On the inside

 It didn't matter to us what others were saying. We knew our clothes weren't new, and most were handed down. Our shoes weren't the latest style. Momma always said it's what we are on the inside that matters. Our folks were hardworking people who went without to save enough money for a birthday or holiday, bringing smiles to us and a tear to Momma's eye that she quickly wiped away. We were hardened by the actions of other kids and learned to turn another cheek unless it was a sibling, and then we got involved in a way even Momma would be proud of. Dad would stay out of it, looking over the top of his newspaper and asking how the other guy looked. I knew I saw a smile behind the news. I loved my childhood and the times spent in the city, but my heart longed for the country and everything that went with it. The sounds of the wildlife and the smells of the hay and freshly cut grass. I still dream about Momma's warm apple pie and a Sunday chicken dinner with family and friends wrapped around a makeshift table big enough to seat everyone. It's not the clothes you wear or if you have the latest styles; it's not where you live if you call it home or have money in a bank or a coffee can buried under the peach tree. Life belongs to you for time unknown, so live it full of goodness and caring and treat others as you would be treated. Put away the pettiness and greed and strive always to do better. Remember the old shoes you wore and the hand-me-down clothes, and remember how, in the end, you were happy.