Conversations... with Dad: My Sons... My Daughter

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

My Sons... My Daughter

My thirty-three year old nephew posted this picture on his facebook page the other day along with this comment:

"This picture used to be in my house growing up. I really liked it then and I still do now. Shout out to the Pooh Bears in my life."

I have four nephews...sons. They are gifts from my three siblings. I gifted them with a niece...a daughter. They are warm, loving, sensitive individuals...all of them. They are responsible. They are kind and caring. They were the light in their grandparent's eyes. They continue to make mine shine. They give generous, unpretentious hugs and never leave me without pressing their soft warm lips upon my cheeks and reassuring me of their love. They provide friendship and support to one another and have a strong understanding of what the word "family" means. They struggle. They work every day to meet mortgage and car payments and all the other financial obligations that come with daily life. Like all of us, they try to make sense of their lives in this world on a daily basis.

I have four...sons. They are gifts from my three siblings. I gifted them with a daughter. And, I cannot understand how it is reasonable for anyone to believe they are a physical threat to the extent that they would do them harm, physically, emotionally or spiritually. But that is the argument which has been raised everywhere from the streets of New York City by the New York City Police Department, to a string of homicides from Trayvon Martin to Sean Bell to Jonathan Kerrick to Renisha McBride. That is the argument they have been confronted with on vehicular stops. That is the argument when they have been frisked in front of their dates. The argument is that by the very nature of their physical attributes--young, black with commanding physical presence--it is "reasonable" to believe they are a threat to society, should be viewed with suspicion, and handled accordingly.

I have four sons and a daughter...precious gifts. And, everyday I pray for their survival and that their steps be guided and guarded.

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About this Blog

My father died in 2003, 6 months after my mother. After his death, one of the things I missed most was our conversations. So I started this blog. We would sit at the kitchen table or on the front porch and have these long, philosophical conversations about the state of everything. Then we would solve all of the world's problems over a cigarette and a cup of coffee. One of the warmest memories I have was of him sitting on the front porch talking to me while I painted around him. It was the beginning of summer and he was commenting on how he wished he could pick up a brush and help. He often would read something from the paper and then voice his righteous indignation. It would end with a "It's a damn shame!" or "They must think we're stupid." I miss that. I miss the bond we shared around joint perspectives. And I miss the knowledge that could only come from one seasoned with so many life experiences, especially now that I have come to the point in my life that I know the real important questions to ask. I am 60 years old, and came of age during the '60s. I'm a proud boomer. I remember when poets poeted

Writers wrote... Actors acted out, Painters created art from everything and anything that remained still long enough to be painted

and there was truly civil disobedience at the very thought of someone taking away any of our freedoms.

And the world began to shift... A little. Well, I took a rest. And it must have been a long rest. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. Anyway, by the time I REALLY woke up things were shifting back. Way back. And right now, I gotta say I'm feeling like it's gonna take more thin I got to turn this around. And my dad's not here to share my anger, to talk about our outrage, and to answer my questions. So here is where I can have the conversations I would have with him if he were still here and we could share a cigarette and a cup of coffee on his front porch.