(This is an in-class essay in response to an assigned reading of Homophobic: Read Your Bible )
Recently, I attended a party filled with intelligent and scholarly folks, the majority of them African American. We talked about food, music, the current state of the economy and our approval or disapproval of the moves made by President Obama. We talked about how far we as a people have come, how far we have to go and how we are doing our part to change the world.
However, when the conversation turned to the rights of our gay and lesbian citizens, it was amazing how quickly my people of darker skin, whose ancestors endured fierce dog attacks and powerful blasts of water from hoses not that long ago, felt it was acceptable to use discrimination and deny the rights of a group of people. They brought out Bible quotes and ignorant phrases to get their point across that these people should be forced to deal with injustice and all I could do was shake my head and proudly announce they were wrong and how strongly I disagreed with their theories.
In “Homophobic: Read Your Bible,” Peter Gomes list several instances where citizens of this melting pot of cultures, races and backgrounds we know as the US of A, have condemned to hell those who have chosen this unforgiving lifestyle of evil. I deeply respect his vision and interpretation of Bible passages that have been used against homosexuals for many years and with his highly distinguished position in the religious sector, it proves that there are some people who truly do attempt to love and accept all.
Religious fundamentalism is inherently intolerant (Gomes). He is completely accurate in this assessment. Deeply religious persons will take a strong stance on issues regarding situations that don’t fit their needs, yet, bend rules and interpretations on others. Gomes references the Bible being used by Jerry Falwell to keep his churches white as the same Bible used by Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. to promote equality and fairness. How can the Bible preach segregation and equality all at once? It’s left up to interpretation and the background of the interpreter.
Gomes references the Holiness Code that prohibits homosexuality as well as eating raw meat, planting different seeds in the same field, tattoos and adultery. How many times are people crusading against a couple for infidelity? How many deeply religious people are picketing tattoo parlors? How many of them have eaten meat that wasn’t fully cooked? I’m sure many will disregard experiences that allow them to enjoy life instead of admitting they too are committing acts considered unholy.
Over and over I’ve stated to many friends that it is not my right to tell someone else how to live their life. I have my own issues, my own problems and my own sins that I will have to answer for one day; why should I impose my beliefs onto someone else without knowing each struggle and path they’ve taken? How can I judge when I don’t know what they’ve encountered thus far in life and don’t know what challenges lie ahead of them? How can I decide that sins I’ve committed are less sinful than ones they have? I cannot, nor should anyone else attempt to pass judgment as the Bible clearly states only one God is worthy of that honor. Prejudice, in any form, is against anything ever taught by God, and those who’ve not learned that lesson lose the true meaning of the Bible each moment they decide to condemn the lifestyle of anyone else.
I hope I gave a few of those party attendees something to ponder that night and the next day when they attended their weekly church services. How can we remember the road our ancestors have traveled in order for us to live as we do today and wish the same struggle and inequality upon others? My Bible tells me to “love thy neighbor as I love thyself.” Doesn’t your Bible say the same thing?
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
This Is What You Call Service
I’ve reached a level of anger beyond words. This time, it’s so high that I’m ready to commit terroristic acts to make them realize just how deep my hatred is at this very moment. Oh yeah, I’m pissed off and every single customer service representative is getting my wrath and I don’t even care that it’s not exactly their fault; they shouldn’t work for a company that exhibits such poor quality to a recent transfer!
Rushing home from my boyfriends house this morning, only one thing was on my mind; witnessing the tremendous step forward many Americans never believed they would see; the day a black family moved into the White House. Sure, every President elected to this great country is making history when sworn in but we all know, this time it is different. I walked in my doors, after being away from home since Thursday evening, plopped down on the couch and prepared to watch an event that the world was also tuning in to see.
There was nothing. A blank screen was staring back at me. Sure, there was info on the show that should have appeared on my screen but the actual show, not there. Okay, maybe this channel is experiencing a glitch; lets flip it over to FOX. Same thing, black screen. I picked up my newly acquired home telephone; no dial tone. I take a deep breath and have to come to grips that I’m experiencing some technical difficulties. You’ve got to be kidding me!
So, I get out my cell phone and call Time Warner. Press 1 if you are having problems with your Digital Phone; press 2 if you having problems with Internet; press 3 if you are having problems with Cable; press 4 if you are having problems with more than one service. I hadn’t quite unpacked my laptop but the flashing light on my modem and the absence of other lights led me to believe it wouldn’t work either. I’m told there is an outage in my area. I begin a tirade about how important it is that I be able to watch TV today, as it is the only reason I’m not sitting at work. I scheduled vacation for Inaugural Day so I could tell my grandchildren about this very monumental occasion where part of The Dream came true. She apologizes but my guess is that her country isn’t one of those as interested in this historic event as I am. I’m very disturbed that all customer service seems to be outsourced to a country where English is usually the second language but that’s a different rant for a different day.
I call back two hours later to get an update and am told that service is out throughout the entire Northeast Ohio viewing area. That really gets me angry as I accuse them of not caring about how important today is. I hung up on her, unhooked my DVR, plugged in my bunny ears and began to watch fuzzy coverage of today’s events. I begin to wonder if the owner of Time Warner is a disgruntled McCain/Palin supporter.
I call back at 3pm demanding to know how service could be out this long. Not only was I unable to record the Inauguration as I had planned to, I’m unable to get online and chat with my close knit group of friends on our message board about their approval or disapproval of First Lady Michelle Obama’s wardrobe choice, which I felt she looked amazing in, if you care to know. I can’t read all the blogs of my conservative friends to see if just maybe they opened up their minds a little to acknowledge that today was indeed a great day for all of America. I could have went down to the library but what if their service is powered by Time Warner too? The outage is for the entire area, so they say; I can’t believe this could be happening. She leaves me on hold too long and I hang up, roll over and fall asleep.
I wake up at 7:30pm, more upset than I was before I drifted off. I’ve got nothing accomplished today. I still have a paper to write for English and I’ve got the stink of garbage that needs emptied that should have been taken of before I left Thursday. I need to unpack my bags, wash a few dishes and I should make a trip to the grocery store. That single green light is flashing on my modem and instead of releasing more anger onto an innocent CSR, I run a few errands in hopes that my service is restored by the time I return home.
Was it on when I got home, of course it wasn’t. Not only is service not restored, when I dial that number again, I’m told there was never an outage in my area. Phrases like incompetent employees, full of crap, canceling service and bunch of liars spew from my tongue. Are you kidding me? All day, four different women have not only told me there was an outage but one of them actually gave me the name of the technician in my area who was working on it and you are now telling me they all lied. I’ve only had your service since Thursday, five days, and if this is the type of run-a-round I’m going to get, I’d rather buy the damn digital converter box and switch my Internet back to AT&T.
An hour later, I call back but instead of going the technical route, I go the billing route and I finally get Drew, the guy who doesn’t solve my problem, but is much easier to understand and gives me a better service date than the previous CSR who said the best she could do was Saturday.
I have to wait until Thursday morning for a technician to come out and hopefully get this problem taken care of. Time Warner has people like me exactly where they want us, unable to get AT&T service in this area, and forced to deal with them but they better be careful. As soon as people are able to switch, I know many will and Time Warner will only have themselves to blame for not providing the service and quality they should have when they were the only ones.
Rushing home from my boyfriends house this morning, only one thing was on my mind; witnessing the tremendous step forward many Americans never believed they would see; the day a black family moved into the White House. Sure, every President elected to this great country is making history when sworn in but we all know, this time it is different. I walked in my doors, after being away from home since Thursday evening, plopped down on the couch and prepared to watch an event that the world was also tuning in to see.
There was nothing. A blank screen was staring back at me. Sure, there was info on the show that should have appeared on my screen but the actual show, not there. Okay, maybe this channel is experiencing a glitch; lets flip it over to FOX. Same thing, black screen. I picked up my newly acquired home telephone; no dial tone. I take a deep breath and have to come to grips that I’m experiencing some technical difficulties. You’ve got to be kidding me!
So, I get out my cell phone and call Time Warner. Press 1 if you are having problems with your Digital Phone; press 2 if you having problems with Internet; press 3 if you are having problems with Cable; press 4 if you are having problems with more than one service. I hadn’t quite unpacked my laptop but the flashing light on my modem and the absence of other lights led me to believe it wouldn’t work either. I’m told there is an outage in my area. I begin a tirade about how important it is that I be able to watch TV today, as it is the only reason I’m not sitting at work. I scheduled vacation for Inaugural Day so I could tell my grandchildren about this very monumental occasion where part of The Dream came true. She apologizes but my guess is that her country isn’t one of those as interested in this historic event as I am. I’m very disturbed that all customer service seems to be outsourced to a country where English is usually the second language but that’s a different rant for a different day.
I call back two hours later to get an update and am told that service is out throughout the entire Northeast Ohio viewing area. That really gets me angry as I accuse them of not caring about how important today is. I hung up on her, unhooked my DVR, plugged in my bunny ears and began to watch fuzzy coverage of today’s events. I begin to wonder if the owner of Time Warner is a disgruntled McCain/Palin supporter.
I call back at 3pm demanding to know how service could be out this long. Not only was I unable to record the Inauguration as I had planned to, I’m unable to get online and chat with my close knit group of friends on our message board about their approval or disapproval of First Lady Michelle Obama’s wardrobe choice, which I felt she looked amazing in, if you care to know. I can’t read all the blogs of my conservative friends to see if just maybe they opened up their minds a little to acknowledge that today was indeed a great day for all of America. I could have went down to the library but what if their service is powered by Time Warner too? The outage is for the entire area, so they say; I can’t believe this could be happening. She leaves me on hold too long and I hang up, roll over and fall asleep.
I wake up at 7:30pm, more upset than I was before I drifted off. I’ve got nothing accomplished today. I still have a paper to write for English and I’ve got the stink of garbage that needs emptied that should have been taken of before I left Thursday. I need to unpack my bags, wash a few dishes and I should make a trip to the grocery store. That single green light is flashing on my modem and instead of releasing more anger onto an innocent CSR, I run a few errands in hopes that my service is restored by the time I return home.
Was it on when I got home, of course it wasn’t. Not only is service not restored, when I dial that number again, I’m told there was never an outage in my area. Phrases like incompetent employees, full of crap, canceling service and bunch of liars spew from my tongue. Are you kidding me? All day, four different women have not only told me there was an outage but one of them actually gave me the name of the technician in my area who was working on it and you are now telling me they all lied. I’ve only had your service since Thursday, five days, and if this is the type of run-a-round I’m going to get, I’d rather buy the damn digital converter box and switch my Internet back to AT&T.
An hour later, I call back but instead of going the technical route, I go the billing route and I finally get Drew, the guy who doesn’t solve my problem, but is much easier to understand and gives me a better service date than the previous CSR who said the best she could do was Saturday.
I have to wait until Thursday morning for a technician to come out and hopefully get this problem taken care of. Time Warner has people like me exactly where they want us, unable to get AT&T service in this area, and forced to deal with them but they better be careful. As soon as people are able to switch, I know many will and Time Warner will only have themselves to blame for not providing the service and quality they should have when they were the only ones.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Parents Without a Child
Vanessa slipped quietly out of bed, trying not to wake her mate, and hopped into the shower. She hummed softly and smiled as she shampooed her hair, excited about the day’s events. She’d been exhausting all her efforts on a project at work that would determine whether she gets a promotion that has been right out of arms reach since she moved to Arkansas a year ago. The past few months had been very stressful, but today was the final presentation and she was ready. Today is going to be a marvelous day.
After throwing on her robe and slippers, Vanessa entered her daughter’s bedroom and watched her breathing lightly in her sleep. She silently wondered to herself how she could have been so lucky to be blessed with such a beautiful and smart little girl. Amira was at the top of her classes and so very pleasant, all of the time. Intelligent beyond her years, Vanessa couldn’t have asked for a better child. Although she wasn’t Amira’s birth mother, she felt a connection to Amira as if she was her own and wouldn’t change the situation for anything in the world.
Vanessa decided to let her angel sleep a few more moments and went to the kitchen to start breakfast. Opening the refrigerator, she decided today was the perfect day for heart shaped pancakes topped with strawberry glaze and whipped cream, scrambled eggs with cheese and sausage links. It was a breakfast sure to make her daughter happy and that’s all she ever wanted to do.
Once breakfast was complete, Vanessa walked back into her daughter’s room and sat down next her. “Wake up, sleepy head.” Amira’s long lashes fluttered as she squinted to adjust her eyes to the sunlight streaming through her mini-blinds. She reached her arms up to her mother and gave her a big morning hug. “Good morning, Mommy V,” she said in a voice so cheerful you couldn’t believe she had just woken up. “I’m hungry!”
Amira swung her feet over the side of her bed and into her Barbie slippers. She stretched her long arms above her head and a huge smile spread across her face as she smelled the scent of breakfast drifting through the house and into her bedroom. She rushed off to the kitchen and started piling pancakes and eggs onto her plate. Vanessa was so amused at how independent the child was and often wondered how much her young eyes had seen in the many foster homes that had hosted her over the six years before Vanessa and Taylor had adopted her.
Amira’s father, Eddie Phillips, had lost his job just a short while after his wife had given birth to their daughter. He tried very hard to find work but he wasn’t able to financially support his growing family and he fell in with a bad crowd. When Amira was three, a known thug Eddie owed several thousand dollars to, demanded payment. When Eddie was unable to make good on the loans, both of her parents lost their lives but Amira’s life was spared. Neither of her parents had living relatives so she was put into the foster care system where she spent the next six years of her life traveling from one home to another. Vanessa always wondered how they treated her and whether or not they loved her. Amira never really spoke much about the previous homes, but sometimes, Vanessa sensed pain behind her gray eyes and prayed that all those awful memories were being replaced with the love and happiness that she and Taylor provided for her now.
Taylor popped into Amira’s room while Vanessa brushed their daughter’s thick curly hair and gave them big hugs before heading off to work. The morning commute was about an hour and after eating a large breakfast, Taylor was running a little behind and in a rush to get moving. Oh well, thought Vanessa, we shall all catch up at dinner. Maybe we should go out tonight to celebrate the end of my project and talk to Amira about having a brother or sister, Vanessa thought to herself. Oh, it was going to be a marvelous day!
Vanessa watched Amira climb aboard the bus and waved to her once she found a seat near the middle. As the bus pulled away, Vanessa sighed to herself and closed the front door of their beautiful home, a home purchased with the understanding of adopting at least two children to make it complete. She glanced around the room at the photos hanging carefully on the walls. Photos of both Vanessa and Taylor’s families and friends were displayed everywhere to remind them how much love they had received in their lives. All the affection their loved ones had given to them growing up served as a guide on how to give love to Amira.
“Vanessa!” Taylor had been calling to her girlfriend for a few minutes and finally was able to pull her out of the daydream. “Vanessa, we will find a way, I promise you, we will find a way.” Taylor gently guided Vanessa to lay the newspaper down, the evil newspaper that reinforced the reality of the Arkansas Unmarried Couples Adoption Ban of 2008. It just wasn’t fair, Vanessa thought to herself. She and Taylor would make the perfect parents. They both had great jobs, a loving home and were fully stable. They had been together for nine solid years yet, that was not enough. The citizens of Arkansas had passed the law declaring it illegal for unmarried couples to adopt and since same sex couples couldn’t be married, Vanessa and Taylor would not be able to adopt that beautiful girl temporarily living in the home of their neighbor.
Not only are babies, children and teenagers being denied permanent homes, laws are also denying two wonderful people the chance to raise children. With thousands of children across America waiting for someone to love them, why are citizens of Florida, Utah, Mississippi and now, Arkansas, choosing to keep these children from being adopted because the couple happens to be non-traditional? How many of those people who voted in favor of this proposition are going to open their home to little girls like Amira since they’ve now decided Vanessa and Taylor just aren’t worthy enough?
(This is was my Argumentative Essay for English Comp I. - I scored 146/150)
After throwing on her robe and slippers, Vanessa entered her daughter’s bedroom and watched her breathing lightly in her sleep. She silently wondered to herself how she could have been so lucky to be blessed with such a beautiful and smart little girl. Amira was at the top of her classes and so very pleasant, all of the time. Intelligent beyond her years, Vanessa couldn’t have asked for a better child. Although she wasn’t Amira’s birth mother, she felt a connection to Amira as if she was her own and wouldn’t change the situation for anything in the world.
Vanessa decided to let her angel sleep a few more moments and went to the kitchen to start breakfast. Opening the refrigerator, she decided today was the perfect day for heart shaped pancakes topped with strawberry glaze and whipped cream, scrambled eggs with cheese and sausage links. It was a breakfast sure to make her daughter happy and that’s all she ever wanted to do.
Once breakfast was complete, Vanessa walked back into her daughter’s room and sat down next her. “Wake up, sleepy head.” Amira’s long lashes fluttered as she squinted to adjust her eyes to the sunlight streaming through her mini-blinds. She reached her arms up to her mother and gave her a big morning hug. “Good morning, Mommy V,” she said in a voice so cheerful you couldn’t believe she had just woken up. “I’m hungry!”
Amira swung her feet over the side of her bed and into her Barbie slippers. She stretched her long arms above her head and a huge smile spread across her face as she smelled the scent of breakfast drifting through the house and into her bedroom. She rushed off to the kitchen and started piling pancakes and eggs onto her plate. Vanessa was so amused at how independent the child was and often wondered how much her young eyes had seen in the many foster homes that had hosted her over the six years before Vanessa and Taylor had adopted her.
Amira’s father, Eddie Phillips, had lost his job just a short while after his wife had given birth to their daughter. He tried very hard to find work but he wasn’t able to financially support his growing family and he fell in with a bad crowd. When Amira was three, a known thug Eddie owed several thousand dollars to, demanded payment. When Eddie was unable to make good on the loans, both of her parents lost their lives but Amira’s life was spared. Neither of her parents had living relatives so she was put into the foster care system where she spent the next six years of her life traveling from one home to another. Vanessa always wondered how they treated her and whether or not they loved her. Amira never really spoke much about the previous homes, but sometimes, Vanessa sensed pain behind her gray eyes and prayed that all those awful memories were being replaced with the love and happiness that she and Taylor provided for her now.
Taylor popped into Amira’s room while Vanessa brushed their daughter’s thick curly hair and gave them big hugs before heading off to work. The morning commute was about an hour and after eating a large breakfast, Taylor was running a little behind and in a rush to get moving. Oh well, thought Vanessa, we shall all catch up at dinner. Maybe we should go out tonight to celebrate the end of my project and talk to Amira about having a brother or sister, Vanessa thought to herself. Oh, it was going to be a marvelous day!
Vanessa watched Amira climb aboard the bus and waved to her once she found a seat near the middle. As the bus pulled away, Vanessa sighed to herself and closed the front door of their beautiful home, a home purchased with the understanding of adopting at least two children to make it complete. She glanced around the room at the photos hanging carefully on the walls. Photos of both Vanessa and Taylor’s families and friends were displayed everywhere to remind them how much love they had received in their lives. All the affection their loved ones had given to them growing up served as a guide on how to give love to Amira.
“Vanessa!” Taylor had been calling to her girlfriend for a few minutes and finally was able to pull her out of the daydream. “Vanessa, we will find a way, I promise you, we will find a way.” Taylor gently guided Vanessa to lay the newspaper down, the evil newspaper that reinforced the reality of the Arkansas Unmarried Couples Adoption Ban of 2008. It just wasn’t fair, Vanessa thought to herself. She and Taylor would make the perfect parents. They both had great jobs, a loving home and were fully stable. They had been together for nine solid years yet, that was not enough. The citizens of Arkansas had passed the law declaring it illegal for unmarried couples to adopt and since same sex couples couldn’t be married, Vanessa and Taylor would not be able to adopt that beautiful girl temporarily living in the home of their neighbor.
Not only are babies, children and teenagers being denied permanent homes, laws are also denying two wonderful people the chance to raise children. With thousands of children across America waiting for someone to love them, why are citizens of Florida, Utah, Mississippi and now, Arkansas, choosing to keep these children from being adopted because the couple happens to be non-traditional? How many of those people who voted in favor of this proposition are going to open their home to little girls like Amira since they’ve now decided Vanessa and Taylor just aren’t worthy enough?
(This is was my Argumentative Essay for English Comp I. - I scored 146/150)
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Dad & Those Sad Eyes - Final
Sometimes, if I concentrate real hard, I can hear him talking. His thick Nigerian accent, hard to understand to others, was a joy to my ears; the years of living in America never took that away from him. Sometimes, if I stare at his photos, I can feel his presence, like the king he was, simple and strong, humble and forgiving, courageous and brave. Sometimes, when he meets me in my dreams, a blanket of comfort surrounds me and I’m at peace.
“Get up,” I was screaming at the top of my lungs. “Get up, get up, please, get up.” I couldn’t move closer; I couldn’t stop yelling; I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t do anything except yell at him to get up. Why aren’t you moving, why aren’t you listening, why aren’t you getting up? His left fist lay tightly clenched at his side and his Accu-Check Glucometer was near, his right fist lay clenched in his lap. His head was propped up by the lower kitchen shelf where pots and pans would normally be. He was so still, so silent, so stiff. I stood yelling at him in the doorway before I ran back into the living room and called my best friend.
I don’t quite know why I was screaming at him to get up. My brother had called me only minutes ago to let me know my uncle had come to visit with my dad and found him in his current state. I already knew what I was walking into but I didn’t want to believe it, I didn’t want to go through this, I didn’t want to let go of my father. Sure, he had a defibulator put in about three years ago and lately he had been sick a few times in the previous months, and we’d spent a few days in and out of the hospital but that was nothing, right? Doctors give you medicine, you get better and life goes on.
This life wasn’t going on. Fifty-two and life for Chukwuma was already over. He would never see me graduate from college, he would never walk me down the aisle at my wedding, and he would never meet my first child. He was dead, dead, dead.
The blur of events that happened next involved sirens and tears, and strangers and more tears, my close friends and even more tears. I kept walking back into the kitchen and staring at my poor father and cursed God for taking him from me. This just wasn’t right. Why was this happening to my family and me?
Why me, God? I’m not ready to let him go. Please do something that rewinds time back to the last conversation I was having with my father. Just this past Monday, six days ago, I had called him while lying in bed because I wasn’t feeling well. I could always count on him calling me the next day to make sure I felt better; he called me Tuesday at work to make sure I was okay. I want to go back to then, I want to hear his voice. I want to hear Daddy…my Daddy. My poor, dead Daddy.
No, there is nothing you can do, quit asking! No, he’s not in a better place, stop lying to me. His pain is gone, whatever! All these things I had told people in the past to help them through grief, they were saying to me for the first time in my life and it was all a bunch of crap. Nothing anyone says can take away the pain of losing someone so dear to your heart. Just hug me, let me cry. Just sit there and hold my hand and listen to my babbling. Quit with the positive talk cause I don’t need it right now. I need you to tell me how evil God is and if you can’t tell me that, nothing else is going to matter.
Then, a funeral home that I did not call stole my father. Yes, stole him from the morgue and then refused to give him back without payment for services they had already done. Services done without consent, mind you. What the hell was going on here? My dad is dead, Mr. Calhoun stole him and now this man is disrespecting my entire family by telling us that my dad was poor and he just did us a favor. Indigent, that’s the word he kept using to describe my father, like he was nobody. His name is Chukwuma; he’s my Daddy, quit calling him Indigent! I can’t take this, I can’t breathe, get me out of here.
Tuesday morning, I woke up hoping this had all been a dream but the Obituary section of the Akron Beacon Journal caused me to have a panic attack. My words, I’m choking, I can’t think and I can’t speak. I just keep trying to make my friends understand what I’m feeling. They do. One of them leaves work to come hug me. Damn, this just isn’t fair. Can you just bring me back my dad? I’ll stop saying God is evil and tarnishing your name, I’ll have happiness again and all will be well with the world. Please? Please?
A few days later, I stand over a casket with a man who only slightly resembles the man whom I called my father. The resemblance is so small that I don’t even believe it’s him. I’m able to pretend through the calling hours that he is not my Daddy. I laugh, I give people hugs and they look at me with sad eyes. Why are you looking at me with those sad eyes? That isn’t my Daddy in there, its some other man. Quit staring at me with sympathy. Stop with the sad eyes, I don’t want to see anymore sad eyes.
It’s almost noon, time for the funeral to start. They tell me they are going to close the casket, forever. “Do you want to give your dad a goodbye kiss?” And then it hits me. I look around and see at all those sad eyes. My friends, my father’s friends, my siblings, my mother, my father’s neighbors, even his landlord were sitting there, and I had somehow floated through the last few days pretending I was living someone else’s life. This wasn’t a dream, I was about to say goodbye to Daddy.
The journey to the cemetery was almost fun. We put a CD of African beats and Reggae songs in the CD player and started talking about how much we loved my father’s music. I wish that ride had lasted longer; I still wasn’t ready to let go of Daddy.
As soon as the graveside services ended, I threw my body on my fathers gray casket. I screamed “Daddy,” over and over again until someone, I don’t remember who knelt down beside me and helped me to my feet. I didn’t want to leave. I wasn’t ready to go, I needed more time. I needed my Daddy.
Sometimes, when I look through his photo albums, I see a young man in a new world who was just trying to have fun. Sometimes, if I let myself daydream, I can see visions of him smiling at me telling me everything is okay. Sometimes, if I allow myself to let go, I can forgive God and accept the fact that life must go on.
Today, that’s not how I feel. Today, I want to call my dad and tell him I’m not feeling well. Then I want him to call me at work tomorrow to make sure I’m better.
(This was my Personal Essay for English Comp I - I scored 46/50)
“Get up,” I was screaming at the top of my lungs. “Get up, get up, please, get up.” I couldn’t move closer; I couldn’t stop yelling; I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t do anything except yell at him to get up. Why aren’t you moving, why aren’t you listening, why aren’t you getting up? His left fist lay tightly clenched at his side and his Accu-Check Glucometer was near, his right fist lay clenched in his lap. His head was propped up by the lower kitchen shelf where pots and pans would normally be. He was so still, so silent, so stiff. I stood yelling at him in the doorway before I ran back into the living room and called my best friend.
I don’t quite know why I was screaming at him to get up. My brother had called me only minutes ago to let me know my uncle had come to visit with my dad and found him in his current state. I already knew what I was walking into but I didn’t want to believe it, I didn’t want to go through this, I didn’t want to let go of my father. Sure, he had a defibulator put in about three years ago and lately he had been sick a few times in the previous months, and we’d spent a few days in and out of the hospital but that was nothing, right? Doctors give you medicine, you get better and life goes on.
This life wasn’t going on. Fifty-two and life for Chukwuma was already over. He would never see me graduate from college, he would never walk me down the aisle at my wedding, and he would never meet my first child. He was dead, dead, dead.
The blur of events that happened next involved sirens and tears, and strangers and more tears, my close friends and even more tears. I kept walking back into the kitchen and staring at my poor father and cursed God for taking him from me. This just wasn’t right. Why was this happening to my family and me?
Why me, God? I’m not ready to let him go. Please do something that rewinds time back to the last conversation I was having with my father. Just this past Monday, six days ago, I had called him while lying in bed because I wasn’t feeling well. I could always count on him calling me the next day to make sure I felt better; he called me Tuesday at work to make sure I was okay. I want to go back to then, I want to hear his voice. I want to hear Daddy…my Daddy. My poor, dead Daddy.
No, there is nothing you can do, quit asking! No, he’s not in a better place, stop lying to me. His pain is gone, whatever! All these things I had told people in the past to help them through grief, they were saying to me for the first time in my life and it was all a bunch of crap. Nothing anyone says can take away the pain of losing someone so dear to your heart. Just hug me, let me cry. Just sit there and hold my hand and listen to my babbling. Quit with the positive talk cause I don’t need it right now. I need you to tell me how evil God is and if you can’t tell me that, nothing else is going to matter.
Then, a funeral home that I did not call stole my father. Yes, stole him from the morgue and then refused to give him back without payment for services they had already done. Services done without consent, mind you. What the hell was going on here? My dad is dead, Mr. Calhoun stole him and now this man is disrespecting my entire family by telling us that my dad was poor and he just did us a favor. Indigent, that’s the word he kept using to describe my father, like he was nobody. His name is Chukwuma; he’s my Daddy, quit calling him Indigent! I can’t take this, I can’t breathe, get me out of here.
Tuesday morning, I woke up hoping this had all been a dream but the Obituary section of the Akron Beacon Journal caused me to have a panic attack. My words, I’m choking, I can’t think and I can’t speak. I just keep trying to make my friends understand what I’m feeling. They do. One of them leaves work to come hug me. Damn, this just isn’t fair. Can you just bring me back my dad? I’ll stop saying God is evil and tarnishing your name, I’ll have happiness again and all will be well with the world. Please? Please?
A few days later, I stand over a casket with a man who only slightly resembles the man whom I called my father. The resemblance is so small that I don’t even believe it’s him. I’m able to pretend through the calling hours that he is not my Daddy. I laugh, I give people hugs and they look at me with sad eyes. Why are you looking at me with those sad eyes? That isn’t my Daddy in there, its some other man. Quit staring at me with sympathy. Stop with the sad eyes, I don’t want to see anymore sad eyes.
It’s almost noon, time for the funeral to start. They tell me they are going to close the casket, forever. “Do you want to give your dad a goodbye kiss?” And then it hits me. I look around and see at all those sad eyes. My friends, my father’s friends, my siblings, my mother, my father’s neighbors, even his landlord were sitting there, and I had somehow floated through the last few days pretending I was living someone else’s life. This wasn’t a dream, I was about to say goodbye to Daddy.
The journey to the cemetery was almost fun. We put a CD of African beats and Reggae songs in the CD player and started talking about how much we loved my father’s music. I wish that ride had lasted longer; I still wasn’t ready to let go of Daddy.
As soon as the graveside services ended, I threw my body on my fathers gray casket. I screamed “Daddy,” over and over again until someone, I don’t remember who knelt down beside me and helped me to my feet. I didn’t want to leave. I wasn’t ready to go, I needed more time. I needed my Daddy.
Sometimes, when I look through his photo albums, I see a young man in a new world who was just trying to have fun. Sometimes, if I let myself daydream, I can see visions of him smiling at me telling me everything is okay. Sometimes, if I allow myself to let go, I can forgive God and accept the fact that life must go on.
Today, that’s not how I feel. Today, I want to call my dad and tell him I’m not feeling well. Then I want him to call me at work tomorrow to make sure I’m better.
(This was my Personal Essay for English Comp I - I scored 46/50)
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