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Reflections August 2014

My Important Mission

By Don Johnson

But now, my grandmother needed milk, and I had been entrusted to deliver it to her. My face was set and determined as I considered the gravity of my mission. Then a piece of the broken sidewalk skittered under my none-too-sure footing.

The importance of almost anything is relative to how you perceive it — your perspective, if you will. Thus a happening may seem of vital importance to one person, but to another, seem of little consequence. That’s the way it was with my very first memory of life.

I was about two years of age — just starting to walk well  — and I clutched a quart bottle of milk to my chest as my sturdy little legs carried me over the broken sidewalk on a vital mission. I was to transport said milk from my parent's home to the cafe owned and operated by my grandparents in downtown Devol, Oklahoma, in a building that had once been the downtown bank. There they served up beefsteak for 35 cents, a plate lunch for 15 cents, and hamburgers for a nickel. My favorite spot on earth was a perch atop a stool at the lengthy bar from which I could order my favorite breakfast — a short stack.

But now, my grandmother needed milk, and I had been entrusted to deliver it to her. My face was set and determined as I considered the gravity of my mission. Then a piece of the broken sidewalk skittered under my none-too-sure footing.

Clutching my precious cargo even tighter, I plunged face down on the concrete where the milk bottle shattered into a gazillion shards of glass, one of which penetrated my lower lip to emerge on the inside of my mouth. I carry the scar to this day. I hardly noticed it at the time as I was overcome by shame at the disgrace of having broken an entire quart of milk on which my grandmother had waited in vain.

To my grandparents and my parents, who must have been watching me from the window, the milk was nothing — a trifle. They were concerned with me, and my cut lip. I, on the other hand, didn’t understand all the fuss being made about such a small thing in the wake of the monumental failure of my mission and the waste of a whole quart of milk.

From the perspective of a casual bystander, neither event was very important. The milk was replaced and my lip healed. In the long haul, neither was vital in the context of our lives. 

I suppose the biggest lesson one could learn from such an incident is to not place undo importance on, either our failures, nor our successes in life. Likely neither are as earth shattering nor as meaningful as we might think at the time. It all depends on your perspective.

What really matters is how we react to whatever life throws at us. It might be wise to evaluate every situation from as many perspectives as possible. It might look entirely different from a new angle.       

 

Don Johnson is an octogenarian who lives in Palestine, TX. He writes articles that illuminate the human condition and frequently show the contrast between our lifestyle of today with that of yesterday. He welcomes your input at  This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. .

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