Family, I believe in giving people room to grow. Even when they make it difficult.
Some folks’ light bulbs come on early. Others have been standing in the dark for 40 years, fumbling with the light switch.
As a teacher, I see it constantly. You explain something 17 ways. Draw pictures. Give examples. Practically reenact the lesson with a supporting cast. Nothing.
Then one random Tuesday, a student sits up. “OHHH! So THAT’S what you meant!”
Yes! That’s what I’ve been saying since August!
But I love those moments. You can almost see somebody becoming new.
I’ve felt it myself. In college basketball, something finally clicked. I stopped being afraid of mistakes, stopped judging every move, and started playing freely. Same player. Same ball. Different perspective. Coach Rob Harris probably wished that revelation had arrived earlier in the season.
And then there was zucchini.
Y’all, I was in my twenties when I first had zucchini cooked just right, with a little salt and pepper. I took one bite and felt betrayed.
“Wait a minute. This is a VEGETABLE? And y’all been keeping this from me?”
Growing up, squash meant something yellow and yucky. Nobody told me zucchini was squash. I’d judged the whole family by one relative.
After that, I bought zucchini on every grocery trip. Started noticing it at Chinese restaurants. Even saw zucchinis in German supermarkets so big I thought they needed their own shopping carts.
Zucchini hadn’t changed. My understanding had.
People can be like that.
Sometimes the light comes on at 16. Sometimes at 60.
Turning 25 was another awakening. Growing up, I heard frightening predictions about what could happen to young men. Somewhere along the way, fear convinced me 25 was a finish line.
Then I got there. Still breathing. Still learning. Turns out, it was a starting line.
That’s why I try not to give up on people. Students. Family. Friends. Even people I disagree with.
Now somebody’s thinking, “Kenny, what if loving them keeps hurting you?”
Fair question.
Not giving up doesn’t mean giving somebody unlimited access to mistreat you. You can love someone and establish boundaries. Forgive them and still let the phone ring. Wish them the best without volunteering for every bad decision they make.
I can believe somebody might change without pretending they already have. Love can be patient. Trust still needs receipts.
And somebody else’s disrespect doesn’t have to determine my character. I can change my approach without becoming somebody I don’t want to be.
Maybe their light comes on tomorrow. Maybe next year. Maybe at 60. I’d rather celebrate their growth than remind them how long they were in the dark.
But here’s what I have to remember: while I’m waiting on somebody else’s light bulb to come on, somebody might be waiting on mine.
Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t get it yet. Maybe I need to listen better, apologize, or see something differently.
After all, I spent 20-something years believing squash was just yellow and nasty.
Give people room to grow. Including yourself.
Sometimes the light bulb that needs to come on is our own.
And for goodness’ sake, try the zucchini.
Kenny Robertson, an educator and comedian, is a native of Ridgeway.