Learn From My Steps

I don't write as often about being a father.  I find that I have been a really protective parent over the years.  Something about having a life to manage that is not your own is terrifying, almost to the point of crippling.

I had a flashback the other day.  I was walking along Mass Ave with a friend.  It was a comfortably warm night, the type of warmth you don't have to think about.  The type of night that just embraces you like it's always been there...the type of night you take for granted.  The street was bustling.  Plenty of people moving from one place to the next, enjoying the enveloping comfort that was the evening.  Passing laughter and conversations and music filled the night air.  Although the city seemed to teem with good energy, my thoughts were elsewhere.  I couldn't stop thinking about my daughter.  At 10 months into fatherhood, that was still a hard concept to get my head around:  My daughter.  I remember telling my friend that night in amazement, "I am someone's father...do you understand?  I am someone's FATHER."  They're only words until that life depends on your own. 

We want our children to accomplish more than we have.  Not simply in the sense of gaining more in this life, being more secure and having the resources needed to live comfortably, but also we want them to cultivate their Self, accomplish more spiritually and emotionally, have better relationships, become more intelligent and avoid the same mistakes we've made.  It's what, I believe, any parent would want for their child.  It seems to easy a thought and an emotion to feel, but such a hard thing to realize and manifest. 

I sat in the middle my room.  Windows open and curtains swaying to the music that is a Southern California breeze.  Short nap throwback carpeting and vaulted wood beam ceilings contained the crazy experiments.  A double sized bed, a desk, a corner full of dirty laundry piled upon the small woven basket that was supposed to contain it and my small TV were the only witnesses to the frankensteinian works.  Another gift, another toy given to an only child had been examined.  Screws and covers removed, the simple, plastic inner workings revealing the mystery of how things worked.  Another cheap toy sold for profits.  Now the work of converting it into something else began.  Something different...

Cultivating our children is probably the single most important job a parent can have.  Recognizing their individual attributes, talents and interests and helping to nourish their instinctive inquisitive nature helps them to move along the road to Self discovery.  I have looked back through the corridors of my life and wished someone helped me get in front of my curiosities.  I often wonder where I'd be if someone had.  I find myself in agony considering and trying to ensure that I am feeding my daughter's mind, spirit and body with the things that will help her to grow.  The funny thing, I discover as she grows, so do I.  I think it's a part of what makes the parent-child bond so special. 

I only hope that she learns from my steps, avoiding my mistakes and taking advantage of where I've been.

The Source

I watched the smoke rise with a curious bewilderment. The sun sat warmly on my caramel arms and the mixture of grass and mesquite danced together in my nose like longtime lovers celebrating a lifetime together.

I was 9.  My uncle was finishing up the cooking.  He'd just put a bunch of super fresh sweet corn on the grill.  I'd never before had corn from the grill. "Why would you want to burn it?" I thought.   My curious fascination was broken momentarily by my cousins, pulling me out front to play hide and seek. Older cousins on the front porch, talking about yester-years.  The elder Aunts in the house hooking up food, younger cousins sneaking sips from the vodka and whiskey bottles.   My family cookouts.  The world looked so much different then.rce

I was talking to a longtime friend yesterday about why it is that some of us continue after all these years to remain friends. It reminded me of why sometimes it feels good to be around family, when we all know too long around family will drive you to The Shining type crazy. I think the truth is, we all need, no matter how far we've come, to return to the source to recharge.

The source is your beginning. 

Reality is relative. If you know me, you've heard me say this once or...fiddy'leven million times. But in this instance, I mean our sources may vary based on who we are and how we've grown. Each of our personal experiences have contributed different brush strokes at different times in our experience. Those strokes that helped us to identify the picture of our lives tend to have more relevance for us as nostalgic moments that formed who we are today. This is true of friends who were with me and helped me find my way...when I became more familiar with Jamaal. This is a part of my source. They will always be familiar and a beloved part of who I am.

I watch, in curious bewilderment, the smoke rising and dancing between slivers of light and shadow. I watch the twists and extensions, brief pauses and elegant leaps across the yard like a private performance of released emotion is being revealed...just to me.  I feel privileged to witness it, as if the moment is intimate somehow. The moment is gone and the dancer vanishes, just in time for me to remember the corn. Charred husks hiding sweet bursts of deliciousness bundled in tiny kernels. It's somewhat surreal how a taste or aroma can trigger a return to the source.

Return to Innocence Lost

Today I was awakened by the princess...poking me in the nose and asking me if I was awake.  Of course, I heard her coming, but I love how she tries to get her point across.  You see today is Park Day for the home school community of which she is a part.  Excited she was to go.  Why am I channeling Yoda? 

It's rained the past 3 Wednesdays here.   Today we parted the clouds almost by will.  Today we were getting the park in.

After lumbering out of bed, getting my coffee (Dios, I love coffee) and getting ready, we were out to explore this new park.

Shortly after arriving, we realized that none of the young ladies had arrived.  It didn't look like they were coming.  The young men, however, were already out in the park playing frisbee football.  It wasn't long before my little tom boy decided she wanted to get onto the field.  It's always a different experience with those who care enough to do things differently in search of better.  Moms and Dads at the park, fresh fruits and berries for snacks.  Water and fresh juices.  No cookies, no chips, no sodas.  For the most part, these are parents who want better for their children...and will warmly invite anyone into the fold who desires the same.  Granted we all have the same work ethic as well.

It wasn't long before I was asked to join the game.  Next to these 12-16 year old, I'm an old man.  I'm thankful there were a few fathers out there with me so I didn't look too decrepit.  After running up and down a few times, it started to get really hot.  When I say we broke the clouds by will...I mean the overcast skies parted and the rays poured through the opening in a deluge of heat and light.  I began sweating profusely, but was really self conscious about taking off my 1/4 zip.   Why?  I realized the t shirt I was wearing underneath...wasn't the best option.  I just grabbed something to put on under the 1/4 zip.  It wasn't supposed to be sunny today...it wasn't supposed to be this hot.  I kept wondering if anyone would be offended if I took off the sweatshirt.

We played a few more games, I finally was put on a team that had these jerseys worn over top whatever you had on.  I took off my 1/4 zip and the air swept across my body like it was making love to me.  I quickly put on the jersey and that was that.

While playing and talking and listening to the conversations taking place around me, I was reminded of something that I haven't seen in a long time.  Something I realized at once is robbed from our children far too frequently these days.  I saw and heard innocence.  I felt out of place for a moment.  This was not my upbringing.  I found myself standing in the shade of the Oak Tree, watching the dogs trying to grab flying frisbees out of the air before young hands could.  I lost myself in thought, wondering if my little princess also felt out of place.  I wondered whether her sense of innocence is still alive and wide eyed.  That is the tragedy and beauty of innocence.  It seeks,  but only to grow.  But so often our growth comes at the cost of pain.  We never want our children to have to experience that.

My train of thought was broken by one of the mothers asking for the jersey back.  It was time to pack up and head for the vehicles.  I took my jersey off and handed it to her.  I almost immediately detected her eyes traverse the words and image across my chest.  

I hope I didn't offend anyone.  I suppose it's only fitting being that the Princess is THE only African in the bunch.  I don't want to be known as the ghetto dregs of the home schooled community.  Especially when I am also just rediscovering my innocence...lost.

Preparations

Tonight I've decided to give into my thoughts.  I've decided to put on the war paint, strip off the illusions and wait for the demons to come find me.  They always find me.  I'm waiting.

 
Have you ever been plagued by the same thought and decided to simply not consider it?  You know, push it away, find a distraction, drink, blow one...just about anything aside from confront, consider and explore what it is that's tapping at you conscious door.  Shit, we all do.  If you say no, you're likely lying to your Self. 

I've been good at lying to myself.

This is a hard point for me to ignore considering the station I find my Self at in life.  This is the a particularly dark part of the station I have been unwilling to explore for fear of the demon that I know resides there.  The irony is that it's really the lying to others and my justifications of this behavior that has ultimately closed my eyes to the damage I was doing to everyone in my life...including my Self.  For years I've avoided this particular demon.  Doing so has given it a great deal of power and nourishment.  I've fed it, kept it healthy and then allowed it to run loose.  I've ignored it's handy work wherever I've seen it...pretending.  It becomes very easy to justify little untruths; concealing things that seems unimportant and arbitrary, misleading others about your intentions, etc.  It becomes all the easier when my little lies are placed next to some of the things I know other dudes are out here doing.  I'm not that bad; see, easy.

Like I said, I've been really good at lying to myself.

Lately I've been looking at the conditions that created this demon.  I've ventured further and further into the corridors where it resides.  I've been exploring the components and situations that have manifested it.  In short, I've been taking a hard look at my Self.  It's hard to look at something ugly and see yourself in it.  I think that is the reason we ignore so much of what is wrong with our Selves.  Otherwise, we simply grow to loath our Self because we DO know the ugly.  I know it's the reason I've feared looking into this demon's eyes for so long.  It is a major part of why it is easy to ignore it.  The demon leaves me alone and I continue to feed it.  A reciprocal relationship, no?

Lately I've been trying to figure out what I'm getting out of this relationship. 

So, I've decided tonight to venture into the heart of this part of the station.  Here I will sit, in quiet meditation, wondering how and when the demon will come.  Will I see it coming and be able to plan my response?  Will it stealthily creep upon my sitting consciousness seeking to take it by surprise? Does it know I am here?  I tell my Self I must not be concerned with such things.  We only need to be ready.  We only need to prepare.

I can't express to you the myriad pieces that become tainted or allowed to fail beyond repair simply by obscuring the truth of the situation.  When dealing with a possession such as a vehicle or a house, it likely means the loss of said possession.  When dealing with people, it likely means the loss of trust, bonds and relationships.  Either way, I'm tired of loosing what I've worked to establish.  So I've vowed to train my Self to stand in truth.  To prepare for the demon's return by withdrawing the fear that has fed it. 

I've decided to fight.

Next Stop...

I've been spending my time trying to explore this new station my life has pulled into.  Trying to figure out where the hell I am...at least in relation to the surroundings that used to be familiar.  I find myself peering out of windows, looking for some sort of sign or marker or anything that might tell me where it is that I am.  I think if I can figure that out, I might be able to form some plan for where I'm headed next.  That's the funny thing about being disoriented.  The rationale never quite manifests into action according to plan. 

I stepped off the train unsure.  That's a hard thing for a man to admit.  From, umm...every since, we are fed this machismo that says that even if we don't know, we'd better figure that shit out and ACT like we know.  At least until you do.  The uncertainty in me leads to a defense mechanism of sorts.  I've made an art form in my life of blending in, not being noticed.  So I find myself stepping around this station trying hard not to be noticed.  Unsure of who's eyes are watching me.  Unsure of what may happen if anyone was to discover me here.  I mean, after all...I have no idea where I am. 

I walk down aging, deteriorated corridors that were once ornately decorated.  I can tell that at one time this was a majestic place.  Hand carved moldings, intricately framed doorways and skylights...marble stairways with hand carved wooden baluster and rail.  All now falling apart.  I become very aware of the quiet desolation of this place.  It sits in my stomach and makes me uncomfortable.  Kind of like reading a book, or watching a movie and a character that you've linked to because of how much you relate to them does something you're not comfortable with.  It's enough to make you stop watching or put down the book.  But the broken condition that surrounds me is evident everywhere.  I figure it's probably because no one is here.  This place looks abandoned and thus, unkept and deteriorating.  For a moment I am saddened by the condition of disrepair.  I wonder why treasure like these are allowed to fade into obscurity of memory only.  This thought allows room for logic to once again prevail and I find myself wondering why a train would pull into such a station in the first place.  Was this a mistake?  Was I not suppose to get off the train here?  And why am I blending in if no one else is here?  I still feel like I'm being watched.  Disorientation returns with the familiar feeling of panicked urgency to figure out what I should be doing.  There is the recognition that if I decide to venture out of the station, the train that brought me here might leave without me.  I have no idea when or even IF the train is leaving this station.  The disorientation is compounded by the thought that I'm not quite sure how to get back TO the train.  I begin moving quickly through staircases and down corridors trying to  find my way back.  Hastened steps are better, right?  Even if I'm going the wrong way, moving quickly means I'll know sooner and will be able to turn back sooner, right? 

Tiring myself only leads to more confusion.  I don't have the answer to this labyrinth, nor can I answer the question of what to do next.  I am still in fear. 

Ironically, it is the stillness and the quiet acceptance of the situation that allows for the answers to begin to come.  I have been attempting to conceal myself in this station...from myself.  There is no one here save myself.  My Self.  Decrepit, unmaintained, in disrepair.  I've been seeking to explore, while at the same time endeavoring to hide, from myself.  I have a small chuckle to myself that reverberates through the corridors of this station.  That tickles me even more until I am in full, deep, stomach tightening, muscle aching laughter. 

I'm a fucking idiot.

I become extremely disinterested in when the train might leave.  I guess I'll get on it when I'm ready to leave.  I'm fully aware at this point that there is more here to explore, more to discover, more to learn.  For now, this place needs some love, some attention and some energy that may restore the fading beauty to it's former glory.  

I roll up my sleeves and smile.  I haven't smiled in a while.

The Beginning.