An Appropriate Dress

I'm still in a haze. Random thoughts keep forcing their way into my head. It's hard to stay focused, despite the mountains and mountains of end of term and catch-up grading that forces me out of bed. I keep thinking of the very strange phenomenon of buying a dress for my father's service. I generally don't like shopping, but this had to be the worse shopping experience ever; it was even worse than when I had buy a dress for my girlfriend's wedding four weeks after I had my son (leaking breast milk, newborn in tow, lumpy post-baby body--good times). I thought I could buy something quickly and never wear it again. I kept thinking of the Langston Hughes poem that says something like tell all my mourners to mourn in red 'cause there ain't no sense in me being dead. (Don't know exactly what to do with that thought . . . ) Mostly, though, I was hearing his side-bar comments, which made me laugh and cry at the same time.

I'd pick up one dress and hear, "Too short." Another, "Waaayyy too tight."  or "That looks nice." I'd see another and hear, "You do know that you have to wear that to church, right?"

Was I supposed to be looking for something cute? appropriately sad? reflective of his joy of life? It was all just so weird.

In the end, I was entirely over shopping altogether. I tried on a few dresses that looked too hideous, even for mourning. I bought one that didn't make me look like a potato. I don't know. It got the job done.

The Crisis is Over

The Crisis that showed up a few years ago is finally over. My loving and beloved father went to be with the God he worships. He was ill and in pain, and now I believe he's healed. We had four days to love on him and pray for him and sing the songs he sang. I am grateful. Sad. Devastated. But grateful.

Happy Father's Day

I grew up in a two-parent home, and although I knew on some level that everyone didn't live like me, my world was populated by people who did. So, it was a little amazing to me when I married DH and came into contact with so many people who grew up without their father (DH being one of them). There were so many that I began to just assume that men did not stick around (my daddy being the anomaly).

When my friends began getting married and starting families of their own, my faith in men was renewed. So many men were not only sticking around for their families, but they were also excited about them. And at a time when Black families are especially notorious for being without the father, these men stand out even more for their commitment, their involvement, their sense of family. There's my husband, my brother, my cousins, SM's husband, SM's father, my good friend from junior high school, DH's best friend, my father-in-law (who stepped up to the plate and took care of children that weren't his) and countless other friends.

To all of these men, Happy Father's Day. You serve as an example of all that is good and right and we are honored to have you in our lives. And to my own father, I love you. You were the first man who made me feel special and I know I am the woman I am today because of your love and influence.