Day 10: I Never Sang For My Father

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Yesterday was a sentimental day.

I woke up inspired to write after a few days of a much needed break.

I also woke up with the memories that accompany the anniversary of someone’s death; in this case, my father’s untimely death thirty-nine years earlier crowded my thoughts.

I wasn’t feeling sad, but I knew I had to be feeling something and what I was feeling was nostalgic, sentimental and inspired.

So I wrote.

As I drove to work, I sang to Wynona’s Testify To Love, an almost evangelical anthem that always wipes away any potential unhappiness from my life. Singing, loudly, in the solitude of my car, always gives me such joy. I made it to work cleansed of my childhood remembrances, deeply put away as I embarked on my day.

Later, while checking my text messages, I came across something that made my day take pause.

My cousin’s kid, a Renaissance man of sorts himself, adorned my phone screen with words of praise painted in prose. For the first time in the day, where I had woken up with the weight of grief layered into the fabric of my day, I found myself moved.

I found myself crying, not a profuse, overly developed weep, but rather drops of water were streaming down my face.

No doubt, the tears were in the name of my father, brought forth by someone else’s son’s words, a challenge and compliment all rolled into one, one of the most stirring tributes ever witnessed by this not so humble writer.

It was this boy’s ode to my words, that played in my head like the many unfinished songs still waiting to find release sitting atop my desk.

It was his song of letters that harmoniously allowed me to take in the nuanced notes of praise being rendered my way.

It was a music, so calling to me, that it broke through the barrier I had built around me all day.

Listening to this young man’s words, jumping off the page, somewhat singing to me, reminded me of one thing:

As a writer, I never sang for my father.

So, thank you Uly, because in an otherwise bad day, you sang to me and in your words I heard my Dad singing to me.

Uly’s Text Message:

Your words inspire me…

Taking my minds eye higher than a leer jet steered towards the moon…
Or, whichever desired galaxy… You choose…

And since you do what you do so well,
you’ve proved something special

Hell bent on self expression,

teaching ppl these life lessons…

Like, how we lost sight,

or pointing out certain circumstances where we’d like to do right but just can’t find the time,
or, undermine situations like rusted pipe lines…

See, I just write rhymes and make them stick like molasses…

LOOK

The grass IS….. GREENER

but the only green I seem to see is the currency falling from my imaginary money tree…
deep in my dreams

But you,
you show me worlds unattainable, with words…

Sitting, starring at the computer screen like, “he just said that….LIKE THAT….?!” And THAT right THERE, is something I’d love to have…

So I extend a challenge…
A poem a month..
Coach my full potential,
I’ll only ask this once…

& If Shakespeare had a blog, he couldn’t finish your next line…
Until my next rhyme,
I’ll be taking it JuanDay@aTime…..

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One thought on “Day 10: I Never Sang For My Father

  1. Beautiful post today, Juan. It made me think about the first anniversary of my father-in-law’s passing just this week and how I thought about him fondly, but did not shed a tear. Only because when I think of him, I always smile for he was such a good father/father figure to me, specifically. I felt more for his son, who doesn’t show emotion, but instead chose to drown his sadness in a few mixed drinks that evening. And that’s ok…I noticed his eyes water and I noticed how he gazed at our baby son who will never get to know his Papa. And it was good for us both to reminisce. Also, such moving words from the Renaissance man of sorts…not only gifted with the ability to string beautiful words together but to to be able to express himself, his feelings to you.

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