As I have come to face my father's mortality - and my own - as we age, I find myself thinking more and more about the influence he has had on my life. I am his second child, his second daughter, the one he might gift a baseball cap while my sister received pretty ribbons. I share his love of knowledge, of reading, of jazz. I share his eye color, his love of dogs, his dry wit, his cynicism and sarcasm about the state of the world. We are opinionated and stubborn. Our circle of trusted friends is small but loyal. We do not suffer fools lightly and still have not mastered the art of keeping that tactfully to ourselves.
On many levels, Pop is a fiction in my head. He was in the U.S. Navy when I was growing up. The nature of his work kept him away from home during much of my childhood. When he came home after months at sea it was mostly a celebration until he left again. My mother was the caretaker, homemaker, teacher, disciplinarian; Pop was the fun guy who traveled the world and came home bearing gifts from exotic places while Ma raised a bunch of kids - including my father. I still don't completely understand why or how she chose to live the life she lived but that's a story for another day.
My younger siblings have undoubtedly had a different life with Pop. By the time he retired and was home permanently I had left home and was off on my own adventures. I did not share my siblings' experience of a day-to-day father-in-residence but I never felt that I missed out. In fact, our laissez-faire father-daughter relationship allowed us both to live in the memories and imaginings of each other that fit neatly and unconditionally in our hearts.
"Pour libation for your father and mother who rest in the valley of the departed. God will witness your action and accept it. Do not forget this even when you are away from home. For as you do for your parents, your children will do likewise for you." ~~ Egyptian Book of Coming Forth by Day
Friday, August 25, 2017
Half-passed Black
Just some articles I've read ... trying to put my heritage and extended family into perspective.
Passing: How posing as white became a choice for many black Americans