The Man Speech

One of the strongest points of influence that Papaw had in my life was the man speech. I'd like to tell you it was only once. The truth is it was more like 15 times. All the man speeches that I remember took place at the old shop, on hwy 75.
The old shop. It was about an acre and a half of building, a few pine trees, at least a dozen monstrous ant hills, and grass. No not the tame grass that lives in my front yard. according to my memory that grass was burly, stubborn, and out of control. I remember it being tall. Often up to my knees.
I don't remember my exact age, but I think I was around 10 when Papaw started hiring me to cut the grass at the old shop.
To his credit: He payed me way more than I was worth, he bought me sunkist orange sodas when I took breaks, he did come out and check on me to make sure I was ok, he would take a turn pushing the lawnmower while I rested, and he often bought me lunch
In my defense: He made me cut an acre's worth of grass with a push mower (not self-propelled), the lawn mower NEVER cranked on the first try and usually not until the sixty-fourth try, it was Alabama summer a.k.a. 'a glimpse of how hot hell is', it took me well over 2 hours sometimes 3.


I would usually start cutting grass between 8 and 9 in the morning. The grass would be wet, so before I could get 2 rows cut, the lower half of my body would be darn near soaked. In the Alabama heat, it would only be a few more rows before the upper body was soaked with sweat. So it was kinda like cutting grass after you got out of a swimming pool. The grass was so tall that it perfectly hid the ant hills. Literally, I would be pushing that lawn mower, grunting along, and instantly feel a dozen ants doing their best to kill me. What angered me was that I knew it was going to happen again in the next 20 minutes. It was just part of it. The lawn mower was a piece of...well, you get my drift. I can remember broken wheels, a wounded engine, and at the end of its life the handle bar was rusted through on the right side. But that blade was sharp enough to shave with. Before I would start, Papaw would take the blade off, and grind that bad boy into a weapon. He would grind until the metal was fresh and shiny and sharp. Then he would touch the blade to see if it was done. Very similar to a chef taking a tiny taste the sauce to see if its ready. As soon as his finger touched the blade, he'd yank his hand back as if he'd been electrocuted. Not only was the blade sharp, it was hot. No man could hold a lawn mower blade on the grinder for as long as Papaw.
So I would cut the grass in small sections. It made me feel like I was accomplishing something. Papaw didn't like that. He said it took longer to finish. I never understood his logic, and he never took the time to explain.
Inevitably I would get overwhelmed, worn out, whiney, and totally frustrated. I'd take my stinky, sweaty body into his office and interrupt the article he was writing. He'd push back from that old typewriter, spin his chair around and look at me. It wasn't the same warm smile I had seen earlier that morning. It was the look of a freight train coming down the tracks. I knew what was coming and I didn't like what I saw. Honestly, it was no more enjoyable than being out there cutting grass. But at least it was air conditioned. Then Papaw would give me the man speech.
I wish I could remember the details of the man speech. Who knows, maybe it changed each time he gave it. But I know there was a common rhythm. Don't complain about your obstacles. Don't be weak. Don't focus on the difficulty. Push yourself. Focus on the finish line. Kick your own ass, so you can get out there and kick your problem's ass. You have to make a decision, a commitment in your mind; that's where you win this battle. Life is hard, you have to be harder. Size up your problems, break it down to manageable battles, and go fight like a wild man. Do you think this problem is going to go away if you walk away? It will show up somewhere else. You have to go ahead and kill it now. You will feel totally fulfilled if you beat this thing. You can't live life only if you feel good. You'll never get out of bed, if you wait for that. You have to choose a good attitude. You have to choose to be strong. You have to choose victory. And you have to be willing to pay the price of those choices. Its not totally about the prize or reward. Its also about your duty, your responsibility. Somethings you have to do because others are counting on you. Toughen up. Tighten up. You need to learn to be strong in this situation. That is going to come when you learn to be strong on the inside.

I don't remember the exact words of what he said in his office. I do remember how he looked. Fierce. Strong. Focused. Inspiring. Scary. Convicting. I never felt good when the speech was over. I never felt warm and fuzzy, hopeful, passionate, comfortable.

After the speech, Papaw would walk me to the soda machine, put in the money, and wait for me to push the orange button. Then he'd walk me back to my lawnmower and stand there until I cranked it. Then he'd go back inside to his office and wait for the next visit. For all I know he'd start writing/rehearsing the next man speech.

Thank God, Thank God that I slacked enough to get that speech so often that it burned into my heart. And hopefully I have embraced a fraction of what he taught me.