The Difference

If you're like me, you had a mother who never let you forget your name.

Jerrett Thomas.

I can still hear the subtle severity underneath her sweet voice when she said it.

My Momma. GOD rest her soul.

Sometimes it came from something like glowing radiance, pride dressed up as a warning. Sometimes it came from something closer to ominous dissonance. Either way, she always reminded me and I'm sure your folks always remind you.

My friends, my family, they call me JT, and I'll answer to that just as fast. But anyone who's ever had to carry a name like that knows the weight of it, living up to how your parents envisioned you, to the moniker you stand by and represent, in whatever room you walk into.

One of MY rooms…is Add the Accent.

No not the punctuation mark. Not really, though that's where one could start. Add one small mark above a single letter and the meaning changes entirely, sure. But the accent was never really the mark.

It's the hand that adds it.

Two people can stand in the exact same room, hear the exact same silence, walk out the exact same door, and still carry away two completely different rooms. Remember, Nobody hands you what that difference is supposed to look like. Nobody can coach it into you, or generate it on your behalf. It was already yours before you arrived.

So I'll keep it simple. The difference is you.