I know what it’s like to walk into a room and feel the weight of judgment before you speak a word. I grew up in a family of fourteen, with little money and even less privilege. My schoolmates came from middle- and upper-class families. I came from a tenant farmer’s home. To them, I was the kid who didn’t belong. But life has a way of teaching you that others don’t hand out worth; it’s built from within.
My father taught me early on to stand tall, even when life tried to bend me. He said, “Don’t let anyone tell you what you’re worth, show them.” And I did. Through loss, through hardship, through the quiet years when nobody was cheering for me, I built a life on self-reliance, education, and the stubborn belief that dignity is earned through character, not circumstances.
That journey eventually became the heart of my book, A LOT OF PEOPLE SLEPT HERE. It’s a story of growing up poor, losing my father too soon, raising three children alone, and rising through decades of hard work to retire with pride. It’s about humor in hard times, courage when the world feels heavy, and hope when the road ahead seems endless.
To every young underdog reading this: your past doesn’t define you. The whispers behind your back, the labels people try to stick on you, the doors that close before you get a chance to knock, none of it decides your future. You do.
Carry yourself with character. Stay curious. Treat people with kindness, even when kindness isn’t returned. And when life tries to tell you “you can’t,” let your work, your resilience, and your unshakable belief in yourself answer back: “Watch me.”
Because your worth has never been theirs to define.