I’ve been told that I have a gift.
I see dialogue in pictures…
Like this one.
When I graduated from Columbia College-Chicago with a degree in journalism eons ago.
I remember my Pops bounding towards me as I departed the stage with this wide grin covering his face.
“Man o’ Man son, you showed them Youngblood!”
And in one swift motion he wrapped me up in a bearhug.
He cautioned he not to get complacent at the place where I was working at the time (I didn’t listen).
“That ain’t who you are Youngblood, you are a writer, give them those words. Write a book… No, write books, plural! You gonna have your name in lights and those words, those words will take you to faraway places – just watch son!”
I smiled and nodded, while silently wondering if his goals for me were attainable.
My Pops was the consummate cheerleader for our family and there was a time, albeit a brief moment…
That I thought he was just talking…
Simply because it was what he was supposed to do.
During our last conversation before his transition in 2018, he revisited his insistence on me writing a book – one that I would write, one that he wouldn’t have the opportunity to see.
Interestingly enough, I wouldn’t conceive that book until he was gone from this place.
In retrospect, a lot of what he told me that o. day has came to pass – in a telling dash of synchronicity.
The publishing date of that book that my Pops alluded to?
Was on what would have been his 70th birthday.
He did say that he’d always be with me.
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