Spiritual Renewal, Pt. 2

I meant to write this post on Monday, but I got laid the fuck out with the flu for a couple of days. [update] I've now been trying to finish this post for a week.

I left off talking about my slow slide into emotional oblivion regarding my father's death. I don't know that I've hit rock bottom with this thing yet, I'd like to think that I have, but it seems kind of unlikely based on what others have told me about dealing with the death of a parent.

I had been feeling shitty (not physically, emotionally) all last week, but the lone bright spot was that Ta-Nehisi Coates had a book signing coming up in College Park that I planned to attend. If you haven't read his book "The Beautiful Struggle" run, don't walk, to your nearest book store and pick up a copy. Just like I try not to be too hard on stupid motherfuckers, I also try not to sweat dudes too much that I think are cool, smart, tough, or whatever. I mean, no one wants to be a dick rider, right?

But rules are made to be broken, so here goes the one time you will catch me on someone's tip like this. I won't go so far as to say this is the best book that I've ever read or that it's my favorite book of all time; I'll need to read and re-read the book several more times before I'll be comfortable making that pronouncement, but this book did speak to me in a way that no other book I have ever read has.

In the same way that "Catcher in the Rye" has been a cultural touchstone for generations or "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings" is practically required reading for teenagers, "The Beautiful Struggle" deserves a place in the pantheon of great American coming of age stories. "The Beautiful Struggle" is an instant classic, written in a unique style that seamlessly melds literature and hip-hop into a brilliant narrative about fathers, sons, and the journey from boy to man.

Needless to say, I was very excited to meet Ta-Nehisi at his book signing. When I arrived I saw Ta-Nehisi browsing through the store so I approached him and introduced myself. I shared all of the thoughts above with him and he seemed to be truly humbled and grateful that his book evoked such a strong reaction from me. As cool as it was to meet Ta-Nehisi, it was a total mind blower to meet his father, Mr. Paul Coates, who was there that evening. Even though I had only read the book a few months before I had forgotten how funny it was and it took on a whole new life when I heard its author reading it in his own voice.

BigDaddyRat was a man who loved to read and he shared that love with me, it was one of the many, many gifts he gave me over the course of our time together. In some ways, I guess my upbringing led me to (incorrectly) believe that I was the only young Black man out there that was into Sci-Fi, that liked to read, and saw no disconnect with those things and being Black. So in that context it was reassuring and comforting to be at that book signing, to know that "The Beautiful Struggle" spoke to others in the same that it spoke to me.

Being at Vertigo with some other Black men of letters was exactly what I needed that evening. It gave me a sense of spiritual renewal to feel, to know, that no matter how isolated I may feel or be at a given moment, that I'm a link in a chain.

I had a rough couple of weeks, but for the time being I'm on the upswing.

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Spiritual Renewal, Pt. 1

Since the Super Bowl, I've been drying out a bit; partly in sympathy with my pregnant wife and partly 'cause I had really been getting after it for the last couple of months. Like DC, Fargo is a hard drinking city. Out there it's rare to go to someone's home and not be offered a beer at pretty much any time of the day or night, I was very much at home out there. The drinking culture of Fargo combined with an intense desire to avoid my feelings about BigDaddyRat's death led me to "self medicate" as they say. It's not like I was walking around hammered all the time, but rare was the day when I didn't have a drink or five.

I knew that the full force of my Father's death wouldn't really hit me until we got back to DC. Even though I'm mostly convinced it was to my benefit, I'm still debating whether or not it's a good or bad thing that I was in Fargo when Dad died. Fargo was my own personal la-la land, a working vacation where I didn't have to deal with real life and could largely avoid my family and situations that would make me think of my Dad.

As I finished squeezing whatever residual buzz was still in my liver over the last couple of weeks I started feeling worse and worse. I haven't been getting shit done at work, I haven't been taking care of other shit I need to get done, and I've generally been kind of zoned out and quiet. I manage to muster up some chit-chat with other parents when I'm out at the park with BabyRat, but whenever I'm not directly engaged with someone I easily get lost in my own thoughts.

I've buried four grandparents and a few other relatives and family friends that I was varying degrees of close with, so I thought that I knew how to handle death pretty well. Even so, I found myself unprepared for the emotional weight of the sudden (and very unexpected) death of my Father. Thankfully the last time we saw each other we had shared a couple of laughs and told each other "I love you", but we still had some serious unfinished business between us that will now never be resolved.

Ever the generous spirit, Dad had started us down the road towards setting things straight with an off-hand remark not too long before we left for Fargo. I had meant to go have lunch with him before we left town, but when we kept having schedule conflicts I didn't make it a priority. I just assumed that we had all the time we needed to finally put all our bullshit to bed. So if anyone reading this has something they need to get right with their parents or anyone else in their life, I'm begging you DO IT NOW!!! Do not wait, do not assume that you will have an opportunity to get to it later because that may not be the case.

So the point of me telling you all of this, was that I've been feeling down the last couple of weeks. Not some melodramatic, "My father died and I'm gonna spend the rest of my life regretting XYZ," nonsense; but more like I'm just really bummed the fuck out that he's gone. I won't ever get to whip his monkey ass out on the golf course again, he won't get to meet my second kid, and we'll never get to work together again and get it right this time. I don't have regrets, but I'm wistful about the future that we had been envisioning for ourselves that's never going to come now.

This post was about the trip down, next post will be about heading back up again.

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BigDaddyRat - First Chapter

My father died suddenly over Labor Day weekend this year. He's been on my mind a lot in the intervening months, but I haven't been able to write about him until now. I had some crazy idea that I could say everything I had to say about him, his life, and his death in one post. I now see that's impossible and I've decided to talk about him and his amazing life in smaller chunks starting today. It wasn't until I was half done writing this post that I realized today is Veteran's Day and a fitting tribute to my Father's 32 years of military service.

This morning I was reading Ta-Nehisi Coates' column "Wild Cowboys" and it got me thinking that maybe I should tell the story of how I came to be a Raiders fan. It seems like a good place to start talking about my old man, those Sunday afternoons when I first started watching football with him were an important time for me.

When I first started hanging out with my Dad on Sunday afternoons it wasn't football that attracted my attention, but rather his weekly ritual of boot polishing. Sunday afternoons were when my Dad would clean and polish (depending on his schedule) two pairs of boots or a pair of boots and a pair of dress shoes. He would drag out on old ammo box that contained his shoe shine kit, lay out a couple of pieces of newspaper and go to work.

First Dad would pick up one of his massive (size 16) boots, stick a shoe form it in to help hold its shape, and give it a vigorous brushing. His powerful arms working in concert to turn the brush into little more than a blur as he quickly and confidently removed a week's worth of dirt from his combat boots. Next, he would set fire to the surface of his shoe polish before quickly blowing out the flame leaving the living room filled with a smell that I will forever associate with Sunday afternoons. Dad would take the old t-shirt in his shoe shine kit, wrap up two fingers, kind of twist the whole deal around his wrist, and dip the two fingers first into water and then the softened polish as he applied a dull coat of polish. Finally Dad would starting shining his boots with a soft cloth, finishing with a flourish by repeatedly and loudly snapping his cloth against the toe of his boot leaving it like a shiny black mirror before starting over on the other boot or shoe.

As a father myself now, I can't help but think how ridiculous the sense of trepidation I felt was as I finally gathered up the nerve to ask my Dad what he was doing as I sidled up next to him on the couch. And slowly a Sunday afternoon ritual began form, I would ask my Dad if it was time and he would give a small nod which would send me dashing to his closet to get his shoe shine kit. At first I was too small to even break the vacuum seal created by the ammo box and get the thing open, but after Dad popped open the box I would lay out a couple of sheets of newspaper, fill the dirty stained cup in his kit with a few fingers of water, and watch as Dad methodically went to work on his boots.

It was during one of those Sunday afternoons sometime during the 1975 season that the Oakland Raiders played a home game in the old Oakland Coliseum that was broadcast on tape delay a week later. At the time we were living in Germany and had just moved there from New Jersey (where I was born), but I felt no geographic connection with any team. I was immediately struck by all the fans turning the coliseum into a sea of black and I thought to myself, "That's my team right there." So from that day forward I was a Raider fan.

Over the years I started doing more and more of the boot polishing each Sunday. At first I would just get everything set up, then I started doing the initial brushing, and eventually I was doing the whole thing. I think I was in 7th or 8th grade when I went to go do something with my friends one Sunday afternoon instead of watching football at home. That night I was chilling on the couch in the family room after dinner when my Dad stuck his head in and asked, "Where are my boots?" I responded with a blank stare. "Aren't you supposed to get my boots ready for the week?" my Dad asked insistently. "Here, let me help you," Dad said as he came into the room with two pairs of combat boots, his shoe shine kit, and a couple of sheets of newspaper that he laid down neatly in front of me. And it slowly started to dawn on me that what had once been a bonding ritual between father and son, had just turned into another chore for me to get done each week.

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Dad Talk

I'm just gonna talk about being a Dad and how much I love my little girl. She's a laugh riot, tough as nails, and a kind, gentle, and caring soul.

One thing I've noticed since I became a Dad is that kid's TV is trippy as all hell. One morning when BabyRat was about a year old, I watched this show called Boobah with her; I thought my coffee was dosed with acid, the shit was just bizarre. The other thing that slays me about kid's shows is the random cameos. Whilst watching yet another whacked out kid's show the other day, Yo Gabba Gabba, who shows up on screen? Biz Markie, beatboxing about happy birthday.

Lest you think all I do is watch TV with my kid, you couldn't be more wrong. In fact, we don't even have a TV out here in Fargo. Even when we're at home we actually keep the TV on pretty tight lockdown, it's not unusual for BabyRat to go several days running without seeing any TV at all during the week. The weekend is a slightly different story and the Wife and I will often allow the Doodler (one of several nicknames I have for her) to suck on the glass tit for an hour so we can get some sleep.

The weather out here is getting cold in a hurry, which means that our trips to the park will be ending soon. Going to the park with BabyRat is one of the great pleasures of my life. When BabyRat and I are on our way to the park it gives us this incredible opportunity to talk to each other and for me to really get to know this little person who has added so much to my life.

I never cease to be amazed at how tough and resilient my child is. Just the other day BabyRat took off ahead of me and took a header over the handlebars of her skuut bike, as I ran over to make sure she was OK she popped up and said, "I'm OK, I'm an athlete!!" You should have seen the smile on my face when she said that. As tough and strong as my kid is, I just hope I can avoid the temptation to become some sort of insane Sports Dad.

BabyRat, you fill my bucket.

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The Zoo Was a Zoo

In our family I'm the designated field trip parent. For the most part I don't mind, the circus was a boatload of fun and I probably had a better time than BabyRat. Today's trip to the zoo was a bit more hectic than I had expected.

First of all, it looked like half the elementary schools in Metro DC were there today. BabyRat and I usually make it to the zoo 3-4 times a year and I've never seen it close to being as crowded as it was today. It was fucking bedlam!!

There was also no real plan on the part of the teachers, but BabyRat and I ended up hanging with a pretty cool Dad and his kid for most of the trip. Everyone made it back in one piece.

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