At this point it's hard for me to look at this picture and not cry. Hard because of the happiness on my father's face, hard because my father actually held me, hard because of the incredible potential in this picture. See, my father's been around my whole life. Been around like a guy standing outside an Army recruiting office who wants to go inside but doesn't know if he can sign up for such a long term commitment. My father knows me but he doesn't know "me". He doesn't know my left leaning geo-political views, doesn't know that I like Brazilian cinema, or that I always wanted to take a trip with him, anywhere. My father and I have never ever had a real conversation. We have never had a talk about sex, drugs, violence, death, or his love for West Philly bars and alcohol. My father has always refused to talk to me. I believe he'd rather throw a million dollars at me (if he had it to throw) than have an honest conversation with me about anything deeper than the Philadelphia Eagles. But, at least I know my father. That is something that unfortunately fifty percent of my friends can't claim. At least, I can call him and say hello. But, beyond hello do we ever really say anything?
This is my son Mingus and I. Needless to say he is my whole world. I believe I feel for him much as my father felt for me in the first picture. I believe my father wanted the best for me, wanted me to have more than he ever did when he was a boy. I believe my father wanted me to succeed and make him glow with pride. But where did it change? When did my father decide that I was too much work? When was that first night when he chose to stay out in the street instead of seeing me before I fell asleep? I don't know. He won't talk to me about it. I play catch with Mingus. I take him to swimming lessons and to soccer practice and I'm always sitting right across from him when he's getting his hair cut. I'm not saying that to get a medal. Like Chris Rock said some Black men want credit for what they are supposed to do. Not me, I do for Mingus because I am supposed to but deeper still, inside me there is something that compels me to be a father. There is a mechanism/impulse that will not allow me to not be there for him even when he doesn't need me. Maybe it's my subconscious driving me to make up for my dad's shortcoming or maybe it's my fear of allowing Mingus to grow up with me just hanging around, there, but emotionally inaccessible.
This is my father and I last Christmas. There are approximately forty years between the first picture and this last picture. Forty years of life between us. Forty years of potential left unfilled, like a Christmas present that was never opened. Our relationship now consists of short visits and shorter conversations on the phone. I live in LA and he lives in Philly. He has never been to visit me and I never expected him to. He set the bar for fatherhood low and managed to sneak under it. But I still love him. Love him like he was Cliff Huxtable, love him like he played catch with me, and encouraged me to keep playing the saxophone when I quit, or like he ever gave me any advice on what not to do. I can't blame him for who he is, can't blame him for what he didn't do, say, or feel. I mean I could, but what would it get me? This is a pointless post because I don't even know what I'm trying to say about my father, myself, or my son. Pointless because there is no advice at the end about what I learned or what this story could mean to you. But maybe, it's just good to get some things from the inside to the outside so you can move on.
9 comments:
Great post. You should check out this blog from a Alpha Sigma Nupe who I know.
http://atruefather.blogspot.com/
It will be due, in part, to your father's failures, that you succeed in having a much better relationship with your own son.
Wow! This is powerful, Mark. Definitely worth moving out from the inside. It makes me feel even more grateful for my dad, who always -- always! -- did the right thing.
TA,
I remember back in the day for the few deeeep conversations that we shared (since we ran mostly in different peer groups) that you did have eloquent command of both the written and spoken word. This is a phenomenal post and very poignant. You have captured almost verbatim the detached relationship I shared with my estranged father. It is precisely that type of relationship that has caused me to follow the same path with respect to developing that kind of relationship with my sons and daughters that is exactly the opposite of what I have come to know.
Although my father is gone now, I still wear some of the scars of that detached relationship. It is a pity that we so often lose generations of black men only to find others trying so desperately to make up for the last. Will we ever stop the cycle?
G.Green
Great post. My father just passed away last year at 80 years old. I was there and watched his spirit walk out of this existence into another. It was truly at that moment I realized...he was just a human being...simply a spirit in this world. No longer strong and powerful but unique, fragile and simply human.
With the passing of my father, I was instantly transported into complete adulthood as I was no longer anyone's child. (My mother passed away when I was 20.) It became crystal clear of how my father's strengths and shortcomings shaped who I was as a woman and a mother. He was there everyday with a strong work ethic and a tight reign over the family and over me. His dominance produced a strong educated worker with a tendency to place herself in destructive controlling personal relationships with someone who liked to have a tight reign over me. (Surprise)
It was upon learning of his grave illness and his subsequent death, that I was ushered into seeing my true self in the mirror coming face to face with the fact I was separate and in control of who I was, who was in my life and who was out of my life. I was in control of what type of woman I would be and what type of mother I would be. I was in control of what I believed about myself and not subject to others may have unknowingly instilled in me.
My point...my father was there everyday and I got the good and the bad. He meant well and loved me dearly, but he was just human ...full of flaws...unrealized dreams...disappointments and hurt.
All we can do is be clear on what we choose to take from the relationships with our parents and grow a better generation for years to come.
Marc, great post. I think my Dad was the polar opposite of your dad. I have several memeories I could relate but this sticks out in my mind.
Do you remember that rule at Hampton when professors are 15 or 20 minutes late you may leave class. Well it was during the first semester of my senior year and Dr. Babolola was late to Economics. It was Friday around 1:15 and that brother was nowhere bo be found. A few of my classmates were encouraging the group to pack their bags and prepare to be OUT! I was one of the main people encouraging the others to pack up so we can make our escape.
At that very moment in walks Babolola. The class gave out a collective groan and everyone took their seats. The students went on to condemn Babolola for his tardiness and he explained to them, in his thick accent, that they could thank Mr. Paylor. He went on to relate that he was late to class because he had been on the phone with my Dad who had called to ensure I was scheduled to graduate in the spring.
I was like Damn! How did Dad even know to call Babolola. It was crazy. But thats my Dad.
Recently I celebrated my 40th birthday. We partied all night and moved the afterparty to the basement. Around 3:45am I looked around and my Dad was still kicking it, HARD! I think he had a better time than I did.
I'm not sure I have a point, but if I did it would be for you to love your son and your dad unconditionally and let the rest work itself out.
Deep!
I was rappin' with my father-in law about Sierra Leone... and while he talked the socio-political of colonialism, multi-national corporations and the US talk, I was like, "hold up they are chopping the hands off of babies!" Now, I'm well aware of the evils of King Ferdinand of Belgium, but at some point, I adamantly stressed, "somebody has to say this is some BS" and that "there is no justification for brutalizing a child". My political axis changed that day.
Now I had an uncle. My only uncle and I loved him. But at the same time I'm glad I wasn't his child. He was bitter and it carried over to his children, particularly his oldest... Ni&&a you ain't $hit! But that was par for the course. Many Black men were bitter at that time. Bitter because they were emasculated and denied. And how did they deal? They shot dope, sniffed blow, drank, smoked dust, beat their women, cheated on their women, beat their kids, ignored their kids, messed with their kids minds, fought... White men kill themselves. Black men kill you. And I could talk about friends and people I grew up with, their issues and how they dealt with them... but many of them are good fathers. Or at least they try.
Allah puts us where we need to be as opposed to where we want to be... and we are judged according to what we are given. Believe it or not, your father gave you something, and whatever he gave you has allowed you to be the man you are.
At the same time, if you turned out to be a killer, then he gave you something too right?
It is what it is.
HEY MARK! WOW, FOUND YOU OVER HERE!! I'LL BE BACK TO READ MORE.....GOOD STUFF..WHO YOU WRITE FOR? I KNOW SO MANY FAMOUS PEOPLE NOW I'M RECONNECTED WITH ALUM,LOL!!!!
PS..MY DADY IS THE MOST IMPORTANT MAN I EVER MET AND MY HERO
I've got the same type of Father (maybe it's a Philly thing?). And I call him just that. Not Dad. Just Father. But I still love him. Keep in mind that we change over the years. It could be that he thinks there's way too much past for there to be much of a future. Maybe he just worked his ass off and thought that's all a father was supposed to do. Maybe he never learned how to be a father. You'll never know unless you ask the hard questions.
I haven't, but I'll encourage you to do it all the same.
Peace,
Chuck
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