Editor’s note: For one day our wandering freelancer puts her guns away. Who am I to tell her that Father’s Day was several days ago when I don’t think there is ever a set time for any of us to give a dedication to our foundations. For our once monthly visit into her world, BLACK JUSTICE says Happy Father’s Day…
My Father is one of the best men in the whole world. He is the finest example I have of the way that a man is supposed to treat his family (wife, children, Mother, loved ones, etc.) and he will always be the Greatest Father In the World To Me. In this day and age of “Black men ain’t shit,” my Dad proves that rule 100% not true. One of the many reasons that I love my Dad so much-besides the fact that he’s my Dad and he rocks, when my Mom went to the hospital to have my little sister and I was 3, he introduced me to his best cooking skills. The extra, cheesy, Mac-N-Cheese, the perfect omelet, and the best way to make a fried bologna sandwiches. I only cried once during the whole time my Mommy was gone because meand Dad kicked it so hard.
I also remember the first time that I saw my Dad shed tears of his own. I have only witnessed this monumental feat about 4 times. Twice at funerals, the last time I’ll get back too and the first time was when I was very young. I had a fever that was so high I was fading in and out of consciousness and whenever I tried to stand up I got dizzy. My parents piled my little sister and me into our Ford station wagon and rushed me to the doctor’s office. We lived in a small town and the doctor really cared about his patients and he personally knew all the names of his patients. My Mother had actually worked in his office when she was in high school and he was the one that delivered me so when he got the call that “the baby is burning up” he insisted on a midnight visit to see what could be done.
When my Dad carried me out of the car, I rested my head on his massive chest and closed my eyes. I felt my legs swing around like a rag doll and I saw a look on his face I’d never seen before. The normal, brown color of his nutmeg skin was pale and ashen, his eyes were glazed over and I noticed something I had never, ever seen before…..a single, slow tear escaped to slide down his cheeks. In my fever induced stupor I hugged him closer to me and turned to ask my Mom, “What’s wrong? Why are Daddy’s eyes watering?” She smiled and let him answer me. “I just got something in my eye Babygirl”, was all he said and placed me on the examining table. I could tell he never wanted me to see that look on his face again. That haunting uncertainty about what would happen to his little daughter. The doctor gave me a shot and as the needle plunged into my flesh I saw one more tear roll down the face of the hulking man that taught me everything I knew about sports, art and playing the dozens.
The only other 2 times I saw my Dad cry were at my Mother’s funeral and when I helped him move out of my apartment a few months after 9/11. My Father had a job interview with a company that was located one block away from the World Trade Center, he had in fact been in the Path train, at the station exactly the same time the first plane hit on Sept.10th and he was supposed to start his job on Monday. I think that shock of that fact that he could have been gone was too much for him. Somewhat of a veteran he had been in the “Korean Conflict” as he liked to call it (Air force) and I remember as we watched the black smoke, billowing across the water that it was just too much for him. We both knew it would only be a matter of time before he left the east coast.
I often drift when I shoot the gift so just to rewind, my Dad came to live with me after he sold the house that we grew up in. He and my Mother had been the only Black family on the block for 2 years before I was born, that was also the place where we had the best snowball fights ever! The house that held so many memories and dreams became too big and too lonely after my Mom died. He would always tell me he wanted to write a short story about their life together and call it ‘The Other End Of The Couch…I Keep Looking For Her There.’ Life as a widow was rough on him because my parents had known each other since Kindergarten and I never saw them fight, argue intensely or yell at each other. When I got older my Dad told me that they made a deal to have any adult discussions ie. beef after we went to bed. Whenever I ask him how they managed to stay together for over 30 years and why their relationship was so good he would always say, “You stay together by love and pure determination.”
My Daddy is always the first person I call whenever something good or bad happens, the one that makes me laugh when I tell him about the latest loser I broke up with and one of my biggest sources of inspiration. So even though it’s a few days late, Happy Father’s Day Daddy, I love You.
That was beautiful…