Hibbet sports

If anyone wants this key chain, check Hibbet sports or DSG I got mine from Hibbet

This post is a brief analysis of my childhood in Liberty. I’m writing more to myself as a personal record than to a specific audience, but the narrative can communicate a few “pros” to people who wish to move to Liberty or indulge in the city. The pros include stores such as Hibbets Sports, Tractor Supply, Dominos, Brookshire Brothers, baseball fields, opportunities for children's development, and the possibility of emotional connection to the town.
#childhood #jus10 #perspective #smalltown #skating
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My hometown, Liberty, TX, littered my life with my best and worst experiences. Liberty is a land of perspective. Liberty is a small town, a town where everyone knows everyone through the grapevine, and you've seen every face at least four or five times once you've become a native. Rough-cracked roads, forgotten friends, and deferred plans create my strong emotional tie to my hometown Liberty, TX.
I lived in Liberty from ages 5-11. I'm 17 years old today, and in 5 months, I'll be 18: I still cannot decide if my years in Liberty were the best or worst years of my life. Childhood upholds a common social construct that convinces us that our earlier years are the best years of our lives, that ignorance is bliss, and innocence is bliss. I struggle with this construct.
Growing up, my dad, Mike Savage, coached my baseball teams and preached in our churches. Baseball became a time to make myself stand out from a crowd while building relationships with teammates. School was a time to develop friendships and independency from parental protection. Church was a time for me to skate with friends, mingle, and listen to my father preach. This simplicity was bliss.
When I, Justin, was just 10 years old... my family and I lost my dad to a year-long battle with cancer. Baseball was pointless, school was a distraction, and church was meaningless. Our family dispersed into our individual lives, and interaction was limited. I could never convince myself I fully understood why, but I spent all my time on my longboard (long skateboard.) I remember the numbing of my legs from the roughly textured roads. I reminisce on my personal therapy sessions consisting of musical playlists, sorrow, and endless roads accompanied by freedom of my choice.
I loved seeing my town daily; I loved that the town itself was my get-away. I took comfort in seeing the town mall outlet of Brookshire Brothers, Tractor Supply, Dominos, Hibbett sports, and a few more. I loved seeing the baseball parks where my father taught me my skill: I hated that I chose to forget it.
I knew a childhood of love and communion, but the innocent death of my father gave me confusing despair: I had not been "wronged"; I felt instead that I had done wrong in relying on someone so much that I could be hurt so bad by their absence. During this time of despair, I, in a sense, "hit pause" on the frustration concerning my father's death and family's dispersion. I focused on skating, music, and the lives of my friends (where we skated and listened to music.)
I still had myself and the streets of Liberty. "Liberty" can be translated to "freedom," and truthfully, Liberty was freedom for me. To me, the freedom of Liberty was found beneath my wheels and through my independence of public solidarity. As I road and listened, I thought: I developed. Liberty is truly the land of the free. My perspective of Liberty was stained by death but flourished in the simplicity of the town; the tiny homes, poor schools, old baseball fields, run-down stores, and more. Liberty is home. Liberty is freedom. Liberty is perspective.
My dad/coach handing me two trophies