Second hand Rose

I used to love to listen to some of the old Vaudeville style pieces of music that at times seemed a bit schmaltzy yet uplifting. When our family was all together living on the farm, we spent Sunday afternoons either listening to music or making music. I will never forget one of my older brothers being so angry at me for playing over and over again the same record on the record player that he grabbed one of my favorite records and broke it because he had asked me more than once to stop playing it. Well, that is what happens when you are still in the learning stages of compromise. 
When living in a family of many, everyone learns to compromise or they are one way or another ostracized. I used to tell my clients and customers until it went out of vogue that I wish everyone would take the time to live through the experiences of living on a working farm with others for at least two years. I met with a dear client this evening who traveled many of the same paths and I found myself re-remembering. Her family lived in Southern Iowa and had it likely much harder than our family did, yet there were many similar threads to compare. With that said, I tell the world that I know now why I have been more of the giver than taker; I learned to share at a very early age. I will never forget my Mother saying so many times about some wrong that was done. Her responses still ring in my ear, “It’s not about the money…It’s just not right.” So, I’m sure you’re all waiting to find out what record my older brother broke. Ok, I’ll tell you. It was a very old record with a woman singing…”They call me second hand Rose…”