Lessons of the Father.

I’m feeling….well sad…
Many would agree that I deserve to feel this way.
No, not in that way, My father just died…who wouldn’t be sad?
But in all honesty that’s just a part of it.

It does make you think…really think.
Reflect on not just your life or his, but everyone that has come in contact with pops.
The people he’d work with, chat to, interact with, take in, look after, everyday admirers, lovers (yes, lovers…rolling my eyes).
You can’t help but wonder because even more so now you can’t ask those questions, well not of him.
Because his absent has force you to acknowledge those questions and issues the natural thing would be to go and get those answers from the source, but you can’t…you just can’t…
This can make sum1 that doesn’t understand what’s going on or themselves frustrated to the point of anger just seething anger, not lash out rage.
But I’m not there, right now…I don’t feel like I’m anywhere…

Hearing the stories of my father’s life; his struggles, determination, successes and what he held dear, which was never really uttered in words but very evidently in action and I can’t help but compare us, father to son.
I decided to rock a full beard, something I’ve only tried once…last year actually,
So to honor the fat man’s memory I grew a fully unkept beard, up on to his burial and beyond, it was an humbling and trying process, because I came to realize I look mostly like my father out of all his sons and every time I looked in the mirror, I’d see him and the questions would come flooding back, like the time we experienced, as kids our first hurricane, hurricane Gilbert in 1988.

Back in those days there wasn’t any weather channel to hear how many hurricanes went north or south of us or how close it is, so we can buy everything in the supermarket only to get couple hrs of rain n back to school in the morning.
This was very different this time, it was coming straight for us, not that we knew any difference back then.
Anyways, so mother got real worried about Portmore being flooded and took us kids in a bus provided by the Jehovah Witnesses to the Kingdom Hall on Molynes Rd, where I slept on a chair, prayed through most of the night and saw some of the most outrageous looting in my then very short lifespan, hey, I don’t think I’ve seen looting like that again, I guess that was the Olympics or something.
Daddy refused to leave his house, armed with an hammer, nails and obvious tool pan, he literally held down the fort.
When we returned a day or so later after being glued to the radio (RJR), only to be greeted with pops ever infamous smirk (yeah, I sport it too), with “Wey unu left fah?” Illiterated thru out the next couple days this was mostly directed to mother, it was just a board statement, we got sprayed with it also.

So yeah, I’m sadden of his passing and my very personal questions that I thought I had more time to ask are now wondering around in my mind, no area to claim, interrupting and disrupting my focus.
” What do y’all want now?, I explained that I can’t answer you right now…”
But still they sit restless, jumping up every now…ignore for now…until they get louder…and louder…

The true reason for writing this is…less of being sad but I’m not really happy…haven’t truly been.
I’m not happy with where I am…
The crap I have to do to change it, other than just getting up and leaving…claiming i want to do this right (legally).
But there’s a certain charm about just getting up and leaving…it forces you to make it work, to find a way, go on an adventure.
Experience the unknown, but at a certain age rationality kicks in and thoughts of the future of your soon to be wife and unborn children, and then you’ll have to rethink your strategies…well that’s what I’ve been telling myself…even thou my artist soul is telling me different.

But what to do, all I can think about now is…
The questions for/of my father…am I just using those to answer the yearn inside of me to find my own path in a way he’d proud of… Or am I just rambling and need to sleep…

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