Davie: (n) a town in SE Florida.
I have a unique perspective on Davie, Florida.
After years of traveling on the road and performing, I decided to settle there because it was near where my son, daughter-in-law and two granddaughters lived.
They had just begun a church and I thought it would be so terrific if I could join them and help out in any way my box of experience might afford.
The key to that phrase is “I thought.”
You would assume that after many years of living, I would realize the weakness—and sometimes even complete calamity—of the words “I thought.”
I never asked my son and his family what they felt about me moving down there.
I didn’t seek permission.
I envisioned something in my own mind—how things might pan out without ever realizing that those around me might not consider my gift of time with them to be of as much interest as I had supposed.
It went poorly.
When I tried to be involved, I seemed nosy.
When I backed off, I appeared offended (though I wasn’t).
When I waited for them to contact me, I was pissed at the infrequency.
And when I tried to start other things on my own, they were somewhat threatened by my intentions.
Along with this colossal misunderstanding, I ended up living in a very small home—well beneath my needs, not to mention my standards.
Although I can recite many miraculous things that occurred during my stay in Davie, Florida, whenever I hear the word “Davie,” what comes to my mind is:
“It’s better to move when you feel a tug…”
“…than trying to shove your way in.”