‘…Amen, amen, I say to you, a son cannot do anything on his own, but only what he sees his father doing; for what he does his son will do also. For the Father loves his Son and shows him everything that he himself does…’ – John 5:19-20
In The Outcry of an Outlier, I outlined my views on shattering the statistics and stereotypes projected on me from outside of my “race” as well as the expectations that come from within it.
The capstone poem of this entry was Statistical Errors – a piece that was originally inspired by my father. My father provided the groundwork for me to be able to be a standalone individual despite what those around me are doing. The amazing thing about my father is that he had no role model to base how he chose to live his life.
I never had a chance to get to know either of my grandfathers but from what my father has told me, his father was a drunk – and a mean one at that once he had some liquor in him. When he was sober, he was a quiet man – almost to the point of being a recluse to his own family.
My father, on the other hand, is an extremely devoted parent who has no vices for alcohol or any other drug for that matter. He is to be celebrated not necessarily for not being a statistic, though – because the presence that he has in my life IS what should be the norm for Black families. He is to be celebrated for the legacy he left behind.
~
Leaving a Legacy Behind
Leave devastating
Legacies behind – better
Destinies await!
~
He has helped to reclaim a name that, although it is not truly ours, had been besmirched by his father and the progenitors that came before him. When my mother began dating my father, her mother stated that she didn’t want her messing with “those Kee boys” (paraphrasing) – having cast judgment on my father on his name alone. A name that proceeded him with a bad rap in the city my parents grew up in.
Yet my father was able to leave behind the broken legacy set before him and start a new one that my son can now flourish in and hopefully continue. His decision to willfully adjust the foundation his father laid enabled me to further rebuild our heritage for my children – particularly for the males of our future family line.
So if I may, though Father’s Day is far off – I’d like to take a moment as we near the end of Black History Month to pay homage to my father: Collis Leon Junior Kee (R.I.P. 5/5/2020).
I love you, Dad!
The Father Successor
a.k.a.
From Sonset to Sonrise
As the dawn of a new generation
Awakes amongst yawns of calm patience,
The role of the son is now forever changing.
He who was the seed
Must now carry on the dream…
Stripped clean of impurities and embedded with a better raising.
I’ve had a sol role model
Whose light was bright enough to follow –
Formed strong in a key legacy of darkness.
I don’t quite know how he did it,
But out of such darkness, he emitted traits that were missing
Amidst misfit conditions of misty alcoholics.
Granted, he’s not perfect –
But copying his key traits is still worth it.
Although refining modest concepts may also be required.
But considering the load of his road,
He has ‘shone’ exceptional growth…
And for that, he is greatly admired.
The light he’s provided over the years
Is only now becoming clear.
Focused by my own son’s tears, I’d been eyeless in my prior detection.
Only now in the shadow of an enlightened son
Has wisdom’s spectrum been fully reflected and delighted upon…
As my prism collects and redirects it into the eyes of my son as a priceless investment.
*
The Son Predecessor
a.k.a.
Sonrisen
Way before my time,
My Pop was a twinkle in an eye…
A novel nova with a story to define over.
Cast in a role never told before,
He glared at the context and dared to add more…
As he set my place and paced my path as an inclined soldier.
His cadence was blatant.
His traits were tame though faintly tainted.
From rudimentary material, statutes were still built, indeed.
All that was he would be directly appropriated and instilled in me:
Tidiness and a bold quietness,
A meticulous sense and need for order.
Easily mistaken for silent shyness,
An almost militant seriousness to guard all personal borders.
A weakness and love of women,
Stemmed more from the respect he had for his mother.
A sweetness and weakened defense against sexual sinnin’,
A thoughtful heart for his significant other.
A stubbornness against conformity,
A resoluteness to broaden the mind.
A presence of self-confident anomalies,
That would haunt him from time to time.
Such a rare young man among men he must have been,
Ahead of his age, era, and class.
Such a sparsely sung hymn that he was blessed to begin…
That I was born to repeat and complete this psalm of his past.
‘At the father’s death, he will seem not dead, since he leaves after him one like himself…’
– Sirach 30:4 (Catholic canon)
*
Father Figured
a.k.a.
In My Father’s Image
As I grew taller and bigger,
I got bothered with my father quicker.
Whatever thought he delivered, I tended to reject it.
But at the core of his selective lectures
Lies a floor that still corrects my measures…
One that’s set my gestures more than I’d originally expected.
You see, father figured that when discouraged,
I’d need the stern words of his love’s emergence.
Though some verbiage was fervently earnest – its purpose had honor.
So though father figured I’d get too big for my britches and switches –
The truth is, he knew I was still a foolish kid actin’ skittish…
Yet as I grew in my lineage, once Yiddish words interpreted my posture.
Father figured I’d have a few attitude problems –
Homegrown from his own aptitude and conscience.
My mold holds and fastens true to his dogma – that’s why we butted heads!
Father figured I’d dishonor liquor’s grip
If he admonished the nonsense of lingering swigs…
Exorcising the spirits that haunted his father’s liver and fingertips –
he cultivated my budding hedge.
Father figured I’d have tendencies to be mentally lazy –
That’s why to this day he mentions his squandered vigor occasionally.
His intentions have essentially saved me from
the slavery that shackled him.
But while father figured out the bad traits he passed,
Mom did the math to add in the assets that I have of my Dad’s…
He, too was a systematic and practical lad –
weighted and abated by the situations that tackled him.
Father figured I’d lean towards a stubborn clause –
Most evident as a teenager who confronted his governed laws.
These blunders and flaws have been buffed into the resolve of a strong will.
So since father figured me to be a chip off the ol’ block,
He saw it was his duty to chisel me and keep my growth stocked…
Leaving me fatherly-figured to strongly deliver
the blueprints of God’s build.
So in the end, father figured if he could provide his son the recourses,
Then he could overcome his climate minus the resources.
Having mined and climbed unique forces,
his design eclipsed now shine’s amidst the persona of the son.
So as father figured he’d demolish all meddled and idle waste,
His symbolic and figurative polish refines mettle without idol sway…
Iconic in the irony of The Divine way – this is the bond of father and son.
‘Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old ,
he will not depart from it.’
– Proverbs 22:6
