He woke up troubled, his dreams had been unsettling…nightmares, he called them.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that reality will be worse.
He had dreamed he was part of a Native American tribe and they had thrown him out for some reason…when he woke up he was boy without a tribe.
He always will be.
He is too open to the world, too accepting of the eclectic, too embracing of diversity to fit a mold.
His wardrobe has skateboard helmets and bolo ties, ski boots and muscle shirts, skinny jeans and funky hats, and he sometimes combines them in odd ways.
He loves Jesus and Banksy, homeless people and preachers, the Beatles and Louis Armstrong.
He’s very sensitive, yet a warrior, he’s an athlete and an artist.
He likes tofu and sprouts, but prefers to eat at the truck stop.
He could excel at tae kwan doe, except for the fact that he loathes causing pain.
He is only truly content on top of a skateboard and will stay that way long past the point where his body wants him to quit.
He is different.
Tribal membership require conformity…it requires that you look and think and feel and speak and act like the rest of the tribe.
It requires that you no longer be who you were created to be, but who the tribe wants you to be.
Praise be to God…he won’t be able to do that.
He will always be looking for his tribe.
The real nightmares will start every time he thinks he’s found one.
Make your own application…