Sometimes words are not enough.

I’m not sharing this for a pat on my back or some positive recognition. It’s always been my hidden dream to make a positive contribution while I’m still living. Perhaps it’s part of the aging process that we all want to be remembered in a positive way before we move to the next level, where ever that might be.

This letter that I received today reinforces the idea that we can all make a difference. Be kind to someone with an open hand and share the best of yourself. That’s all it takes. The reward is unimaginable.

***

I’ve learned to live in my head, a place to be free. But that was not always the case. Imagine that you met a person in your life who will forever change the way you view strangers. I met such a man. He knew nothing about me, at least nothing positive nor good. He only knew that I was incarcerated for gun violence. This man taught me things a father should teach his son. Being that I came from the slums of Chicago and had been hardwired to be destructive, I grew up less fortunate than most. Where I came from did not offer hope or a different path from the one that guided me to prison. But I’ve always been creative with a vivid imagination.

I was isolated from society while being confined in a cage and forgotten. But I met a stranger who believed in me and grounded me when my life was falling apart. The culture of the streets isn’t built to elevate your potential or drive you towards success. It taught me not to trust strangers and be relentless in terms of rage.

This man wasn’t like the men that I grew up with. His skin is a different color and he doesn’t speak the same urban language that I do. But he believed in me and never gave up. And for a kid from the streets of urban Chicago, that’s the difference between life and death. This man is my role model, father figure, noble, and someone who pushes me to be great. He is my second chance. His legacy will forever be embedded into the fabric of my future. He is also the man who advocated on my behalf, and invested in me without complaint. This man is my friend, Larry L. Franklin.

Thanks to everone who has purchased a copy of “Blood of my Shadow” and who continue to sped the word. If you’re trying to contact me, you can write to me at:

Jovon Scott #M09478
P.O. Box 1700
Galesburg, Il 61402

2 thoughts on “Sometimes words are not enough.

  1. Hi Larry,

    I just read Jovan’s tribute to you. It was beautifully written in which I suspect you had a good deal input. I bet it feels good to have been the influence that has changed his life.

    Thanks for sharing. Janet

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

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