Mad At My Favorite Color

by MitchellRichards

It seems that at every family gathering there are stories to be shared.  Any moment in history where a group is together for an extended period of time and conversations are started, stories will come out.  When you are a goofy child, like I was, you begin to notice the particular stories about you that your parents or other family members share.  For example, whenever I am with my dad’s side of the family, someone inevitably brings up the time when I was little and refused to eat a hamburger because it had pickles on it.  They remember me screaming and crying, throwing a hissy fit, and refusing to even touch the burger.  My dad will tell the story about when I would walk into the kitchen in the morning as a kid, half asleep and mumbling, “Eeeeeaaaat…Eeeeeaaaat…” in my little boy underwear.  My mother will probably tell the story of how one summer I sledded off the roof of my house onto our trampoline.  My brother would probably tell the story of how I accidentally hit him in the head with an aluminum baseball bat, either that or the time we almost got arrested the night before my grandmother’s funeral.

We all have memorable scenes in our lives.  Sometimes they are funny, other times they are tragic.  But we can always look back at these moments as mile markers along the way to our destination.  It is important that we remember these stories and even more important to tell these stories.

It may seem like an odd question to ask, but what stories do people tell about you?

These moments and stories are important because without these stories we are just names and shapes to the people around us.

My name is Mitchell Lee Richards.  I’m 6’3, 175 pounds, and I hate frogs.

But when a story is told, life is breathed into each character:

Yes, my name is Mitchell Lee Richards, I am 6’3, I do weigh 175 pounds, I do hate frogs, but let me tell you about the time I smashed my fingers in the door the day of my little league soccer team pictures.  Let me tell you about the time my training wheels got taken off first the first time and while trying to ride without them and tired of wrecking, I cried, “I’m so mad, I don’t even like my favorite color.”  Or about how my favorite color was hot pink at the time and I got upset when I couldn’t be on the opposing soccer team, a girl’s team, because I just wanted hot pink jerseys.  Or let me tell you about the time I couldn’t sleep one night because I stayed up late watching a “documentary” about Bigfoot and was convinced he was coming to get me.

I am more than a name and a shape — I am a story.

A story that is still being written, chapter by chapter as days go by and turn into nights.  Quadruple overtimes and hiking trips filling up blank pages in a book that never seems to end.  Today has the potential to be the best story in the book; you just have to go find the right setting and characters to compliment it.

In a world of pop culture, fake celebrities, and billboards on every corner, we are being swayed into thinking about what we could be instead of realizing who we are.  The faces and bodies on advertisements are just faces and shapes, but we are stories, and those stories and waiting to be told and waiting to be lived.  You’ll never be satisfied chasing after being a shape and a face, you’ll never be happy climbing corpo ladders, and you’ll never be content until you find your story.  You can dance the steps just the right way, but it will never be a dance until everyone backs away, makes a circle around you, and let’s you dance your own dance.  You can chase all those things or you can be a story, told in conversations around good food and drinks.  You can desire to be a shape and a name, or you can become a story that brings a smile to the faces of loved ones and God himself.

The best story inside of you is the one that can be potentially lived out today, the one that keeps you awake at night, the one that you keep avoiding.  What story are you living?  What story of yours is being told?

The idea of how stories and lives go hand in hand is presented really well by Donald Miller in his book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.  I highly advise you go read this book.  I’m not copying him on this, just passing along an idea in my own words.

It seems that at every family gathering there are stories to be shared.  Any moment in history where a group is together for an extended period of time and conversations are started, stories will come out.  When you are a goofy child, like I was, you begin to notice the particular stories about you that your parents or other family members share.  For example, whenever I am with my dad’s side of the family, someone inevitably brings up the time when I was little and refused to eat a hamburger because it had pickles on it.  They remember me screaming and crying, throwing a hissy fit, and refusing to even touch the burger.  My dad will tell the story about when I would walk into the kitchen in the morning as a kid, half asleep and mumbling, “Eeeeeaaaat…Eeeeeaaaat…” in my little boy underwear.  My mother will probably tell the story of how one summer I sledded off the roof of my house onto our trampoline.  My brother would probably tell the story of how I accidentally hit him in the head with an aluminum baseball bat, either that or the time we almost got arrested the night before my grandmother’s funeral.

We all have memorable scenes in our lives.  Sometimes they are funny, other times they are tragic.  But we can always look back at these moments as mile markers along the way to our destination.  It is important that we remember these stories and even more important to tell these stories.

It may seem like an odd question to ask, but what stories do people tell about you?

These moments and stories are important because without these stories we are just names and shapes to the people around us.

My name is Mitchell Lee Richards.  I’m 6’3, 175 pounds, and I hate frogs.

But when a story is told, life is breathed into each character:

Yes, my name is Mitchell Lee Richards, I am 6’3, I do weigh 175 pounds, I do hate frogs, but let me tell you about the time I smashed my fingers in the door the day of my little league soccer team pictures.  Let me tell you about the time my training wheels got taken off first the first time and while trying to ride without them and tired of wrecking, I cried, “I’m so mad, I don’t even like my favorite color.”  Or about how my favorite color was hot pink at the time and I got upset when I couldn’t be on the opposing soccer team, a girl’s team, because I just wanted hot pink jerseys.  Or let me tell you about the time I couldn’t sleep one night because I stayed up late watching a “documentary” about Bigfoot and was convinced he was coming to get me.

I am more than a name and a shape — I am a story.

A story that is still being written, chapter by chapter as days go by and turn into nights.  Quadruple overtimes and hiking trips filling up blank pages in a book that never seems to end.  Today has the potential to be the best story in the book; you just have to go find the right setting and characters to compliment it.

In a world of pop culture, fake celebrities, and billboards on every corner, we are being swayed into thinking about what we could be instead of realizing who we are.  The faces and bodies on advertisements are just faces and shapes, but we are stories, and those stories and waiting to be told and waiting to be lived.  You’ll never be satisfied chasing after being a shape and a face, you’ll never be happy climbing corpo ladders, and you’ll never be content until you find your story.  You can dance the steps just the right way, but it will never be a dance until everyone backs away, makes a circle around you, and let’s you dance your own dance.  You can chase all those things or you can be a story, told in conversations around good food and drinks.  You can desire to be a shape and a name, or you can become a story that brings a smile to the faces of loved ones and God himself.

The best story inside of you is the one that can be potentially lived out today, the one that keeps you awake at night, the one that you keep avoiding.  What story are you living?  What story of yours is being told?

The idea of how stories and lives go hand in hand is presented really well by Donald Miller in his book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. I highly advise you go read this book.  I’m not copying him on this, just passing along an idea in my own words.

Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.

Buy my new book, “Definitive Blurs”.

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