When sitting each morning on my meditation chair striving to become a better more humble person, my mind often wanders to a childhood full of redneck boys. They made my life a misery by grabbing at whatever part of my body they found appealing, and worse they would not let me play on their raggedy baseball team. They had ‘girl rules’. Girls couldn’t play sports or climb out the window of our school and slide down the drain spout going from second to first floor. Girls were off limits to the other redneck boys if we already had a boyfriend. We became objects without a voice.

One day when standing on the sidelines watching them play baseball, I grabbed a glove, shoved the first baseman out of the way, and yelled, “Com’ on, sissies, show us what ya got!” Seconds later, I found myself on the ground with the batter. I wrenched the bat free and gave him a good crack across both knees. I could hear the voices of the girls, “Yer git ‘em, Bon!” I banged away at all of them a few times before they decided it would be easier to let me play than put up with my craziness at every game.

My fourteen-year-old self possessed an inner feisty side that wouldn’t tolerate the injustices of others. Of course, I noticed making judgements lacked humility, but I couldn’t see any way around stepping up for all the girls without raising my voice.

Slowly, I shoved my thoughts aside and sat in stillness where I soared in the silence of ethereal peace just past the place where the redneck boys stood smirking on the sidelines.

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