In 1998 my arrival at 9lbs 11oz defied the prognosis of several medical professionals. I returned to a Hyde Park home and became the first American born Nixon.
I climbed on everything, including my father. Soon I acquired the nickname ‘monkey’.
In words of my own, I began an emblematic reach for basic phonics and spoke with anyone willing to listen. I learned conversation was good for the soul.
Memories of my elementary days are filled with irrepressible laughter and irreplaceable friends. We played pleasantly and worried seldom. Soccer was my world. In 4th grade, I stood before a man as he blazed a trail toward freedom. He whispered the words of slaves and abolitionists, pioneers who urged on in the wake of discovery and I believed him: “yes we could.”
My father taught me to always be a little kid at heart. But sometimes I worry I grew up too fast.
I believe in the power of laughter. The power of humor. The resilience of hilarity in the darkest of situations.
In confidence, I have found the cure to sweaty hands. Though my hands still perspire, I’ve learned it’s best not to sweat it.
Sometimes I feel trapped by a societal endemic there stems a mindset unlike my own. For fear that it may affect me too, I try and let other ideas carry me away.
Often I smile and others wonder why. Seldom do I regret a day well spent.
I seek to live every moment like it’s my last and though my body would argue differently, I believe that sleep is for the weak.
I am the creator of art and I believe that art is in everything. I write to paint my world with color and paint to know we all see the world differently.
I want from this life what it wants from me. I wonder where life will take me and revel in its mystery.
I believe that everything happens for a reason and that with reason comes responsibility. I remember I am the decider of my destiny. I am the skipper of my soul.