A few days ago, I was talking to a life-long friend. When I say “life-long,” I mean I have know this guy since he was born, as he is a few years younger than I. His father and my father were good friends before even I was born. He and I started to talk about our dads and the examples they left for us. Both our fathers were what you could easily call “pillars of the community.” They were not civic leaders in a governmental sense, but they were certainly leaders. Our mothers were also very good friends. Our families and a handful of other families were all close and, as such, the kids from those families formed a circle that contained many of the friendships I had in my youth.
There is an old East African proverb that many of you have heard before that says, “It takes a whole village to raise a child.” I fully believe that to be true. I think some people have misinterpreted that proverb to suggest the “village” referenced is the government and that the role of parents is diminished. I think nothing could be further from the truth. I think back to my childhood as an example.
Growing up, my “village” consisted of many wonderful families. Families who, in some cases were almost as close to me as my own family. If I were staying over with the Milams and I needed to be corrected about something, either Mr. or Mrs. Milam had every right to help correct me. The same with my parents and the Milam kids.
I have often said and it was quite true that my mom played bridge with what seemed like half the teachers in the community. I may get away with something for a while, but eventually, my mom WOULD find out. The village in which I grew up had an amazing communications system called the “Thursday Night Bridge Club.” An extension of that communication network often spilled over into Friday evenings when the dads were included in Friday night bridge gatherings. I never learned to play bridge but from what I remember from many Friday evenings, it could spur many boisterous conversations.
Looking back, I learned many lessons from my “village.” From the men, I learned strength, honor and integrity. I learned the value of loyal friendships. From the women, I learned love and compassion. I remember well, when my mother passed away, I saw one of the women of this “village” who had come to the house to help prepare food. Without a word, I threw my arms around her and wept like a little child. She didn't say a word either. She just held me and let me cry, just as she would one of her own children. I can honestly say I had a really good village … or as my friend said in our conversation, “the best of villages.”