Most fights aren’t about who’s right — they’re about who’s hurt.- YNOT
The boy sat on the porch steps, kicking the air like it owed him money.
Grandpa watched from his chair, the one that creaked louder than the crickets.
“You look like you’re tryin’ to start a fight with gravity,” Grandpa said.
The boy scowled. “It’s Mom. She’s always mad. I can’t even breathe without her sighing at me.”
Grandpa nodded slow, like he’d already read that chapter.
“She doesn’t listen,” the boy added. “She just… yells.”
“Hmm,” Grandpa said, setting his coffee cup down. “You know what yellin’ usually means?”
“That she hates me?”
Grandpa laughed — the low kind that comes from a man who’s done his share of dumb things and lived to tell it.
“No, son. It means she’s scared.”
The boy looked up. “Scared of what?”
“Of losin’ you. Of messin’ up. Of not bein’ enough. Love makes folks funny that way — it can turn fear into noise.”
“She doesn’t act like she loves me.”
“That’s ‘cause love ain’t always soft,” Grandpa said. “Sometimes it barks. Sometimes it slams doors. But it’s still love, boy — it’s just wearin’ armor.”
They sat quiet a while, listening to the wind drag its feet through the trees.
Then Grandpa asked, “She home now?”
“Yeah.”
“You talk to her?”
The boy shrugged. “She talks. I survive.”
Grandpa smiled a little. “Well, I was fixin’ to walk down to the corner store, grab me a soda and a scratch-off I don’t plan on winnin’. You comin’?”
“Yeah,” the boy said, hopping up. “Anything to get outta here.”
They walked side by side down the street. Grandpa’s steps were slow, steady — like the world moved on his clock.
After a block or two, the boy’s shoulders dropped, his breath evened out.
“You know,” Grandpa said, “your mama used to come with me on this same walk. Same store, same street. She’d stomp along mad at me ‘cause I told her to be home by nine. Said I didn’t understand her. Truth is, I didn’t — not then. But I was tryin’ to keep her safe.”
The boy kicked a rock. “So she’s doing the same thing?”
“Pretty much. Different shoes, same heart.”
When they got to the store, Grandpa bought two sodas — cold and sweating from the fridge.
He handed one to the boy. “You don’t have to fix her, kid. Just be patient. One day you’ll see what she was fightin’ for.”
The boy nodded, half-listening, half-thinking. They sipped their sodas in silence all the way home.
When they got back, his mom was at the sink, wiping down the counter. She looked tired in that deep, invisible way grown-ups do.
The boy stopped in the doorway. “Hey… I got you a soda,” he said, holding out his own.
She looked surprised — then smiled. “Thanks, honey.”
He shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
Grandpa watched from the porch, rocking slow, a quiet grin in his eyes.
Sometimes the smallest thing — a walk, a soda, a few words — is enough to fix what yelling can’t.
Because, as Grandpa liked to say, it’s not about you, kid… it’s about them.
Reflection
In business, in love, in family — we get so tangled in our own hurt that we forget everyone else has theirs too.
People don’t always say what they mean; they say what they feel safe saying.
When you learn to listen for what’s underneath — the fear, the longing, the love hiding in the noise — that’s when relationships heal.
It’s not about being right.
It’s about being real.
EXTRA CREDIT:
Authenticity: Finding Your Voice in a Noisy World
AUTHENTICITY: The Rare Currency That Never Depreciates
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