Not just a hero, my hero.

What a difference a year makes. 10/19/2008 We shared a meal, family, and my pops. He received a cup, an Obama t-shirt, and other gifts. His birthday cake held two candles, a number seven followed by a number one. Today, one year later, his birthday cake was without candles. Today we shared a meal, some tears, and shared family.

Next to our table a young girl smiled widely as the waiters gathered around her table sing "Happy Birthday to you !" Later an older man surrounded by his family grinned as the waiters serenaded him. Each time our family clapped for the celebrant, then slowly hung our heads as the jubilance left. My son began..."All the children should say someting about Papi." My son shared a wisdom beyond his years, my daughter reluctantly passed. The four year old fraternal neice shared her memories, invoking a smile a relief from the moment. My elder fraternal neice passed. The adults chimed in.

We were cuting the cake, my brother and I, hoping to remember that the family remains intact in his physcial absence when I noticed that the cake I ordered held no candles. In place of the numbers seven and two were two dates............ Sunrise 10.19.1937, Sunset 09.22.2009. This year held no jubilation, this year held no joy. This year had no presents, this year was without his presence. The cake read "In rememberance of you." As I looked up to make a toast to my father I saw my elder-neice nestled under the arms of my mother as Mom was being comforted by my son. All were crying. The entire table wept together. I missed last year.

Last year my elder fraternal-neice stood a read prose created to celebrate Dad's 71st birthday. She ended by saying "You're a hero. Not just a hero, my hero." My sentiments, excatly. I miss my hero. (Press the play button for the below video).

Seventy One Years

Sunday 10/19/2008 (Roman Catholic Calendar) Dad became 71 years old.......We guess. In Dad's day an official-actual-legal birth certificate wasn't provided for Colored people in Opelaka Alabama during the 1936-1938 years. Most kept a copy of the baby's note in a family Bible or so. His birth was done with a mid-wife and somehow the records haven't been located. Since the old place that Pops was raised in isn't around at this time, and both of my grandparents are ancestors, we will probably never know.

We gathered around the dining room table. The only folk missing were my sister Elizabeth and my (Sister's daughter) niece Karina. Dan and his wife and three children were in the house. My wife and kids were in the house. Dad was happy.

His grandchildren wrote compositions and recited them. His children gave him presents. His wife gave him directions. All was well with his soul.

Dad had been complaining about his health lately, specifically stating that he wasn't sure if he would see this day earlier. I have been driving Dad back and forth to his classes lately and asked a week or so ago if he was aware of how the family has been bothered by him making such statements. He shared that he wasn't aware that we had become privy to his worries. Today he made mention that he was looking forward to many future parties with his family, he looked at me and smiled, resolving our discomfort.

We ate food, we ate cake. Dad held his newest grandchild and sang to her. This was a small, warm, and touching night.

Today I looked upon a man who was very different. The man who first gave me an allowance and who sold a car he allowed me to use after I neglected to pay him insurance money was now asking me for financial advice. The man who seemed like a giant is now shorter than I. The man who gave discipline with a heavy hand was now lighter than I. There is one thing that has remained in regards to our relationship - fear. I used to fear his wrath, now I fear his absence.

Happy Birthday Pops, we love ya.

Seko Benjamin-Eric VArner