The Question Mark: Who Is He?
I remember seeing my dad as a young boy at a gas station. Mom had woken up my two sisters and I to go see him early in the morning. I remember putting on pants and shoes, barely awake and able to keep my eyes open. The gas station was one exit away, so the drive took no longer than five minutes. We got out of the car and approached our dad walking away from his eighteen wheeler. He had on a cap with high top shoes. He was much taller than me, even Mama. I didn't look at his face. I didn't know how to do so. We were cold, outside, meeting up with our father for the first time in a while. He may have asked me a question or two, but all I remember is standing next to Mama, not him.
Who was he? I knew what he was: my father, half of my existence, and the explanation behind my physicality. I didn't know what he liked to do during his spare time. Did he like to read? I knew he was aware of God and the Bible, but to what extent? I'm certain he played basketball because he still competed with my uncle back in Arkansas on concrete courts and hardwood floors. Who was his favorite player? What was his favorite color and why? I didn't know these things and I never really got the opportunity to learn. The older I got, the more I took his distance as an offense. I became angry. I was disappointed at his absence in my life as well as my sisters and disconnect created between him and my mother, ending in a divorce upon my birth. He angered me until the point that I wished never to immolate who or what he was.
As I got older, God helped me deal with this problem through writing and self-evolution. During college, I learned that I was more like my father than I wanted to be and that I also possessed attributes of my mother. My fist was no longer tight with anger, but relaxed with understanding. So why was there still a question? Why the father-shaped void? Could it be curiosity created by the human desire to simply know or was it something God placed in my heart? Well, I won't know until I seek answers.
One question that settled in my heart over the past week was did God specifically create my father so that I can come into this world? Was he part of the biological catapult of my existence? My answer was it CAN'T be. I remember watching the movie Watchmen where Laurie Jupiter found out that her father was The Comedian, the same man that attempted to rape her mother during a meeting amongst other heroes. How could this be? A man's sole purpose can't be procreation, right? I wondered if reading God's word would suffice my inquiry or can this be fixed simply by praying and pursuing a greater connection with the one person I've lived to avoid, but can't continue without getting to know? I do know this. I don't seek to throw history into someone's face. I want no revenge. I seek no vendetta or desire to take from him what I felt he removed from my life and those of my family. One thing to consider was that my dad was hurting, too. Only God knows exactly what was going through his mind during his younger years.
How do I fix this? Well, I start by applying the saying, Think. Pray. Act. I've thought about this for years and the next best thing is to pray about it. My final step is to reach out and retrieve answers. If I don't receive them, then I tried. I won't be giving up, but giving in to something much bigger than us both. The reality of us both is that we are who and what we are with needs of much upgrading. I wasn't able to go visit my dad when I was a boy, but I can now. What's stopping me, right? The same goes for you. If you're reading this and a question mark still exists about a severed relationship between you and your parents, what's stopping you from reattaching the nerves? What you all share is an organic connection that can only be fixed by both submitting and suspending. Myself, like many of us, are living proof that it can difficult to disregard such a question, even when you're in your thirties. I can honestly say that I love him and if he needed me, I wouldn't hesitate.
I even went as far as to question why would a father name a son he wasn't going to raise? Who's to say that was my father's initial plan? I learned that though he gave me his name, I would live my designated path. Judging by my father's past, there were more dark clouds than sunny days. Maybe there weren't. This uncertainty begs for clarity and that is what I'm seeking. My name was given to me so that I can realign my lineage. I'm not perfect, but I'm sure not my father because we both are individuals, yet created from the same blood. Right now, I am stretched out on my own branch and will add limbs once I'm married and have kids. I want to be able to tell them stories about their grandfather and the impact he's had on the world, good or bad. I don't pursue to fight or fix, but flourish at something the devil obviously doesn't want and that is heritable reconciliation.
Lack of fatherhood is killing our black community. Young men are searching for acceptance and guidance through gun play and jail sentences. We are predetermined to decline once our background is labeled fatherless. Let's change that, gentlemen. Let's give our children something to mimic if not alternate to fit their generation. Let's solidify our legacy with chivalry and behavioral consistency. We owe children that if nothing else. We missed out, but that doesn't mean they should, too.
Who was he? I knew what he was: my father, half of my existence, and the explanation behind my physicality. I didn't know what he liked to do during his spare time. Did he like to read? I knew he was aware of God and the Bible, but to what extent? I'm certain he played basketball because he still competed with my uncle back in Arkansas on concrete courts and hardwood floors. Who was his favorite player? What was his favorite color and why? I didn't know these things and I never really got the opportunity to learn. The older I got, the more I took his distance as an offense. I became angry. I was disappointed at his absence in my life as well as my sisters and disconnect created between him and my mother, ending in a divorce upon my birth. He angered me until the point that I wished never to immolate who or what he was.
As I got older, God helped me deal with this problem through writing and self-evolution. During college, I learned that I was more like my father than I wanted to be and that I also possessed attributes of my mother. My fist was no longer tight with anger, but relaxed with understanding. So why was there still a question? Why the father-shaped void? Could it be curiosity created by the human desire to simply know or was it something God placed in my heart? Well, I won't know until I seek answers.
One question that settled in my heart over the past week was did God specifically create my father so that I can come into this world? Was he part of the biological catapult of my existence? My answer was it CAN'T be. I remember watching the movie Watchmen where Laurie Jupiter found out that her father was The Comedian, the same man that attempted to rape her mother during a meeting amongst other heroes. How could this be? A man's sole purpose can't be procreation, right? I wondered if reading God's word would suffice my inquiry or can this be fixed simply by praying and pursuing a greater connection with the one person I've lived to avoid, but can't continue without getting to know? I do know this. I don't seek to throw history into someone's face. I want no revenge. I seek no vendetta or desire to take from him what I felt he removed from my life and those of my family. One thing to consider was that my dad was hurting, too. Only God knows exactly what was going through his mind during his younger years.
How do I fix this? Well, I start by applying the saying, Think. Pray. Act. I've thought about this for years and the next best thing is to pray about it. My final step is to reach out and retrieve answers. If I don't receive them, then I tried. I won't be giving up, but giving in to something much bigger than us both. The reality of us both is that we are who and what we are with needs of much upgrading. I wasn't able to go visit my dad when I was a boy, but I can now. What's stopping me, right? The same goes for you. If you're reading this and a question mark still exists about a severed relationship between you and your parents, what's stopping you from reattaching the nerves? What you all share is an organic connection that can only be fixed by both submitting and suspending. Myself, like many of us, are living proof that it can difficult to disregard such a question, even when you're in your thirties. I can honestly say that I love him and if he needed me, I wouldn't hesitate.
I even went as far as to question why would a father name a son he wasn't going to raise? Who's to say that was my father's initial plan? I learned that though he gave me his name, I would live my designated path. Judging by my father's past, there were more dark clouds than sunny days. Maybe there weren't. This uncertainty begs for clarity and that is what I'm seeking. My name was given to me so that I can realign my lineage. I'm not perfect, but I'm sure not my father because we both are individuals, yet created from the same blood. Right now, I am stretched out on my own branch and will add limbs once I'm married and have kids. I want to be able to tell them stories about their grandfather and the impact he's had on the world, good or bad. I don't pursue to fight or fix, but flourish at something the devil obviously doesn't want and that is heritable reconciliation.
Lack of fatherhood is killing our black community. Young men are searching for acceptance and guidance through gun play and jail sentences. We are predetermined to decline once our background is labeled fatherless. Let's change that, gentlemen. Let's give our children something to mimic if not alternate to fit their generation. Let's solidify our legacy with chivalry and behavioral consistency. We owe children that if nothing else. We missed out, but that doesn't mean they should, too.
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