Black Woman's Burden

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June 15, 2008

Lessons from My Father

Well...It's been over a year, maybe even two since I've contributed anything to this blog...or my life even. I don't even remember where I left off, or where to begin for that matter. Is anyone still out there???

I have been thinking about my father a lot over the last six years since he passed away.I think about him every day in fact. The untimely death of Tim Russert, a man I greatly admire triggered it. I was watching the special tribute that NBC was doing for him, and they showed a clip of Tim and his father with a voice over of Tim reading a letter to his son about his own father's greatness and how he would be there for his own son, the way his father was there for him. One thing that struck me was when Tim said that his father left high-school to fight for his country-and when he came home from the war, he worked two jobs and didn't complain, so that Tim could pursue his dreams. Then Tim told his own son, Luke to reach his goals, because they are reachable...that's when the dam broke...

I haven't done my dad's memory justice. I must admit. In fact, I think he's quite upset with me. My mother told my sister that she had been dreaming him recently and he was very angry-he didn't say a word, she said. He was ripping their bedroom apart, whipping papers, throwing objects and banging things around. It was a turbulent scene, and she took it to mean that he was desperately trying to get her attention. My father had a bad temper and whenever he felt he wasn't being heard, he would often react violently. Not physically towards his family, but he would have outbursts, like the one he displayed in their bedroom. That dream translates to my father being worried. My mother has no idea which one of her daughters is the one that has her father so enraged, but she knows enough about her daughters lives to know they are both struggling and unhappy witth the way their lives are unfolding now. One sister lives at home and the other lives in NYC-yours truly.

My sister has been driving herself (literally) insane-back and forth between Toronto and Buffalo to complete a Master's degree in Education part-time, while working two jpart-time jobs, that even when the salaries are combined barely pay her enough to put enough gas in her car to take her to Buffalo. Not to mention she must make time for her auditions-she refuses to give up on her passion, which is acting.
As for me, everyone has pretty much heard my story-I'm a writer, who has never been published-currently trying to complete a book I've been working on for six years. I started it the year I moved to this city- and now, here I am. Living in the Bronx, (the Bronx!!!????)hating my job and the direction my life has taken. My job as a paralegal (a job I had no desire to do-yet fell into-I mean people go to school to become paralegals right?) Anyway, I would say my feelings can best be summed up in this brief scenario:

The day that I was hired to work where I'm working now-I felt that I had been saved. I thought that my talents had been recognized and I was destined for glory. I received a badge at this new job, and I was going to be sworn in, like a head of state. I was to be sworn in with another young lady who was hired at the same time I was. I noticed her badge had different lettering. Everything else on the badge was the same, except where our titles were displayed, hers was embossed in Big Black Bold Capital letters, stressing the importance of her title. My title simply said "Staff" in plain regular typeface. Not to mention the fact that the next morning as we arrived for work, I realized that she didn't have to "swipe in." I did. I felt demeaned and demoralized. Like this was to be my caste in life. Just another anonymous rank and file worker. To add insult to injury, I am employed in a department that is entirely staffed by women. I need not tell you that between moodiness, ego's and PMS, I'm just about ready to stab myself in the eye with a plastic fork. It's highschool all over again, and of course-I'm not in the "in crowd." As I mentioned earlier, it seems to me that this is my destiny-always a bridesmaid, never a bride. I apologize for the analogy. I haven't written in months so whatever comes to mind, I'm forced to use, or I'll never get anyting done.

So, what it boils down to is this-I'm confused. I followed the rules. I did as my parents told me. Go to college. Get your bachelors. Go to grad school, get your Masters...Everything you want in life will be waiting for you when you get out...well she was right, but now I'm 34, finally entered what I believe is a stable relationship (knock on wood) and am now being pressured to have babies-I barely make enough to take care of myself! I'm still behind...I feel like that Sloane chick--she wrote a book called "I Was Told There'd Be Cake." My sentiments exaclty, I was told there'd be money, a fabulous wedding, a car, a house...

And that's when it hit me. This morning-this Father's day. The day after Tim Russert's death, and also at a time when significant changes are on the horizon for us as a country. Barack Obama is our democratic nominee for President of these great United States-and he's Black! A few years back I congratulated him on this blog when he won the Illinois Senate seat...my how time flies...I remember when I was so enthusastic about politics and about my own possibilities and opportunities back then.

And now, here I sit at age 33 typing away at my computer in my basement apartment with not even single one of my goals-realized, when it hit me that I had been unclear in making them.

When I moved to New York City, I just wanted to come to New York-to party, to meet gorgeous Yankee men, and in the meantime get a degree or two to make my parents happy. This is me- directionless. Then, I figured out that writing was my passion, after all, I had been doing it my entire life. It should be easy enough. It could be glamorous. So that was it. I decided I was going to write...well, here I am, writing, again-no clear purpose in sight...

So, I realized, after listening to Tim Russert's homage to his father, who he said, "worked two jobs and never complained," and was able to show his son what hard work and determination and clearly set goals can accomplish and then was able to give his own son the same opportunities to pursue his dreams because they are reachable-with hard work, integrity and purpose. I think that's the part that I never quite got, which is the lesson I'm painfully learning now, as I struggle to retain the creativity that I let slip away from me all those years of being angry, bitter and complaining about what should have been mine...

My father didn't owe me anything, the world doesn't owe me anything-and God surely doesn't owe me anything...I was blessed to have a talent. That was the hardest thing for me to realize. I have a passion-and I have to accept it with all of it's responsibilities. I can't run from it because it doesn't wrap itself up all neatly in a bright pink box with a big blue ribbon and drop itself in my lap.
Journalism, writing, separating fact from fiction, inspiring people to DO SOMETHING-is what will fullfill me-it's not about money, or houses, or cars-because if it were, I would feel some sort of fulfillment right now-I have money, I have a beautiful home-it's just not in the Hamptons-yet)

I will finish my book because I have important things to say, and I owe it to myself. Also, I'm through kissing ass. Your probably thinking to yourself- where the hell that come from? Surely someone like me would never stoop so low...well, your right, but I never said I was perfect. Perhaps I eluded to it, and mislead you, and I'm sorry. So hear this: Kissing ass never got me a damn thing except what I have right now, and that's the bare minimum. I'm worth a lot more. The ass kisser should know that he is doing the ass kissee no service, because ass-kissees know when their asses are being kissed. You may think it makes them feel superior but it only complicates their inferiority complex. It's true. Look closely into the eyes of a person who's ass has been constantly kissed-I bet they can't look you square in the eye. Besides, there's too much ass for me to kick right now, although let me be perfectly clear, this is not my only motivation. I've recognized that to be another fallacy of my methodology...my mission right now is not to be concerned about the inferiority or superiority or mediocrity of anybody else on this planet besides me at the moment. So the only ass kissing or kicking that's going to be done around here is mine! (That's quotable.)

Finally-Daddy, I'm sorry. It took me six years to realize that it's not your fault. You have given me so much-we share the same blood, fire, passion and rage. We share a love of knowledge and learning but we are not the same person. I am not you. I can' t hold you responsible for my shortcomings and I know that I am not destined to re-live your life to redeem you-and me.
My shortcomings are my own, just as yours were your own. I know you know what I'm talking about and so, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. Trust you to go to mommy before you came to me. By the way, I knew it was me you were trying to reach all along with that dream nd I love you for that. I am grateful for the bond we share. I just hope that next visit will not be so volatile.

While this entry has been long over due, it has also come at just the right time.

Tim Russert-in this short time that I have come to know you and your work you have inspired me in more ways that you can imagine. You and my father have much in common as well. I know you will both have much to discuss-look out for us down here here trying to carry on where you left off . Both of you left big shoes to fill.

Yet still, we walk...

Happy Father's day to both of you and may you both rest in peace.

Posted by renee at 10:14 AM | Comments (0)