At 17, she found me lonely, sketching by myself. And, then at 18, is when she told me, “You ain’t gonna amount to anything else than a working man. You’re a working man. You ain’t got talent. You ain’t got skill. Oh, you’re a working man. You better keep yourself in school.” So, I went to college. I got some scholarships. I tried to make my parents proud, but at class admissions, they asked, “Why not do business? You’re making this harder on yourself. ‘Cause you’re a working man. Sure, you’ve got talent. You’ve got skill. But, be a working man. Life feels better when not uphill. Well, I’m stubborn, and I don’t listen. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been pissing my years away, and it’s a battle to make the good things stay. Well, about those years, I lunged into my fears that I wouldn’t amount to anything. I don’t amount to much, but my skin sure thickened up, and I’m no stranger to a hard‐worked day. ‘Cause I’m a working man. I had talent but I’m learning skills. Yes, I’m a working man. And, I’ll die with calluses and dirty nails.

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