Parts of this edition may read like a lightweight Negro Spiritual. But there’s a point and a purpose to it all – which I’ll get to in a bit. It is the week after Easter, so raw spiritual emotion should be given a pass.
My father died from lung cancer when I was nine years old. He was exactly the age I am today when he passed away.
I’ve always wondered what advice he would give me. Especially now as I enter what was the last season of his time here on earth.
My mother always talked about what a good man he was and how blessed she was to be his wife and the mother of his children. When I approached dating age, I always wondered what advice he would give me – mainly about why I can’t get any dates, but partly what it was my mother did to get and keep his attention.
The anniversary of his death is April 15.As it approached this year, I found myself really wishing I had a chance to chop it up with him about my personal life. Especially considering if I died at his age, I would never know the kind of love that he and my mother shared.
On April 10, his best friend stopped by the house to let me know that his mother – who was my grandmother’s best friend – had died the week before. I hadn’t been in his presence for more than five minutes or so (and only a handful of times) since my father died.
We talked about this and that and caught up on 25 years. When he said one of his daughters was married and lives in Atlanta but the other two are still single, I figured I’d ask him why he thought his girls and I (we are all around the same age) had yet to find someone.
“I think all of y’all are being too damn picky and unrealistic,” he said. “This image you have in your head of what love looks like is so twisted that you wouldn’t even recognize it if it showed up to sweep you off of your feet.”
It was eerie. I hadn’t given him any details of my dating history – or lack thereof – but he spoke with certainty.
He went on to talk about the complicated relationship he has with his current girlfriend. She’s half his age and his daughters are having a fit about it.
“It ain’t robbery if it’s an exchange,” he said about his PYT. She’s younger than all three of his daughters.
Help. He’s been on his job longer than his lady has been alive. If this all but 60-year-old man is getting ready to trade in his 30-year-old boo for a better model, then I might as well head to hospice care to hug up on somebody.
“If you’re anything like my girls – which I know you are – you have all of these expectations and regulations before you even think about giving a brother some play,” he said.
I had to disagree and let him know that I’m open, but NOBODY ever approaches me.
“That’s a lie,” he said. “Say what it is. If nobody you consider on your level steps to you, that’s something else. You think he’s supposed to meet you where you are as far as that goes, but that ain’t always how it works.”
He went on to say that my father had just moved out of his parents’ house before he met my mother – in his late 20s – and never finished college.
My dad wouldn’t have even been on the radar of the successful, independent women of today. But he was an awesome man and wonderful provider who made provisions for his family long after his short life ended.
“Keep your heart open, baby girl – even if it means closing your eyes,” my father’s friend said as we said our goodbyes.
I’m sure my dad’s friend added the “baby girl” for style, but I can say with certainty that every other bit of the conversation was a granted wish from beyond – and I’m taking it!
