Wednesday Wisdom: Fathers & Failures

Tags

bitterness, father, Father figure, fathers day, forgiveness, God, healing, love, relationships, understanding

As you all know, Sunday was Father’s Day. I saw a lot of conditional Happy Father’s Day messages and people debating the fairness of them, as well as many heartfelt blogs dedicated to fathers who are no longer with us. I read more than I could stand on the impact of absentee fathers and whether or not men and women need to just “get over” the fact that their father was or wasn’t there. It made me wonder what happened to understanding, appreciation?

It’s always been my belief that if you can’t thank your dad for anything else, you can at least acknowledge the fact that he had a hand in your creation. I realize that not everyone was as blessed as I’ve been to have so many strong father figures in my life, some related by biology and some not. Maybe you have a great father, but you have taken him for granted because you are so focused on hating the biological one you have. There are so many men who can fulfill the duties of a father to us, don’t limit your focus to one (or more) who have failed to do so.

When a company is looking to hire an employee, they don’t spend time sending out emails to bash the employees that don’t fit the job description; they eliminate them from the pool and focus on the ones that do. I have had a lot of surrogate fathers as well as my biological father who I could turn to for fatherly advice, monetary support, moral support, and spiritual guidance. They weren’t without their flaws, but the positive impact they’ve had on my life and relationships is worth celebrating (I purposely left this until after Sunday because I don’t think it should be restricted to one day). So, to highlight some of the most influential fathers/father figures I’ve had in my 26 years:

• My stepfather, Keith Taylor Sr. This is the man that I grew up with. He was there as far back as I can remember. He taught me to love music and creativity. He encouraged my creative pursuits. He patiently read more sappy poetry and meoldramatic adolescent stories than any adult male should have to endure. When my little brother was born, he made sure that I knew I was still loved and still made time for us to spend together. He took me to “Bring Your Daughter to work day” and never corrected anyone that called me his daughter, because I was. I lost my stepfather in 2009, but I’ll never forget the impact he had on my life.
• My uncle, Mack Taplin. I’ve been across the land and country with my Uncle Mack. There aren’t many people I could discuss the value of various Bible commentaries with over peanuts, nor people who would invite me to subway and then blame me for breaking his diet when my aunt found out. He taught me that life wasn’t fair and that at the end of the day you had to decide what was truly worth the cost (or “It’s a dirty world” and “everybody wants a piece of your paycheck,” alternately). When I ran out of financial aid and job prospects in Michigan, he and his wife sent for me and let me live and work with them until I could return to school. I go to him for all of my car advice and money advice…and to get the good peanuts.
• My step-granddad, Morris Taylor Sr. Granddad used to pick me up every Sunday for church. He supplied me with sermons on tape, Gospel Minutes, and at least two different study bibles (that I still use to this day). The Bible I take to church with me now, my Keyword Study Bible, is the same one he had when we went to church together. It was through him that I met some of the most influential spiritual leaders that I’ve ever encountered–Bro. Leroy Medlock, Bro. Patrick Medlock, Bro. Darryl Holt, Bro. Dexter Harney, and many others–as well as many of my first friends in the church.
• My father, Edward Hearns. I pretty much got my whole face from him, LOL. My father is largely responsible for my sense of humor  and love of movies. We are both tenacious people with enough stubborn will to accomplish what we set out to. We are both avid readers and intelligent thinkers. Throughout the years, we’ve grown to understand one another better and try to forge a closer bond, one that couldn’t be formed without the wiling participation of us both.
• The many other men who have been role models and advisors in my life: my minister Bro. Harvey Drummer, Jr.; my elders Bro. James Macon & Bro. Darryl Ammons; my African American Experience and Toni Morrison teacher, Dr. Joseph Dorsey; the gifted and talented coordinator at Pontiac Northern High School; The counselor at HUB; and many other whose names I may have forgotten but whose impact is not lost on me.

Where there is no father, there are father figures, and there should be forgiveness. Everyone is not what we wish them to be. There are mothers who either are absent in body or neglectful in spirit as well. Sometimes the best thing someone can do for us is to remove themselves from our lives.

Of course, I wouldn’t fail to mention our Father in Heaven. Even if you weren’t able to find an earthly father figure, you have a Heavenly Father who cares for and about you. There are still somethings that I can’t understand, as I’m not a parent. We can all say that we “can’t see how someone can do that,” but until we are there, we can’t know that we won’t.

I’m sick of the blame. It’s your dad’s fault he wasn’t there; it’s your mom’s fault she slept with such a sorry man to begin with. Your father deceived her; she deceived him. They were too young. It doesn’t matter. The only thing you’re responsible for is what you allow to rule your life. I’m grateful I’m here. I’m grateful I don’t have to make their mistakes. I’m grateful all of these men knew/know the impact they’ve had on my life while they’re alive. I’m grateful I can move forward into a romantic relationship of my own unburdened by what my father did and didn’t do (and I’m sure Mr. Perfect is glad of that fact, too!)

But it’s not always that easy. Take the time to deal with you and heal you. Release all of the negativity for men that you harbour, whether you are male or female. Allow God to be the Father you never had. See all of the father figures around you that have shaped your life in a positive way. If  necessary, seek counsel with someone trained to help you heal and move forward.

Related articles

• Grateful for father figures! (ilifejourney.wordpress.com)
• A Note of Thanks for Father Figures (curiousbeing.com)
• Be The Father You Always Wanted! You Can!! (menofredemption.wordpress.com)
• The Good, The Bad & The Daddy …. (lovephool.wordpress.com)
• On Fathers and Father Figures (permissionslips.wordpress.com)

Funeralizing Folks

Tags

coping, death, father, funeral, loss, Pink Susie, stepdad

I know I should be getting ready, but I’m not sure if I will be able to write after the funeral, so I wanted to get some things down before. I am almost certain that today will be a trial to the nerves in some way or another. Mr. Perfect and I are driving 2 1/2 hours up to where the funeral is being held today, which can be trying at any time, but especially in the cold and sleet/flurries. I haven’t anything but slacks in black, so no dress for me. My dad may be back down, with his somewhat pessimistic view of all things funeral. I don’t know what specific event triggers that, but there has to be one. He goes on and on about Black funeral cliches and stereotypes. “Who’s going to sing the song and break down halfway through? Who’s going to fall out on the casket and ask to go with them?” Etc. It is my thought that whether or not you feel that these are all contrivances is irrelevant; not only could these be real people’s real feelings about the deceased overwhelming them, my father is “an elder” in his church. I feel that any man of God I want ministering to me should have a bit more compassion. I know my day, but others may not, and take what I see as a coping mechanism of his own with a loss to be something like rudeness, of mocking a dead person’s loved ones. Even other family members may in the least feel offended that he would scruntinize and find their mourning ungenuine. Death is one area I feel you cannot know another person’s feelings from outward appearance, especially at a funeral.

When my stepfather died, I only cried on solitary tear at the funeral towards the end. It never looked like him to me, I never associated the body in the casket with him, and so I was able to be a support to my mother and brother. I stayed busy the whole time I was in Michigan, filling glasses, fixing plates, making meals, finding ways to keep my mother occupied, and keeping folks from getting too drunk and acting too much of a fool. Since returning, I’ve cried quite a bit. It’s hard for me to be emotional in front of people. My instinct is to offer support to others who may be hurting more than myself, to keep procrastinating on dealing with the fact someone is gone. Someone observing me might think I was cold hearted and cared nothing for the person because I’m not weeping copiously, but that’s not my way. So in that way, I understand that maybe the way my dad comes across isn’t how he really feels, especially in this situation.

I don’t know what shape Pink Susie will be in. Part of the reason I call her Pink Susie here is tied to the deceased; it was a nickname given to her because the deceased always bought her a little pink dress for Easter, all these pink things. Pink was the deceased favorite color. Thus far, she’s been planning the funeral, making arrangements for the business as she is leaving, and finding hotel rooms for people. Organizing and supporting, like me. I feel bad for her more than anyone, because I know what’s coming in the solitary moments. We are so much alike in some ways it’s scary. I hope I’m wrong in this one.

That’s enough for now; it’s making me weepy. I have to bear up and support her, and who knows who else. I’ll deal with my own piddling grief and fond memories later. Pray for our drive up and down, and for everyone traveling to and fro in this dreadful weather.

2blu2btru

Confession, or The Mama’s and the Poppa’s

Tags

adolescence, father, mom, PKs, relationships, RTD, training, women

RTD: I have a confession to make: I’m a PK. In case you’re wondering what weird thing that is, it stands for preacher’s kid. Well, technically I’m an “elder’s kid,” but you get the drift. Why didn’t I tell you before? I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression of me.

For whatever reason, people think that all people who have fathers who are ministers, elders, or deacons in the church are the worst people ever. People think that PKs are the sluttiest, nastiest, most drug abusing, lying, cheating, stealing, violent people that God ever made. They think that when I am not fornicating, I am stealing from the collection plate or robbing old folks. They never bother to assume that I’ve been “trained up in the way that I should go” and have not “departed from it.”

I’ve already expressed how much I love my mother. My mother is a fabulous woman. She made sure we had food, clothes, and a place to stay. I had a good stepfather. My home life was very stable. But what my mother didn’t really bother to teach me was how to be a woman.

My mother was always very strict. It didn’t bother me because at first I didn’t have any interest in the opposite sex, then I assumed they had no interest in me, and finally I became a Christian and made firm and concrete my vague notion to stay a virgin until I married. I didn’t mind coming home early; I didn’t have that many friends any way. I was the smart girl that had a lot of friends around test time, and precious few at others. After my brother was born, it seemed my mother thought it was unnecessary to actively parent me. That would have been fine, if I wasn’t eight at the time.

I didn’t know that a girl needed to shave the hair from under her arms until seventh or eighth grade, and only then when a sixth grade boy called me out on it. I took my mother’s razor and shaved off what had to be an inch of hair. (That grosses me out now). I never waxed my eyebrows or had a pedicure before eighteen. Never wore makeup before nineteen. Never had heels or any consequence before twenty. I wasn’t a salon baby; my mother did my hair in the kitchen with a straightening comb you put on the oven. Once, one of my white classmates in the dorms in high school asked me if straightening my hair with a straightening comb hurt.

I feel as if I am behind on how to be a woman. I don’t know any of those niceties some women teach their daughters about how to “catch” a man, keep a man, understand a man. I don’t know how to maintain that supermodel on the catwalk flawless look 24/7.  I was raised old-school. I’ll tell you what I do know: I know how to be clean. I know how to cook. I know how to have my own opinion about things. I know how to be by myself.

I was an only child until I was eight, so being by myself is something I learned very well. I have no problem going to the movies, out to eat, or to clubs/parties on my own. In fact, I rather enjoy it. I am an independent woman in that sense. It is a stretch for me sometimes to tell someone where I am going, when I will be back. When I don’t want to be bothered, you won’t hear from me. I assume all other human beings are the same way. If you wanted to talk to me you would call or come by, right? But this isn’t true. I don’t know how to play any of the games that people play with one another.

Sorry this isn’t one of my ultra stylized, completely flowing and together entries. The next few will be just as messy, unfortunately.

2Blu2BTru