Finding strength in the Darkness just before the Dawn

“Find yourself in the darkness to be your best self after the dawn.”

Just the other day I saw a guy throwing telephone books onto everyone’s front porch.  Let me tell you, that took me back way back. 

Back to 1967.  Now 1967 wasn’t the best of times; it wasn’t the worst of times it was just another time.  A time when people would routinely leave their front doors open when they departed in the mornings just so that the house wouldn’t be hot when they returned.  It was a time when a kid would walk his dog without a leash, and every mother was your mother when your mother wasn’t around.  When moms are everywhere, it became quite challenging to get away with anything.

It was in that summer of 1967, just before I went into the seventh grade, that I became a paperboy for the San Diego Union.  My wife now swears that is was during those formative years that I became a morning person. She could be correct.  Because being a paperboy meant getting up every single morning at 4 am.  I’d walk outside and opened my garage door.  Just inside I had all my supplies neatly stowed.  My rubber bands to bind the folded paper together, the canvas bags to hold those folded papers and of course my trusty Phillips bike to transport me and my precious cargo.   

Once the white van, embossed with San Diego Union, arrived my manager would drop off my bundles.  I would get to work and snip the baling wire and start folding, banding, and stuff my papers.  Once I was done, I’d sling the canvas bags over the back of my bike, quietly shut the garage door and peddle off into the pre-dawn darkness.  

My delivery route was about a quarter of a mile from my home.  I’d go up a short and steep hill then down the long and straight hill to my clients.  My route fluctuated between 80 to 100 homes.  These homes nestled next to a vast sagebrush wilderness.

When you ride your bike at 4 am, you experience the world in a hush.  The neat rows of darken homes looked downright post-apocalyptic.  Imagine weaving in and out of drives with barely a sound, startling herds of rabbits grazing on the sweet front lawns of suburbia. And then, on rare occasions, catching glimpses of coyote packs prancing down the long streets. As I peddled to each home, I would reach back, grab a paper, and sling the morning news.  Always aiming at the welcome mat yet occasionally find a rack of empty milk bottles or that unfortunate sleeping cat. 

Every morning, seven days a week, 365 days a year, I’d make that solitary trek.  And for that dedication, I would make the rather princely sum of $1.00 for each of my customers.  Yep, on a good month, I might make $100.00.  And I can tell you, back then that was a heck of a lot of money.  Especially for a kid whose sole vices consisted of sodas, Slurpees, and model cars. I had money to spare.  My folks opened me a savings account, and by the time two years had passed, I had accrued almost $2000.00.

But it wasn’t just the money that got me up every morning.  It was the sweet taste of grit.  It was the battle between preparation and fate.  Alone I was forced to learn to put my chain back on the sprockets, fix flats and dust myself off when I crashed.  Whatever I encountered, I overcame it. I prevailed over escaped dogs, rainy days, and slick driveways. At 4 am there is no village, no parents, nobody but me, a small 12-year-old boy, alone in the darkness before the dawn.  

There were mornings when I had to push my bike back up that hill because it was unrideable. Days when I had to take those canvas bags off the back of my bike and sling them over my shoulders to complete my route.  It was me, the middle child of 5 siblings who learned via fate and failure to forge a quiet confidence. 

And that $2000.00 that I saved; it is long gone (I purchase a car and a dirt bike, and they are gone too) yet that quiet confidence to overcome the obstacles that life builds before us has only grown stronger.

Alone, each of you confronts the uphill’s and downs of life.  Take this moment and look back at the corners of your own life, and there you’ll discover the building blocks that sculpted you.  

Those events might have been the best of times; those events might have been the worst of times, but they are your time. A time to build your foundation for your today and all your tomorrows.