“… my thoughts raced back …” Continue reading
I often make allusions to time being an unharnessed entity that is content with sweeping everything and everyone along with it without their consent.
More recently I made an observation that:
“you can’t keep track of time, but time is surely keeping track of you.”
So when the time came for me to drop my son off at college, effectively handing him over to the world.
I felt something, but it wasn’t the gut wrenching, immobilizing pool of emotions that I imagined it would be.
Actually, I found myself being quite philosophical about the whole affair, between my multiple instances of time traveling. I kept harkening back to the past to recount how I arrived at this point.
It seemed like yesterday when I stood in the hospital room and maneuvered myself through the minefield of doctors as he forced his eyes open, looking nonplussed before letting out a high pitched wail that let me know that his lungs were in working order.
Hearing Dada uttered for the first view time was a high like no other.
The minefield of firsts flashed before my eyes with shocking frequency before I crashed back into the present.
Realizing that this was/is the moment that we’ve been preparing him for his entire life.
To be consequential and leave his mark on the world.
To be a planet and not a moon, marching to the beat of his own drummer and forsaking those who would be inclined to derail what the Almighty has put away for his procurement.
Being sad about his progression to the next chapter of his life just isn’t logical, besides the pride and adoration that flows through me overwhelms everything else.
The living room was silent with the exception of their disparate breathing and the creaking of the floor.
The three of them stood at attention waiting with baited breath.
Being in formation was a ritual of sorts for these 3 brothers – standing in chronological order as their father towered over them.
The room was brightly lit with an abundance of sunshine, there was a mirror mounted on the wall behind them that scattered the light throughout the living room in a melodic pattern of sorts.
There was a series of bookshelves on the left, seemed to taunt the boys…
Standing there unmoving, just like them.
Directly facing them was the relative freedom of their garden and past the fence was a playground.
It is safe to say that the playground was preferable to their current station.
Nothing was said as they followed him with their eyes in anticipation of what was to come. The look on his face was implacable as he paced back and forth, while his gaze seemingly burned a whole through each one of them.
The silence was broken with the bellowing of one of his soliloquies – his voice echoed throughout the house and reverberated through each one of them as they stood wide eyed and glued in place.
“Y’all keep your nose in these books, because it ain’t nothing out in these streets…You’ve got to look out for one another… You’ve got to set an example for each other to follow, and that goes for you too boy! as he pointed at the youngest of the brood.
And with that it was over and the boys were allowed to disperse.
As for the youngest one, he thought hard about what this “example” that his Father spoke of meant…
But once the cartoons began to flash across the screen the brothers forgot about the mandate.
Years later, the boys never forgot as they often mimicked their Father’s soliloquies word for word all while keeping his mandate.
I was one of the three boys standing there, the youngest one to be exact.
Setting an example was always something that we endeavored to do, often without thinking about it.
Perhaps it was the spirit of repetition that was our Father’s calling card, but we always endeavored to walk that line.
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