Growing up in a two-parent household in the Bronx apparently wasn't commonplace for black a kid during the late '80s and '90s (we can thank Reaganomics for that). My mom was a seamstress during my childhood and she's been through many career changes and transitions throughout her life, but my dad —my dad was and continues to be a maintenance man. Now don't get me wrong, there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. My dad has been a great provider for our family my entire life. That's no small feat. In the process of being a provider, I believe he's allowed a large part himself — his character — to die.
This "death" happened in stages. I can remember through different phases of my own life. When I was very young, my dad still had hope. He was still a new parent taking care of my sister and I. He listened to a combination of jazz and disco records every chance he got, he was all about taking vacations and learning new things. I can remember exactly when that part of him died off, but when I was about nine he was working two jobs and was bitter AF. Now, to be fair, I have never had the best relationship with my dad because he had a less than pleasant one with his, but I never understood why it was/is so hard for him to break that cycle and be better than his predecessor.
My dad's second job was a "lunch-lady" at a public school. No, he's not a lady …that's just what the kids were used to saying and it became a running joke amongst my friends that knew about it. At this point, my dad was angrier than anything. I had no clue why, as I was just a kid. All I knew was that he and my mom would argue a lot, but the rent still got paid, tuition still got paid and we even got a computer (which was a big ass deal in the early '90s). Eventually, I stopped looking to my dad for cultural experiences and turned to television because there aren't many other options as a kid. The Huxtables became my cool parents and I eventually attended college with Denise. Then the Uncle Phil and Aunt Viv (the original Aunt Viv) stepped in to continue to fill the gap. It turns out my dad was saving for a car. He bought one and was happy for a short time and then he suddenly slipped away again.
Now I'm about 14, in my second year of high school and I'm starting to really figure out what I want to do professionally (or at least take a stab at it). I hated sports so that would never be my ticket out of the hood, but I did play trumpet and I was really "good at computers" according to my father. I wanted to get a music scholarship, and by now my dad had been broken by his routine of going to a job he hates in order to provide for us. I let him know I was looking at music scholarships and he quickly shut me down asking, "What are you going to do with that?" All he knew was he didn't go to college and the few people he knew that did eventually hopped on city jobs like sanitation and bus driving. I was pissed. I asked him what he wanted to do when he grew up, and this fool said, "I wanted a job." C'mon son! I almost hated him for how he was, but I couldn't fully hate him knowing he kept a roof over our heads.
What baffled me was that this guy had the audacity to compare me to some old heads that didn't try …just like he's telling me not to because they were all brainwashed to believe the same thing. Cogs in a machine. I get it was a different time and there were fewer opportunities for him growing up, but why would he want the same for me? I would've liked to believe that he was trying to spare me the disappointment of something, but that wasn't it at all. He couldn't see past himself, and by the time I was ready to go to college (graduating in the top 20 of 300 students), he pulled me aside and told me college wasn't for everyone. ::hangs head low and real bouts of depression begin::
Three degrees later, I found out that he just didn't have the money to pay for me to go to school and was too embarrassed to say so. I'm a commercial video editor, and I'm not doing so bad for myself. My dad is older, a little less bitter and I'm pretty sure he still doesn't get what I do, but I'm glad we can talk about it every once in a while. I don't think our relationship will ever be perfect, and at this point, I don't think I will ever really know who my dad was outside of the stories my grandmother tells, but I'm glad he didn't give up on us. All that pushed me to be who I am today — and yes that ghost still works the same damn job (over 35 years).
Brought to you by Fences, in theatres everywhere on Christmas Day.
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