On a recent trip to Harlem and to the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, an exhibit called Been Seen stirred up so many emotions in me. The gallery was filled with images of us, in the past and in this moment, projecting into our future about Black Futures made stronger by our past. This picture by Ricky Day is a visual poem, a love song, from a father to a child. It reminded me of this precious relationship…a parent-child tie crafted by God.
Fathers: grand and simple…complicated, complex, common and conceptual. They lift us–at least mine did. Not perfectly, not always steady or for a long time but for whatever moments, gazing into their eyes in joy, fear and love, fathers matter. My life was changed by this scene when I was a child lying on the floor at my grandfather’s house…watching. Watching her be born, he made a commitment, he sacrificed his freedom to secure the feeling of her (and her mother’s safety). Can you imagine that?! I can.
On mother’s day, I enjoy the freedom of deciding what I do (and with whom I do it)…the choice by itself is so wonderful even if slightly scripted by the cards and text messages all day…
Nevertheless, my reason for celebrating has always prioritized making me feel loved in grand and simple ways. Prompted by adult others early on, he now happily obliges all the traditions to my gleeful and humble delight.
On father’s day, I lament the loss of my own fathers–grand, simple and complicated. They loved music and parks and playing games with us and watching us eat (treats, sweet and melty) and grow up. They enjoyed taking us on vacation and taught us how to rest.
On father’s day, I slow and steady my heart to clap for the men in my life who are fathers and father figures to me, the children we serve as teachers and loved ones in our lives. I wish you freedom of choices to spend the day enjoying with glee and delight all things big and small that keep you humble and working to be…