We dropped the ball.

We have a Christmas tradition of going to the movies after a Holy-Day meal. Today the Wifey and I viewed "The Great Debaters" with Mum and Dad. T'was great seeing this movie with Denzel holding the main character, who in real-life was a member of Omega Psi Phi ! (Dad and I are both Omega Men.) Scenes of a tar-and-feathered lynching and a few other scenes of racism hit my parents hard. Pops had watched a lynch mob lynch-kill an uncle, and Pops and his Dad also cut down about five other neighbours who were lynched in Opelika Alabama. Mum was touched by the overall feelings involved in the movie and wept for minutes after giving a rousing ovation at the end of the film. Strangers walked up and gave her hugs and initially left me wondering if I were doing enough to console her. I later realized that they shared her pain, and wanted to share the joys and pains the movie highlighted.
While walking Pops out to his car Dad began a story of an English teacher, a white professor, who played tennis with him weekly at 5:00 in the morning. The word circulated about this white female professor who was meeting with a negro boy most every morning and the college president made a general announcement that any interactions with white professors in that capacity due to the danger it posed to fellow students. In 1957 we were still getting lynched, Pops said. The situation became news when a bread company that delivered bread to the campus threatened if my Pops continued playing tennis with the professor, they would stop delivering bread to the campus. The professor responded by writing a letter to the bread company complaining if they were going to boycott by refusing to serve a Black college because of the Black student, they should also boycott a White college as the professor was white.
The big thing, Pops shared, was that the professor was teaching him English during the tennis games. He was failing English horribly and the professor decided to take extra time with my Pops who didn't have an adequate English class in his high-school. Pops reportedly took a class for four years that would currently equate to Freshman English 101. He learned standard English speaking patterns and nuances while conversing with a professor who needed someone to aid her in staying in shape and keeping her tennis skills sharp. What a trade. Dad noted that once the games ended, he had a hard time......but he remained alive. Times were hard, but he lived the life that was given him, and played the games life gave him. Pops is so proud of the accomplishments of his generation. It pains me now when looking at peers who really don't care. When the ball was passed, we dropped the ball. We dropped the ball. I give thanks to our Great Debaters.

Thankful for being raised

Photo: Daniel, Dad, and I (Circa 1972 - Brooklyn New York)
I called Dad on my 39th born-day (12/19/2007) hoping to speak to he and Mom. I normally buy presents for my parents on my born-day and leave a card saying "Thank you for life.......Seko". The way I see it they gave birth on the day I was born so it should be a shared celebration. Folks think I'm crazy for this practice and I can't seem to get my kids into it after the Wifey told my son "That's not necessary" after he asked her what she wanted for his/hers/my birthday. This year I was feeling sick and knew I was broke-er than normal so I stayed in the bed and only kept a few appointments that day. I woke up around 6:30 p.m. feeling incomplete. Picking up my cellie I say that Mom called and left a message. I'm sure they were wondering what happened as I've been sharing the birthday with them for over 15 years now.
So Pops picks up the phone and I say "Happy Birthday Dad." He pauses, as normal, and then says "Yea... Happy Birthday Son. Your Mother and I wondered when we would hear from you today." He then says "I want to thank you for what you said at Thanksgiving, that made Mom and I feel honored." Although we spent Thanksgiving dinner with Wifey's fam' we visited my parents the next day and when my turn came to explain what I was thankful for I planned to thank GOD, thank the ancestors, and thank the wifey (in that order) but when I opened my mouth I heard myself say "I'm thankful for the way I was raised." Feeling a little shocked I closed my mouth quickly and smiled to make sure I didn't say anything else I didn't plan too (some secrets gotta' go to the grave) and squeezed the wifey's hand to notify her that it was her turn to speak. Dad then shared how he and Mom sat up late one night and discussed those eight words I didn't plan to say. Sometimes my heart just speaks for me, or maybe the almighty speaks through me, or maybe the ancestors want a message passed, or possibly the three are actually one. I didn't plan to make that statement but it's so very true. As I've looked at my peers, co-workers, clients, and surrounders I've often said to myself "I'm glad I wasn't raised like this." or "I'm glad I was raised like this."
A few days before my born-day I was sitting in the office of one of the agencies I work for facing an angry owner who told me "You are a failure! Yes, you are a failure. You are sooooooo Afro-centric, soooooooo about the community, sooooooooooo this and that, but you are really a failure. I know your parents and I know it's not about how you were raised so I don't understand why you are such a failure." I'm thinking "This trick is crazy." but I kept my mouth shut while she talked and simply said "I know I didn't approach that project as aggressively as I should have. I just wouldn't have said it that way. I have to disagree with you." She responded "I expected you to say something like that. I just want to hear what you are going to do from this point on." I responded "I'll let my work speak for me." as I kinda' left the room. I was still in the room and I'm sure she was still talking, but I was gone. As I left the room (physically) I was thinking to myself "Wow.......The way I was raised ? She knows the way I was raised ?"
My cousin Sean emailed me. He lives in Britain now with his wifey-4-lifey Carol. (Visit my first blog that detailed my experience at his wedding.) They are expecting ! I remember talking with him in London about the way he was raised and the way he would want to raise his kids. He said "I kinda' want to be the type of father your father was." I told him. "Yea, I do too." It's great to be thankful for my upbringing. I work hard to make sure my kids will say the same. Like Ed O.G. said "Be a Father to your child." It's funny. I used to think the phrase 'raise your child' simply meant to care for and love your child. Now the phrase means that the care and love and discipline I provide to my children should take them to the next levels. Ashee, Ashee, Ashee.

Celebrating 70 Years of Life ! - Samuel VArner

Click the play button or click the link for a 26 minute video that was played at Dad's celebration ! This video chronicles his life !

I smile, you smile.

Dad's family wished him well as he discussed going to college. His mother and father both had third grade educations. His grandparents had less formal education. He was never the smart child, he was only the one that was able to self motivate himself. The family went from plush to poor as the Whites in his neighborhood tricked his father out of land that he acquired. At one time my grandfather owned the first T-Model Ford vehicle in Opelika and had acres of land. After the devils finished with him, he was extremely poor. Dad grew up with no running water, eating every two days at times, and in a home/shack that may seem third-world'ish in today's American standards. I remember the day he received his Doctorate degree from Princeton. He smiled widely for hours. His teeth became dry, he was so proud. He ensured that my siblings and I had an easier life. He ensured that he was a better husband than his father was. He ensured that he would be able to provide us with an education after formal school since his father wasn't able to provide him with that opportunity. Dad made sure that he was the man that his father trained him to be and the man that his father wanted to be. Dad often told me that a dwarf standing on the arms of a giant can see farther and go farther than the giant. As I talk to Dad about the necessity of having more than an educational opportunity for my kids he simply smiles. I realized today that the smile he gives during those talk is the same as when he graduated. His graduation graduated our family, my new insight provides our family's new insight. I shine you shine. I pray now that I can experience that smile for many more years. After his last surgery his appetite has decreased. Dad now can go days without feeling hungry. I now enjoy every meal with him in a different light. Just watching him eat makes me smile. It's funny......When I smile my son looks at me and smiles without knowing why. I guess I have a dwarf on my shoulders now. I smile, he smiles.

Family

Most friday nights we have "Family" night at Dad & Mom's/Mom & Dad's house. Dad cooks, as he has most of my life, and we all enjoy. Tonight while sitting with my arms around Mom Dad told a story about Advent Community Church, the church he began in Columbus Ohio. The United Church of Christ intended the church to be a bi-racial church where (so-called) Blacks and Whites worshipped together as they had been aware that naturally only a 90-10 rule would apply. The U.C.C. gathered the 5 white families for Dad although he wouldn't begin the church until he had a black group as well. The church met with 15 whites and 35 blacks until the decision for a name surfaced. Pops really wanted to name the Church 'The Emaeus Road' yet the whites wanted to name the church "The New Hope" to recognize the hope of racial conciliation through intergration. Pops shared how the blacks decided, without regard to the name, that they were not going to let the whites name their church. Dad & Mom then noticed that the church was deeply into studying early christian celebrations and they were in the time of Advent. A vote allowed the divided groups to come together in a name...Advent. A name that is a big part of my life came about to bring the races together. Intrestingly enough the church my family attends has as one of it's tenants the concerted and delibrate effort to be Transethnic as a ways to destroy racism. I love the church for it's children-based offerings, the transethnic drive isn't really a draw for me but somehow it had a familar twang. I then considered my desire to place my children in a Black-owned elementary school while my wifey wanted a Christian-based school. We found a mix of the two in New Light Baptist School of Excellence. I also enjoyed the fact that New Light had a diverse Afrikan-descendant experience for my kids as American, Caribbean, Hatian, Afrikan, and Latinos of Afrikan descent all placed their kids into New Light. As my son became a first grader I/We decided that it was time for him to be placed into a school that offered a........(I hate this word).....transethnic experience that involved more than children who were of Afrikan descent to ensure that my son could conquer the world. As Dad finished his story I looked around the room at my family and realized that my Afrikan-centered family has always made strides to immerse ourselves into a morally-high quality Afrikan-experience before entering the more diverse world. I couldn't help but smile as Mom shook her head in agreement with Dad's story. My Dad, who broke racial bariers with instution-creation, my Mom who broke racial bariers by being strong enough to face the devils of the white supremacist paradigm, and our family who have always made decisions to break racial bariers only after becoming firm in our African/Indian experience. My family is your family......Let's be family.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was frequently spent at a relatives or parents-friends home (according to memory). The fondest of which were always with my pops side of the family. Today I'm thankful that Pops is alive. A while ago Dad was in the hospital and most recently Mom was in the hospital. The idea of being without a parent hit me like a Tyson blow (pre carniviours Tyson) . I've never been without either of my parents, the thought of the loss is a bit for me to fathom. I've long left the myth of the so-called Indian and so-called Pilgrims alone (I'm actually struggling with keeping quiet while these teachers are teaching my children that myth.......However, I realize I live in America. Attacking that myth will seem like selling USA-Haterade, almost Al-Quida'ish.) Thanksgiving has become a little more to me that the bull-chips presented in the commercial media which has become American culture.

I'm thankful for the lessons and life of Mom and Dad. I'm thankful to be a Dad. I look forward to tomorrow as my parents are currently doing well, but I know that the time is forthcoming for me to be parent-less. That frightens me more than I can express. It's weird to be scared for my parents, I used to be scared of them. That fear kept me from doing a lot of things my peers became involved in. As a teen Pops would stay up at night and inspect my eyes and breath as I returned from DJing a party or hanging out. As a teen I was constantly worried that Dad would do a pop visit at my school catching me being a teenager. He did a few of those and the fear of them kept me on my toes. Currently I'm afriad that I will disapoint pops more that worrying about his blows. Intrestingly enough that fear of disapointing my parents has geared me towards what people always seem to attribute to being in a church. I'm constantly asked "What church do you belong too ?" Folks seem surprised that I attend a church weekly but am not a member of any church. My behavior is truly more of a function of not wanting to disapoint my parents, my ancestors, and God rather than simply having a church inspired life. I remember the Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan saying that a child first understands God through his parents. I'm thankful that Iwas raised by Yeshua (Jesus) by way of my parents. My father, the Minister, frequently told his flock "People would rather see a sermon that hear one." I grew up in a sermon and I'm thanksful. I could have done without the "Spare the rod and spoil the child" sermon however. OUCH !

I Dare You !

Driving with dad last night is something for the books. Dad needed to go to Suffolk again to continue teaching new U.C.C. ministers about the U.C.C. amenities. En route pops fell into a story about a book named "I Dare You." While dad was in high-school his principal made weekly addresses on Fridays. A number of these addresses were from the book wherein the author dared the reader to take chances, dared the reader to achieve at their apex, dared the reader to believe in themselves when no evidence supported their self-esteem. Dad took the dare. He approached his principal stating "I want to read the book." His principal provided dad a copy of the book to get rid of him. Dad read the book a number of times and shared with the principal how he enjoyed the reading upon returning the book. The principal shared his disbelief until dad was able to speak at length about the chapters. The principal was so impressed that he gave dad a copy to keep. The Principal then told Dad of a job in a mine and told Dad that he was only going to recommend 3 (out of 51) classmates for College. Dad would not be one of them. It was 1957 in Opelika Alabama. He told Pops that if he took this job he would be set for life as this company did not hire many Blacks, but based upon Dad's dad's reputation, they would give him a chance as long as he was honest. During that time the Principal's letter allowed college entrance as the SAT were not available then. Dad made it to college by himself and sent the principal a letter upon being accepted. He sent the Principal copies of his report cards, he sent a letter upon graduation, he sent a letter from Africa, he sent a letter from Europe, he sent a letter upon receiving his Master's degree, and upon receiving his Doctorate degree. In each correspondence he thanked the Principal for "everything else you did for me."
While in Undergraduate studies at Livingston College dad was exposed to healthy living from the doctors on campus. As a youth in Alabama the family did not have many interactions with health care professionals. A doctor from Africa told my asthma-stricken father that if he used barbells and added muscle mass to his chest he would increase his lung capacity. The African told pops to buy some barbells..........dad was so poor that couldn't even pay attention. Dad went to the school cafeteria, found two large cans for collard greens, put holes in the cans, placed cement into the cans, and put a metal stick between the cans. His homemade barbells took the place of medicine that he couldn't afford. He was teased by classmates who called him "Homemade" until the summer months when he strutted around campus in displaying his finely chiseled upper body. He then became one of the most popular men on campus lady-wise. After basking in some memories he didn't care to share with me he looked at me and said... "I dare you."

Evil Eyes

From Seko:

[Mi Madre holding her newest grand-daughter Domnique.]

This was my first trip with poppi(11/13/07). Dad needed to go to the conference office to teach a class for the newest ministers in the Southern Conference of the United Church of Christ. While driving those sleepy country Suffolk Virginia roads dad began drifting into stories of Mama.

Pops met mom as he returned from ministering in Scotland. A minister supervising him shared to pops "when you return to the states and go to Atlanta I want you to meet a friend of mine who is in the administration at Columbia Theological Seminary. They took in their first female Negro student and they need help." (One of Mom's Ministers and mentors was the first Negro male to attend the school a few years prior). Pops then shared how Mom was that female Negro and she caught hell from the other students studying to be ministers. This administrator and the administration of the school were courageous..... they courted this negro after her Presbyterian church-college, Agnes Scott College, refused to take her (since they sent their negro-money to Stillman College to help thier Negro Presbyterians). Pops shared how mama would sometimes be the only student in her classes as others peers would drop the course as soon as they saw her. By providing support to this hard-headed girl catching death threats and harassment from her 'Christian' peers Dad fell in love. He was there as my grandmother lost jobs when they found out mom was marching in the civil rights marches and was going to their school. Mom took the pain, cried her tears, passed the tests, and graduated. Mom shared with me that she caught Hell from the 'Christian' professors and her 'Christian' peers because she was both a woman and Black. She shared how the only outright support came from the ladies who were attending the college as they were facing the evils of sexism. Some of the professors hated the fact that women were being trained in the ministry. Mom was leery of the women, but she accepted thier support. A female white-peer who supported Mom painted a masterpiece full of color with many pairs of wicked eyes looking forward. Those eyes were Mom's classmates. (Interestingly enough Mom's classmate painted the faces of the evil eye folks brown.) I remember seeing this painting hanging in the basement-closet of our home in New York. I always wondered why a painting would be hanging in a closet. I remember seeing this painting in our garage while living in Columbus, Ohio. I always wondered why Mom would look at this work of art and stiffen her bottom lip with tears welling in her sleep deprived eyes. I remember getting a beating for something and mom catching a glimpse of those brightly-wicked eyes. She fell to her knees and sobbed. Then I didn't care, my beating ceased. Mom hated that painting and gave it to an aunt who hung in prominently in her college dormitory. Mama's pain, Aunties' propeller. Today I am thankful for those eyes. Mom made history and opened doors for our people....Daddy fell in love. Thank the creator for evil eyes.