Still

So I thought about beginning this post with a true Southern-style story about my relatives on my Daddy's side of the family who made moonshine in a still. But then I thought perhaps I shouldn't in case some of them continue to make moonshine in a still. I've seen a still or two in my day, you know ... back in the woods of south Georgia (way, way, way, way back in the woods hidden deep in the trees, close to a creek, far away from ... ummm ... everything and everyone). They are quite fascinating contraptions ... stills, that is ... some are bigger and grander than others with fancy copper tubing and stainless steel pots, while some ... well, some look like they should be in a dump rather than producing liquid that people will drink. I've heard that moonshine is often transported in glass jars, glass Mason jars to be exact, but that's only what I've heard. Of course I've never actually seen moonshine in glass Mason jars, and of course I've never had a sip (or 20) of real, home-brewed moonshine. Of course I haven't.

When it comes to the device used for making backwoods whiskey, the word still is short for alcohol distillation system. I've had cause to think a lot about the word still recently ... not the moonshine-making kind of still, mind you ... I've been thinking about the word still in a whole different context. The night that young Gary talked to his parents, he sent me a text that said, "I told them. They love me. Still." I myself have had people tell me over the years, "I still love you," more often than not after I had done or said something I shouldn't have. I've heard that word ... still ... a lot in my life in conjunction with the words I love you, perhaps because I seem to have a knack for doing or saying things I shouldn't.

The more I've thought about it, the more I've come to the conclusion that the way I interpret the word still is a lot like the way I see certain events in life. Sometimes I look at what is happening in my world with a glass half-full view, while at other times the glass is most definitely half-empty. Sometimes when someone says, "I still love you," or "I love you still," I believe the person is telling me he or she just loves me, period ... that nothing I could ever do or say or be will change their love for me. But then at other times those same words carry all different meaning for me ... the minute they are spoken, I believe that I am loved in spite of what I've done or said or who I am, that the person has to forgive me or overlook something about me in order to love me. One little word ... still ... can evoke such differing emotions and feelings. That one little word can make me feel appreciated and treasured or unworthy and chastised. Still ... such power, such meaning, such consequences derived from my own interpretation of that one little word ... still ... still ... still. 

"I told them. They love me. Still." Your parents love you, my young friend, Gary ... not in spite of who you are ... not in spite of, young man, but because of.