hear a word I was saying. I was reaping what I sowed. It’s a simple equation—you sow apple seeds you get apple trees. Things change for the better when we take responsibility for our own thoughts, decisions, and actions.

Lesson 2: Be a giver, not a taker.

It’s one thing to have a friend, it’s another thing to have a friend you can trust. You could put your wallet in Bob’s back pocket and he would get it back to you first thing the next morning. Beyond that, Bob would give it back to you with some money in it—he was just that kind of guy. In fact, when I first reconnected with Bob I didn’t have a dime to my name, but Bob made sure I didn’t want for anything. If Bob bought Better Made barbeque chips and a Faygo peach pop, I had Better Made chips and a Faygo grape pop (peach was too strong). Bob’s father was murdered when he was just 8 years old. I don’t know the whole story, I just heard he was an addict and he got shot over something drug related. Because of his father’s death, every month Bob received a Social Security check and I swear whenever he got his check it was like I received a check. If Bob had it, it didn’t make a difference what it was, I had it. When Bob bought his first car, I had a car. Whenever I needed a ride to work he either dropped me off, picked me up or he let me borrow the car. His clothes were my clothes, no strings attached. He didn’t do for others, or me for that matter, with alternative motives and I believe Bob was so blessed because he was such a giver.

I remember Bob got drunk one night at a party and got into it with the wrong dudes. One of the dudes pulled out a 38, aimed it at Bob and emptied the chamber. I don’t know exactly what happened that night; all I know is that Bob lived to tell the story and the only thing that got shot was the windshield of the car. Another time Bob was away for the weekend on a “run,” and while he was in the house he said he noticed a cab car that looked out of place. When he told some of our homies, they dismissed it and said it was just a cab and that he was tripping, but Bob said his spirit told him something was wrong. Bob told the guys he was going to go to the corner store to get a bag of chips and a Faygo pop. When he got back to the spot, 15 minutes later, he saw police all over the place. He said he walked past the house and sure enough it was a full-blown raid! Bob walked right through the lights and the sirens as if he was a passerby and was never detected.

Lesson 3: Always remain loyal.

One of the things that my father stressed to me was the importance of being true to my word. He talked about a time when men didn’t need contracts for every transaction, and that if a man gave his word, by looking a person in the face and shaking his hand, the agreement was as good as gold. That was Bob. Bob was true to his word and truer to our friendship.

When we first reconnected, Bob snuck me in his grandparent’s house; however, Bob’s older brother Bill wasn’t too happy about it. When Bob’s father died, his grandfather took custody of Bob and his brothers, and he built a nice size room for the boys in the basement. The room had two sets of bunk beds in it. I slept under Bob’s bed on the floor—this sounds uncomfortable, but it beat sleeping outside. Bill was pissed because he looked at it this way: there were already four boys sharing one basement. After about a week he squealed and told his step grandmother whom he didn’t get along with but he knew if he told gramp, gramp wouldn’t put me out on the street. Bob was pissed when he found out what happened; even though Bill was his big brother, Bob’s loyalty never changed. He spoke with his grandfather and let him know that he was going to let me stay in Bill’s K-Car, which had recently been in an accident.