Читать книгу Voice To Be Heard - John Grant Burdette - Страница 3

Let the truth be told: I never want to grow up. Sadly, it’s happening day by day, and it couldn’t be more real. It all seems so overrated, this “growing up” and “maturing”. Find a wife, get a job, start a family and then what? Are you automatically happy? Is that truly the key to happiness in our society? I don’t know yet, but I’m not hurrying to find out.

The world was never designed to make you happy. It’s a journey, and I pursue my own path. The idea of the future worries me, and maybe that’s the exact reason why I believe adulthood must be overrated. Most “normal” kids my age wouldn’t come to this conclusion or even ponder it because they’ve been taught to abide by the status quo of the growing up process. That would be to make good grades, do as you're told, and stay out of trouble. Do these things, and you should be fine.

Unfortunately, that’s not me. My grades are less than mediocre. I listen to what I'm told to do but do what I want to do. Trouble seems to be around every corner. People always say, “Man, Grant just can’t stay out of trouble.” You know what I say? Trouble comes to me, and whether you believe it or not, I think it’s a good thing. We should learn from all of life’s experiences and persevere through them.

As for school, I have learned more outside of class than in, and that’s a true statement. I’ve been told repeatedly by my parents that I’m smart enough to make straight A’s if I would just try. This could definitely be true, but I cannot force myself to study subjects in which I have no interest. It really grinds on me for those people who never have to crack a book and make straight A’s. It would be smooth sailing for me if that were the case.

But, that’s not me. I’ve come to understand that there’s a specific reason that isn’t me. I can memorize with ease and learn the hell out of anything when I have an incentive. My incentives were usually my parents' consequences if I didn't succeed to their academic standards. I've been blessed with two amazing parents who love me and care about my future. They also had to learn and cope with my academic struggles along with major behavioral issues. When they began to tolerate my less than mediocre grades, all consequences faded and I was left with only one motivation, myself.

The only thing that keeps me going is the idea that I will make it. I have always been very confident in my future and believe without a doubt that I will be successful regardless of my educational career. Yes, you weren’t mistaken; education is a career for people my age. It’s our obligation. It’s our job.

I will share more about our educational system later, but for now, I have two things to say about it. One is that I have to learn what’s currently taught in order to move on to the next level. The second is I know that nothing I’m learning now will benefit me in my line of work. So, as you can see, I'm a draw. That is why I look down on those who don’t have to study, yet make a 4.0 GPA. I look down on them because it’s too easy. Am I the guy who wants a simple and easy life? No. I do not look down on the fact that their intelligence was given to them through a favorable gene pool. In my mind, those 4.0 students didn’t get the chance to work for something, it was a given to them.

God just didn’t make me quite like that, but close. Close enough to want to strive for it; then enjoy the accomplishment when I get it. That’s the specific reason I mentioned it earlier in this chapter; that I was wired this way to fully appreciate success. It’s the definition of achievement; one of the greatest and most fulfilling things life has to offer—working for your successes.

I was born and raised in the heart of Alabama’s largest metropolitan city. I waited ‘til now to tell you that because it seems that everyone has an opinion about the stereotypical “Alabama boy.” I decided it was way better to reveal that now; rather than at the beginning.

I live in Birmingham, AL in the suburb of Vestavia Hills. I truly love it here, but it’s my friends and family that I love the most. I'm starting my story from around the age of 10. I was always a wild child. A complete daredevil for sure. If it was a total risk to my life, then you can bet I was doing it. It was just the thrill; I loved doing daring stuff even before the beginning stages of puberty. My buddies and I were really into videoing and broadcasting the absurd things we did. We hoped to become “YouTube famous” but that was a lost cause.

One day, I had a friend suggest the idea at me of putting a lit firecracker in my pants pocket. I remember thinking that I probably needed some protection as if I wasn't already screwed. So, I put on a paintball mask and stuffed a blanket under my short khaki pants to absorb the explosion. Of course, this was all very naïve thinking, but I was young and dumb. I stepped outside, sat down, and followed through with my dare. As soon as the firecracker was lit, I couldn’t bear the wait, so I jumped up and started running around frantically until detonation. “POP!” The pain was brutal. I assume that’s the closest you can get to being shot, cause boy, it felt like it. The injury on my thigh looked like a purple tennis ball tattooed into my skin. I don’t remember if it was pride or fear that kept me from seeking medical attention, but fortunately, it healed on its own.

After I healed, I was back to being a daredevil pyrotechnician. Half of my pre-teen dares involved gun powder or fire. I was obsessed with fire. The excitement of danger drove me, and my reputation around town was growing making me even more dangerous.

It’s funny to examine life from a narrow perspective in your first few years. My beliefs were based on the culture where I was growing up. I see now that when you leave your comfort zone, your thoughts and mind change also. So, as a young little dude with no mind of my own, I was prejudiced. I soon graduated from my daredevil stage to a teenager turning 13.

One way I was prejudiced was that I hated gays because I thought they were abnormal. And, I didn’t like black people just because they were a different color from me. Stupid ideas since I hadn’t experienced enough of life. That’s exactly what it was. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was taught differently by my parents. But in reality, you listen to what's “cool” and what was cool was to be Southern and prejudiced. Growing up was easy until my own personal decisions made it hard. Ages 4-9 are honestly irrelevant to me other than the fact I believed things due to ignorance of the real world.

It wasn’t till I grew into a new phase that I really started questioning the things I said and did. I was 13, the summer of 7^th grade going into 8^th. I decided to smoke marijuana for the first time. I immediately fell in love with weed. I can sit here and explain marijuana for hours, but it’s a waste of any potheads’ time. I still can’t come up with a reason as to why I smoke other than the simple fact that I just like it!

When weed first became important in my life, I went through a hippy phase. I remember doing everything I could to express that I smoked pot. It got excessive and became a part of me, a part of my ego. Coincidentally, my family and I took a trip to California that summer where my eyes were opened even more to this lifestyle. Oh man, did I love it! I had been on beach trips and other small vacations, but LA and the Southern California culture was a whole new experience.

I always love to tell a story from this trip about rescuing my big brother, Ash, from trouble. Ash and I are very similar in personality and appearance. Ash is five years older than me, so he especially enjoyed the lifestyle in California at the time (if you know what I mean). Ash had more freedom considering he was 18, and he roamed about while I walked with my dad. We were strolling through Venice Beach, checking out the shops along the way and we come upon a “head” shop. Of course, I see Ash inside the store bargaining with the clerk. I saw this, but my dad had not been looking in that direction. Right when my dad’s head began to turn towards the shop, I yelled out, “Dad! Look at that faggot dancing.” He looked around, and yes, there were plenty of gays street dancing (no offense to anyone). This distraction was a perfect cover up though my comment way too loud. The sacrifice was well worth it to help my brother out.

From this trip, I knew California was where I was bound to be one day because the lifestyle was so different from where I grew up. I was supposed to hate gays, liberals, and many other things openly accepted in California. How I could possibly love California so much but yet still be “southern and prejudiced”? I was really conflicted!

That’s when it hit me; I didn’t really know who I was. If I truly loved this place but held these other views just because that was “cool”, then I was a fake person. I wasn’t being who I actually wanted to be. Returning to Alabama and all points forward, I did nothing but keep it real, and did what Grant Burdette wanted to do.

Living life exacting like I wanted to along with doing as I felt and pleased became most important to me. Life’s way too short not to do the things that make you happy. If I didn’t make my own decisions to get where I am now, then I’m not happy. I knew I was clearing my own path; not letting anyone stand in my way.

You will see later the challenges life has thrown at me. But if there’s one thing I embrace, it’s to never stop living when life gets tough. You have to put what you want up on a pedestal and never stop until you get it. If you don’t, someone will take it instead of you.

Just like countless others before me, I’ve always said there are two types of people in this world; winners and losers. If you want to win, you must be relentless and have a “dog-eat-dog” attitude to achieve your goals. A persevering attitude is a winning path to success, and you have to find it within yourself. Soul searching and self-reflection is hard. Yet, it only took me 13 years, along with a trip to California, to open my mind.

My hippy phase soon died. Next up came a new phase: the rebel. Authority meant very little to me. The only time I worried about or even gave a thought about authority was determining how much trouble I was potentially getting into at that moment. So meet “The Rebel.”