All three brothers rise together, clambering out of the bed they share in a small room in the back of the house. Cotton won't wait for anyone.
Fingertips are bloody by noon. With the sun burning overhead, he wipes his brow and looks toward the house. Mama walks toward them, dust like a cloud forming around her as her worn shoes skim the earth. Time for lunch.
His first love is football. He owes everything to the sport that gave him hope. To play he pays his father $75, the amount of money his absence costs in the cotton field. To be bigger than small, nothing costs too much.
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My father grew up poor, but he was rich with ambition. He instilled in me and my brothers a desire to succeed, to dream big and pursue relentlessly. "Don't quit," he said. We never have.
Your roots hold you steady while you grow tall.
