A SONG FOR MY FATHER
By Atiba Wilson
Lookin’ back, I guess I should a known better, but it’s hard to think the best of people when you’re surrounded by so much bullshit. I mean…let me ask you a question. If you grew up in a neighborhood where it seemed like every other family member was breakin’ up for one reason or another, and the ones that stuck it out looked like they was on the verge of doin’ the same, would you be surprised if your Daddy just decided not to come home one day? I mean, come on, be for real!
Now, I can’t claim that the cat was all bad. After all, you could tell time by his comin’ and goins. Water running’ in the morning meant that it had to be 5:15 am. and at or just before 6 am. he was out the door and on his way to work. (That’s when Mama started wakin’ up the four of us, if we wasn’t already woke.) 5 pm and he was parking that old ass Chevy in the garage, 6 pm, we was all sittin’ down for dinner; by 10 everybody was in bed.
No matter how tired he was, he always seemed to find some work around the house to do after dinner. Imean, you name it, he could do it, paintin’ carpentry, auto mechanic (but that don’t really count cause he did that for a livin’) plumber… seemed like he could fix most anything.
He didn’t do for speech makin’ though, in fact the only time I can remember him talkin’ more than two or three minutes at a time when him and Mr. Brown was in the garage messing with that Chevy or an old Plymouth he picked up from somewhere.
You know what? I can’t even say the man was mean ‘cause he never did beat none of us. Mama did what beatin’’ that had to be done. But he had a way of lookin’ at you when he said somethin’ that let you know he meant business; and Mama never grew tired of tellin’ us about the time he damn near killed three peckerwoods down in Virginia for messin’ with his baby sister. Then too, I guess the way most of the people around there talked to him, let us know that he was somebody special.
I’ll never forget that time we went down south to visit my grandparents. I had never seen so many trees in my life. Everybody got a big laugh when I asked if all the houses around there got burned down.
At that time there was only four of us children and I was the youngest of the lot. Vera was the oldest and I don’t remember her goin’ down there with us. But William, (we called him Jr.) who was next in line, and Sara, who is three years older than me, was there.
The thing I remember most about that trip is the day I lost my money on the way to the store. Daddy had given all of us a dollar apiece and that was a whole lot of money then, even in the city. So you know our eyes got big thinkin’ about how mush stuff we was goin’ to get cause down south money could buy more than at home. At least, that’s what Jr. and Sara told me, and they should’ve known cause they had been there before. Actually, I had too, but I was too young to remember the first time.
Well, we was just singin’ and talkin’ about what we was goin’ to get when all of a sudden I realized my money wasn’t in my pocket. Damn, you talk about a sad lookin’ motherfucker, jim, that was me. Now here I was, goin’ up the steps to the goddam store and I can’t find my money.
Now Jr. and Sara could be pretty fuckin’ mean when they wanted to be, just went on in that store and bought all the things they said they was goin to get. As we was walkin’ home, I was tryin’ my best to go back exactly as we came, hopin’ that I would find my money; and all the while they was teasin’ me and laughin’ about when we got home they was goin’ to sit in front of me and eat the stuff they had. I felt like crawlin’ under that ground.
The closer we got to home, the slower I walked, prayin’ for a last-minute reprieve; but that money was long gone. Jr. and Sara ran ahead laughin’ and told Grandmama what happened. She started to give me some more money to go back to the store with, but Daddy said no. He said I had to learn to be more careful with my money. Now I was feelin’ really fucked up. But, then he turned around and told Jr. and Sara that they had to share with me cause we is all a family and family shares good and bad with each other. I’ll never forget the way I looked at him. It was like he growed ten feet tall right in front of my eyes.
Lookin’ back on it now, I can understand why Mama cried when Daddy didn’t come home that day years later. It was like our anchor had been cut loose and we was out to drift on an ocean of uncertainty. The fact that she was six months pregnant with my baby brother didn’t help none neither.
Mama cried at the police station when they told her there was nothin’ they could do cause “This kind of thing happened all the time with [us] coloreds.” She cried when my baby brother was born and she named him Billy even though Jr. was already there. She cried and cried and cried til one day she fell asleep cryin’, and just didn’t wake up.
I called my daddy a bunch of dirty names that day.
But you know what? It was only a couple of fuckin’ weeks after we buried Mama when a big news story was in all the papers about how there was a cover-up at the police morgue. A whole fuckin’ list of black men who had been killed for no reason had been kept secret cause they was afraid of a riot. My Daddy’s name was third on that list.
I wish Mama had lived long enough to know that her love had not been in vain. And I wish… I wish I had remembered that day down south, cause if I had I would have known better than to curse my Daddy; cause he was always, Always, ALWAYS ten feet tall.
By Atiba Wilson
Lookin’ back, I guess I should a known better, but it’s hard to think the best of people when you’re surrounded by so much bullshit. I mean…let me ask you a question. If you grew up in a neighborhood where it seemed like every other family member was breakin’ up for one reason or another, and the ones that stuck it out looked like they was on the verge of doin’ the same, would you be surprised if your Daddy just decided not to come home one day? I mean, come on, be for real!
Now, I can’t claim that the cat was all bad. After all, you could tell time by his comin’ and goins. Water running’ in the morning meant that it had to be 5:15 am. and at or just before 6 am. he was out the door and on his way to work. (That’s when Mama started wakin’ up the four of us, if we wasn’t already woke.) 5 pm and he was parking that old ass Chevy in the garage, 6 pm, we was all sittin’ down for dinner; by 10 everybody was in bed.
No matter how tired he was, he always seemed to find some work around the house to do after dinner. Imean, you name it, he could do it, paintin’ carpentry, auto mechanic (but that don’t really count cause he did that for a livin’) plumber… seemed like he could fix most anything.
He didn’t do for speech makin’ though, in fact the only time I can remember him talkin’ more than two or three minutes at a time when him and Mr. Brown was in the garage messing with that Chevy or an old Plymouth he picked up from somewhere.
You know what? I can’t even say the man was mean ‘cause he never did beat none of us. Mama did what beatin’’ that had to be done. But he had a way of lookin’ at you when he said somethin’ that let you know he meant business; and Mama never grew tired of tellin’ us about the time he damn near killed three peckerwoods down in Virginia for messin’ with his baby sister. Then too, I guess the way most of the people around there talked to him, let us know that he was somebody special.
I’ll never forget that time we went down south to visit my grandparents. I had never seen so many trees in my life. Everybody got a big laugh when I asked if all the houses around there got burned down.
At that time there was only four of us children and I was the youngest of the lot. Vera was the oldest and I don’t remember her goin’ down there with us. But William, (we called him Jr.) who was next in line, and Sara, who is three years older than me, was there.
The thing I remember most about that trip is the day I lost my money on the way to the store. Daddy had given all of us a dollar apiece and that was a whole lot of money then, even in the city. So you know our eyes got big thinkin’ about how mush stuff we was goin’ to get cause down south money could buy more than at home. At least, that’s what Jr. and Sara told me, and they should’ve known cause they had been there before. Actually, I had too, but I was too young to remember the first time.
Well, we was just singin’ and talkin’ about what we was goin’ to get when all of a sudden I realized my money wasn’t in my pocket. Damn, you talk about a sad lookin’ motherfucker, jim, that was me. Now here I was, goin’ up the steps to the goddam store and I can’t find my money.
Now Jr. and Sara could be pretty fuckin’ mean when they wanted to be, just went on in that store and bought all the things they said they was goin to get. As we was walkin’ home, I was tryin’ my best to go back exactly as we came, hopin’ that I would find my money; and all the while they was teasin’ me and laughin’ about when we got home they was goin’ to sit in front of me and eat the stuff they had. I felt like crawlin’ under that ground.
The closer we got to home, the slower I walked, prayin’ for a last-minute reprieve; but that money was long gone. Jr. and Sara ran ahead laughin’ and told Grandmama what happened. She started to give me some more money to go back to the store with, but Daddy said no. He said I had to learn to be more careful with my money. Now I was feelin’ really fucked up. But, then he turned around and told Jr. and Sara that they had to share with me cause we is all a family and family shares good and bad with each other. I’ll never forget the way I looked at him. It was like he growed ten feet tall right in front of my eyes.
Lookin’ back on it now, I can understand why Mama cried when Daddy didn’t come home that day years later. It was like our anchor had been cut loose and we was out to drift on an ocean of uncertainty. The fact that she was six months pregnant with my baby brother didn’t help none neither.
Mama cried at the police station when they told her there was nothin’ they could do cause “This kind of thing happened all the time with [us] coloreds.” She cried when my baby brother was born and she named him Billy even though Jr. was already there. She cried and cried and cried til one day she fell asleep cryin’, and just didn’t wake up.
I called my daddy a bunch of dirty names that day.
But you know what? It was only a couple of fuckin’ weeks after we buried Mama when a big news story was in all the papers about how there was a cover-up at the police morgue. A whole fuckin’ list of black men who had been killed for no reason had been kept secret cause they was afraid of a riot. My Daddy’s name was third on that list.
I wish Mama had lived long enough to know that her love had not been in vain. And I wish… I wish I had remembered that day down south, cause if I had I would have known better than to curse my Daddy; cause he was always, Always, ALWAYS ten feet tall.
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