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).

Then (1972) Pops & I:

Circa 1987 I was in a Hampton University college psychology class and our instructor self-nicknamed "Mr. R.E.O." (Read Early & Often to pass my class) was encouraging us to debate each other. As the discussion turned to 'fathers' a classmate stated with extreme anger that "Fathers ain't nothing. We don't need fathers. Ain't nobody's father ever done nothing for them." I shared how my pops had cooked most of my life and had been in our house everyday except when he took the family our of town. I ended by saying how I enjoyed my pops' food until the #@tch interrupted me yelling out "I'm glad you grew up in the Huckstable's Home but the rest of us had to live in reality. " As I sat there confused I slowly realized how blessed I had been, how much this #@tch was gonna' pay for embarrassing me, and how much justified anger she showed for her mother's bad decisions. As the entire class erupted in laughter I attempted to respond by saying "I'm sorry that you grew up in the ........" stuttering I realized that I couldn't come back on her and be right. I sucked up the embarrassment and kept it moving. I kinda' laughed to myself, she was fat, unattractive, a female, and angry. There was no way I was gonna' win this war with words. A few seconds later on a young lady stated something nice about her father and a few other students agreed. The fat, unattractive, female kinda put her head down on the desk and then I felt a bit sorry for her. I also noted that she had some sexy legs for a fat unattractive female and she stopped being unattractive......... I digress...........

Now (2009) Pops:
All my life my pops has fathered me. (Not to leave Mother -Dear out but I talk about her in another blog). The last 8 months I've washed him, fed him, cleaned after him at times, and guided him with some financial decisions. He shared one day how he ended up having to care for his father, and now his first son was caring for him. My pops has become legally blind and is so sick sometimes that life surely feels like torture. I'm having problems sleeping and I'm over-eating and I realized the other night that I'm making myself sick.What's wild is how my son and daughter know how to say the wrong thing at the right time and make everything alright. Just when I begin to beat myself up comparing my son-status to my brother's son-status (he'll probably always win the "Best Child Award" if there is such a thing) or I begin to think about my pops becoming an ancestor, one of my kids walks up and hands me a handmade card/picture/structure that they made for me effectively washing away the depression. I know that I'll have future fears, pains, tears, and worries about my father - yet It's rejoicing to know that my kids will have a 'creation' up their sleeves to Daddy their Daddy.

Thanks be to Father Almighty, thanks be to the Son of Father Almighty, thanks to the ancestors. I love you Pops. I love you Moms, I love ya' kids.