Third Generation Bad Ass

It started with my Grandma Mary. Even at the time I was young I was somewhat aware of her medical struggles. Of course as a child they're all just words and even something like "cancer" doesn't register until many years down the line. For me it was just easy to see by what she ate.
Grandma had her own separate meals from the rest of us. Low in sodium, low in sugar, low in this, low in that. I'm sure just as any child would do I noticed my grandmother's one of a kind meals and wondered why she got something special. Then my mom must have inevitably told me of my grandmother's heart conditions and that her food probably tasted like cardboard, though she would never complain about it.
Which is the point, she never complained or whined and definitely didn't say "FML". She just carried on doing what she needed to do, through breast cancer, heart attacks and anything and everything that was thrown her way. Even on her deathbed she didn't complain, she just smiled and waved goodbye to my grandfather. It's taken me years to come to grips with her passing too early, and maybe I'm still not there yet, but I have come to realize that in the final moments there can be nothing more badass than being able to smile and wave one last time to the person you love.

My mother inherited some of that spirit, though she's never fully been able to realize it for herself. She helped take care of my grandmother on the rare occasions when grandma asked for help (she hated to be a bother to anyone), and since then has done her best to hold the family together, including taking care of my grandfather. From cooking countless holiday meals, to making sure Gramps is warm in the winter or has someone to talk to when he feels alone she's taken a mental and physical beating to get it all done. And it always has been. All of that would be enough to make her a hero but it pales in comparison to what she went through during my parents divorce.
They're both my parents so I'm not going to pick sides - without either of them I don't exist. But it was my mom who went back to school, got her masters, got a job teaching to support us, survived the loss of her mother, the loss of our home, a fire that destroyed our new home, scrapped together enough money to see that my sister and I always had food, shelter and a little extra to spend on the frivolous trinkets of youth so that we never appeared lacking compared to our friends. We both went to college. We both graduated, with honors and we both shed a tear every time our mom second guesses anything she did in raising us. Maybe one day she'll stop and revel in her accomplishments - the two biggest, my sister and I.

All of that brings us to the new generation. The kids who have endured a fairly tumultuous divorce, watched their house burn down during those awkward high school years, and for me, getting diagnosed with a chronic condition at age 17. Since then I've had to deal with biopsies, blood transfusions, vomiting that would make a prom queen proud, drinking more liquid barium than any human should have to endure, constant blood tests, IV treatments, being doubled over in pain for days at a time, and being so sick that your body doesn't want to eat for a week despite the fact that you're withering away to nothing in front of your own eyes. And now they tell me that it's time for surgery they want to cut out 10 inches of my insides. Maybe I should be more concerned than I am, maybe I should get scared or something. Maybe, but I won't. When the doctor told me this prognosis I took a breath and said "okay". Life throws challenges at you. Easy if you can't handle it, tough if you can. So what else was I expecting?
I am the next step in Darwin's evolution. Grandma's silent strength, with Mom's persistence. But I acknowledge it. I revel in it. I stand out and wait for the next challenge. They get progressively harder but I don't care. As weak as my body has been at 104lbs my mind is a 255lb middle linebacker out for blood (i.e. Ray Lewis) or the FTW World Champion, Taz.

I don't do things the easy way. I don't back down. I don't run from a challenge and I sure as hell don't half ass it. I just do it. Whatever it is that's thrown in my way. I do it. I endure.

My name is Bob Tallman, and I'm a 3rd generation bad-ass.
Beat me, if you can.
Survive, if I let you.