I walked down
the newly plowed row with my grandpa, feeling the warm, red clay on the soles
of my bare feet and listened to his stories and words of advice. I held a
tomato plant in my hands, the rich, black potting soil falling off of the
small, vulnerable roots, as he knelt and dug a place for it in the garden. “Hey,”
he’d often start, “here's something my daddy told me when I was little. ‘God gave
you two ears and one mouth because He wants you to listen twice as much as you
speak. If you do that, you'll learn something. If you don't, you won't.’”
I walked down
the newly plowed row with my grandpa, feeling the warm, red clay on the soles
of my bare feet and listened to his stories and words of advice.