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.