Salty Cornflakes: A Transfer of Energy
>*Energy waves are disturbances that transfer energy through a medium or space without transferring matter.They move in various forms, such as compressions (longitudinal) or crests and troughs (transverse), carrying power from one point to another, crucial for communication, heating, and even generating electricity from ocean swells. - Google AI overview.*
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This morning, I woke up with a lot of energy. Even though I went to bed with a heavy head and heart, I awoke full of vitality, full of possibility, and full of the twenty wings I got for half-price the night before.
Some would say I woke up on the right side of the bed. Despite only getting five hours of sleep, I was ready to go. I was talking loud, singing, and smacking the wife on her booty every time she walked near me. Good morning!
I tried to transfer that energy to everyone in the house—specifically my wife and my daughter, who is home from college. My wife was game; she returned the vibes. My daughter, on the other hand, was not in that kind of mood.
When I yelled her name to get her attention, I was met with an energy that ran straight through me. Here I was, positive and buzzing, and she returned serve with a not-so-motivated "Yeah."
Yeah? Huh? Did she just say "Yeah" in response to all this positivity? I was aghast. I clutched my proverbial pearls. How could she return my joy with such blah?
"I can't believe you'd turn down all this good energy for bad," I joked, pretending to cry.
My wife, sitting right next to me, intervened. "Marh, she ain't feeling great."
I yelled back something reckless, like, "I bet you don't give that boy the same energy when he's happy!" It was in jest, but with a little truth sprinkled on top.
In an earlier blog, I wrote about how our relationship is "hard loving." We act more like homies than father and daughter most of the time. But today wasn't one of those times. Today, she needed our soft side. I had made the morning about my energy. I try to set the tone in the crib, to stay positive, but today I wasn't ready to be stopped in my tracks by the "Yeah" wall.
So, there I was, sitting in a puddle of my own joy without my crazy homie. But in the midst of my thoughts, something hit me. I sat there for a few seconds, then stood up.
"Let me hop up real quick," I said to my wife. "Let me go in there and give my daughter a hug."
What came to mind were all the times her soft, genuine hug saved me. And I mean literally saved me.
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There was a time when I lost my business. I owned two Cold Stone Creamery franchises when I was twenty-five. Ironically, I bought them the year she was born, and I lost them two years later. That's a story for another time, but I remember that season so well. I had worked my way up from washing floor sinks to buying two stores in my hometown. And there I was, two years later, closing the doors.
I was depressed. So depressed I would hallucinate. I probably shouldn't have been the caretaker for a two-year-old at that time. Every day I thought of offing myself. I thought everything was over. I had lost my stores, my car, and my first business—a duplex—because it was tied to the Cold Stone loans.
*How will I ever make it back?* I thought every morning.
I would sleep in every day—which anyone who knows me knows is hard for me to do. I was usually awakened by a two-year-old sitting on my head with a dirty diaper. That's how she woke me up. I would get up, change her diaper, and fix us a bowl of cereal.
For a while, every single day, I would stand her up in a chair on one side of the table, and I would sit on the other side, look at her, and cry into my cereal. Those were some salty cornflakes.
How could I let her and her brothers down? How could I lose everything we had? Since the time I had my first son, all I ever thought about was leaving him an inheritance—one that would last for my children's children. I thought surely Cold Stone was part of that.
I mean, I had beaten the odds. My wife and I were once on food stamps and WIC. Before buying the duplex, we lived in income-based housing. Together we made it: a duplex, a nice car, a single-family home, and two franchise ice cream stores, all within our first six years of marriage.
But I had lost almost all of it. Every tear asked *how?* Every snot bubble screamed *why?* I was ready to go. It was an angry cry, mostly. I was mad at myself.
And there I was, sobbing across from a little one who had no clue why I was crying. But every day, this same little ball of cuteness would get down out of her chair, come over, get in my lap, and hug me. Hard. She gives the best hugs ever.
Of course, I'd cry some more, but these were "get-right" tears.
See, I had made everything about me. In those moments, my daughter made me understand I wasn't alone. That it was about us. All of us. My whole family.
In those days, I woke up with awful, destructive energy. I was at the lowest I had ever been. I was just going through life, trying not to end it. My energy was far worse than "Yeah." It was actually "No."
But my little ball of energy—she didn't know it—transferred her great energy to me. I feel like God had me home with her those exact days because her spirit helped me begin climbing out of the valley. She started it.
I eventually started keeping all my little cousins, nieces, and nephews throughout the year. I didn't have a business anymore, and I was just learning how to program, so I had time. We'd go to the park and have relay races. We went on citywide bus adventures. I'd take them swimming. We had the best time. Their energy helped me tremendously. They didn't have a care in the world; they just wanted to come over to Uncle Marh's and have a good time.
She doesn't always know it, but throughout the years, she has given me a hug at just the right time. She'll just be walking past my door, come in, and give me a hug.
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Good energy has the power to move people. It has the power to lift people from a despair you may not know they are dealing with. But you can't always share it the way you want to. It's like putting an egg in the microwave; you will make it explode. Sometimes you have to pass the energy on as a slow, steady boil.
Today, my daughter needed the same hug she once gave me.
So I walked to her room, sat down on her bed, and gave her a silent hug. She rose up and gave me a small smirk. I knew that was just what she needed. She needed my positive energy, but in a smaller, gentler way. The power I carried was able to touch something in her, to get her to rise out of bed and get her day started.
And for me? She still gives the best hugs ever.
