By Roz Blagg
Wouldn’t it be great if we were born with the compulsion, good sense, and courage to heed wise advice before learning by our own mistakes?
When I was in the third grade my family moved, which forced me to attend a new school. I had curly hair that was hard to tame. When I discovered pink sponge rollers at the age of 7, I thought I had found the secret to becoming a Hollywood star!
At the very least, I could force my curls in the right direction. So on the first morning of school, I jumped out of bed and watered down some curls before attaching three strategically placed rollers. When it was time to leave, Mama reminded me to take out the rollers. I replied by telling her my hair wasn’t dry. When we arrived at school, Mama implored in the most encouraging voice, “Honey, you look so pretty. Don’t you think you should take out the rollers?” Ever the happy, strong-willed child, I replied with a big smile, “It won’t look pretty until it’s dry. It’ll dry on the playground.” I kissed her good-bye and before she could protest further, I skipped off to the playground for my first day at a new school with pink sponge rollers in my hair.
I should have listened to Mama.
That night, when she kissed me goodnight, Mama said, “Sometimes you just have to laugh at yourself.” Though great advice, I had another idea. I prayed, “God, please make those mean girls wake up with kinky hair.” Then I thought about what my Grandma always said, “Pretty is as pretty does.” Oops.
Despite my aversion to listening to Mama and Grandma, I survived. I still remind those girls from the playground of more than 40 years ago that they are lucky I allowed them to be my life-long friends and lucky their hair didn’t kink up in a knot that would never come loose!
Eventually, I realized listening to good advice is a smart thing to do, though not always easy. My life has been blessed with voices of wonderful advisors.
The wisest advisor was my Daddy, a tough-as-nails World War II vet with a heart of gold who earned a living as an auto body man. The inheritance Daddy left my brother and me by his example and his advice on life was much more valuable than money.
Daddy always said things like—a man’s word is his bond; don’t start a fight, but never walk away from one you believe in; if it’s not breathing, it’s not worth losing sleep over; and if something scares you, take it on.
Daddy didn’t just give good advice, he lived the example. I grew up in a small friendly Delta town. Most kids started driving around their neighborhoods before they had a license. It was a “rite of passage” when a teenager got a permit at 14 and finally talked her parents into letting her drive without an adult in the car, which I did one Friday evening in 1971. I was allowed to drive my mom’s car within a four-block radius of our house. The small-town policemen never gave tickets to kids practicing driving as long as they drove carefully and didn’t have an accident. Within 10 minutes of my newfound freedom, a drunk driver hit the car, forcing me off the road. Daddy and the police arrived quickly. No one was hurt, but what left an impression on me was the exchange between Daddy and the police officer.
Attempting to avoid giving me a ticket, the officer said to Daddy, “Earle, you were in the car, weren’t you?” Daddy replied, “No, A.L., I wasn’t.” The policeman persisted with a knowing facial gesture. “Earle, if you’ll just sign here as the adult rider…” The ticket was going to be a significant blow to our family’s already-tight budget, not to mention the cost of repairs. Yet Daddy politely thanked the officer and repeated he was not in the car at the time of the accident. On the way home, Daddy knew what I was thinking, though I didn’t dare say. That was not very smart. Just a signature could have saved a ticket. That stupid drunk guy ran into me!
At home, when we got out of the car (on the passenger side since the driver’s door wouldn’t open) Daddy put his arm around me. “Scoot, I’m so thankful you weren’t hurt. Officer Morgan sure is a nice man.” Then he looked down at me and in a soft voice said, “Tough times will pass, but character and integrity take a lifetime to earn and only a minute to lose. Compromising the truth should never be an option.”
Almost daily, when faced with a decision, I remember the voices from my life. I’m not always as steadfast to those wholesome pieces of advice as I should be, though that’s my goal. There is, however, one piece of advice I have always followed since the third grade—take the pink sponge rollers out of your hair if you’re trying to make a good first impression.
M! August/September 2012
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