I believe in donating blood, a practice I learned from my own father. He was always so proud of the fact that he could help others by donating. My father had a very rare blood type, so the blood bank was always contacting him asking for donation, and he always gave. One day I asked him why, and he told me this was his way of passing the blessing to others; that God had blessed him with this special gift and he had to share it with others. I never forgot what my father said, and that is why I also donate.
Eleazar, it's sort of funny. My father never knew anything about rasta life, but he loved the simple life. He grew up in the country and when he moved to the City, people used to make fun of him because he was from the country. When they laughed about this, my father laughed harder than anyone. At first it made me upset. Then one day, I asked my father why he laughs when others make fun of him. He said: Because they are so stupid. They don't know that country life is the best life! I believe my father was the embodiment of a rasta man. He had a great respect for life and he loved keeping everyting to its simplest form. Come to think of it, I'm very much like my dad! Hmm...
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