“Sometimes I feel at the end of the day / Was it worth while or have I settled for less? / I sit back and you’re there by my side /Sincerely you say, we're both so blessed.

 

Count your blessings, count them one, two, three / Don't give up cause it'll all work out / It may seem like a strange cup of tea / But if it's all right with you, it's just fine with me.”

 

Those are lyrics from one of my favorite Sister Hazel songs “Strange Cup of Tea.”  Those are lyrics that resonate through my heart, mind and spirit whenever I make the time to stop and smell the proverbial roses that line the path of my life’s journey.  And there are many, many roses to be smelled. 

 

I am thinking about this because I spent a day and a half is a sort of personal funk.  Like the snowflake that begets an avalanche, I allowed a stupid little thing to snowball out of control and ruin an evening between me and the love of my life.  So I did the usual self-justification, I’m right she’s wrong, mental indulgence thing until I was reminded exactly how silly I was acting.  The funny thing is I was reminded by myself.

 

I saw a friend online and IM’d her real quick.  The chat lead to what I thought would be a quick phone call.  45 minutes later, not only had we both shared our respective thoughts, gripes and lessons-learned about relationships, we also got caught up on a bunch of other things that are of mutual interest to us.  It was at one point were I was trying to give her some advice on one of the challenges she was facing that I actually heard myself talking to her.  It’s as if an inner voice said, “Hey, listen to what you’re saying.”

 

So I did.  I continued speaking while also taking on the role of audience member.  Here I was giving advice that just a day earlier I was quick to ignore.  It was then that I remembered what makes my relationship with Lee work is the ability to let things go.  It’s the knack-like quality of just zoning out those negatives and focusing on the positives.  It’s having the inner strength to not look backwards and continue to look forwards.  And like a snowflake that begets an avalanche, I allowed myself to be spiritually buried under the colossal snowball of positives in my life.

 

It’s a great feeling to be able to do that.  At the same time, it’s tempered by the fact that I have several friends dealing with tough, life-altering circumstances.  From battling cancer, to marriages and relationships ending, to people losing loved ones.  I recognize the pain and hardship others are enduring and I pray for them.  Yet I am thankful because relative to their situations, I have nothing about which I can or should complain.  Thankful that I am in a place in my life where I can be anchored in the blessings in my life and be centered by a world of positives.  I feel this allows me to be a better and more giving friend to those around me that may seek my help or advice.

 

Not so long ago, I was in their shoes.  I was the one crying myself to sleep at night.  I was the one finding the solution to my problems at the bottom of a bottle.  I was the one whose world came crumbling down.  And through it all, my friends were there for me.  Through it all, the blessing was my buddy answering his phone when I called and taking me in when I needed a place to stay.  The blessing was Lee talking me down from the proverbial ledge because I felt so lost, confused and alone.  The blessing was the fruitful valley that lay on the other side of the mountain, a mountain that could only be traversed by following a cold, arduous and at times lonely road.  It’s an honor to be able to re-pay my friends with a ride to and fro, with a phone call, or even with a text message at the right time.  I am indeed truly blessed with so many wonderful and glorious gifts from God. 

 

I could try counting my blessings, but I am certain that in my lifetime I would never finish counting.

Today is the 60th anniversary of the day Jackie Robinson laced up his cleats, put on his Dodgers jersey and took the field as the first black athlete to play major league baseball.  What Jackie Robinson did was historic. It was groundbreaking.  It opened doors and tore down barriers.  It created the opportunity for us to celebrate the other great minority players that came after him.  From Hank Aaron to Willie Mays to Roberto Clemente to Tony Gwynn, the first step was taken by Jackie Robinson.  

The anniversary of Jackie Robinson breaking the color barrier has been discussed and celebrated all week long.  It has been, and rightfully so, the subject of special segments on ESPN’s SportsCenter, Pardon the Interruption and The Sports Reporters.  It’s been featured in newspapers and magazines, discussed on sports talk radio and mentioned at bars and around water coolers all over the country.  I’ve even heard Jackie’s break into the National League be referred to as “the single most important event in the history of American sports.”

I am Hispanic and, as a result, a minority.  However, I am fortunate to say that I have never been the subject of overt or blatant discrimination.  If my racial background ever served as a reason for which I was held back from anything, I am glad to say I am not aware of it.  With that in mind, I feel I don’t have the same level of appreciation African-Americans or other minorities may have for Jackie’s achievement.  Yet I do appreciate the courage it took for Jackie to endure and persevere through the name calling, taunts and flat-out hatred that was directed at him for playing a game.  

I submit, however, that it was not the single most important event in the history of American sports.  As historically great as Jackie Robinson’s breakthrough was not only for baseball, but also for all sports in our country, the individuals who directed their hatred at number 42 where, for the most part, nobody’s.  Fans, front office personnell and other baseball players do not even begin to compare to the power possessed by the leader of a nation.

Eleven years before Jackie Robinson stood at the plate against the Boston Braves, Jesse Owens won four gold medals at the Berlin Olympics.  What Jesse did in the ’36 Games was the mother of all landmark performances in sports.  He traveled to a country led by a monster whose political platform was the supremacy of his race over the rest of the world.  Jesse competed in front of a nation of individuals who came together through hate and believed he wasn’t worthy of living, let alone competing in their Olympics.  The scope of Jackie Robinson’s accomplishment was one country that, at its worst, had enslaved other human beings based on the color of their skin and still maintained segregation because of this same criterion. The scope of Jesse Owens’ accomplishment, however, was one country that brutally and systematically killed people based on their ethnicity and religious beliefs.

I am honored to be a sports fan in an era where I can cheer for Dontrelle Willis, Jason Taylor and Dwyane Wade, all of which are black players on my favorite teams.  I understand that they, and the other black and minority players, owe a great deal to what Jackie Robinson made possible 60 years ago.  I also believe that Jackie would not have been able to take those first nerve-wracking steps out of the Dodgers dugout had Jesse Owens not proved to the world that black athletes do indeed belong in the arena competing with everyone else.  Like he did four times in Berlin in 1936, when comparing Jackie to Jesse, Jesse continues to come in first.