Prodigal son returns
I visited my family in Tennessee for the first time since February 2014 during the Labor Day Weekend. If you were to ask me why it’s been so long, I have my reasons. However, none of them are good.
It’s easy to stay away since I don’t talk to them often. I hear about them from my mom, which I deemed sufficient. I happened to see my granny at a funeral for my step dad’s mom and the first thing she mentioned was me not coming home. Ugh! What kind of animal could stay away after that? Obviously, not me.
The last time I was there I was burying my great-grandmother. As callous as I may seem at times, death has a gradual effect on me. I remember when my grandfather passed. It hit me hard, but at that time in my life I was not trying to show it.
I honestly believed I had lived my life to the fullest with him. I had no regrets about our relationship. He was one of the men in my life that I considered to possess “real” strength. He was a no nonsense type of person that worked hard. He liked black coffee, spicy food, and he was a tinkerer.
For some reason he liked to eat this concoction of crumbled cornbread with sugar and buttermilk. I tried it once as a kid, but it was not for me.
My grandparents had a fan in their house that was an industrial fan that had been modified into a house fan. We were instructed to never turn the dial beyond a certain point. I thought about it, but since I wanted to keep my life I never did.
It was years later that I found myself waking up in the middle of the night crying that he wasn’t there. I missed him dearly. The family was different when he was alive. He was the glue that held us together. I’m sure anyone reading this can understand that.
I visited his grave while I was home and had a nice conversation with him. It’s been almost 20 years since he passed, but the years haven’t made it any easier for me.
Going home means I have to decide if I’m going to church. Growing up we attended church religiously. See what I did there? I didn’t two days on my weekend. I had to wait for long weekends with holidays for that luxury.
Football Sunday meant nothing to me. Maybe that’s why I prefer college football. I was sitting on a pew instead of enjoying the game atmosphere. While you may have heard people screaming “touchdown” I was hearing people screaming “hallelujah.”
If you were brought up in a black church you know what I mean when I say church was an all-day ordeal. Black churches should put times on their programs or itineraries the same way parties do. No need to give us false hope. Just go ahead and put church is going on “until.” If you didn’t have to attend a second service, you were winning that Sunday.
After much pondering I decided to go. Why not? I wouldn’t take a comic book or other book and hide it in my bible like I did as a kid. If my mom is somehow reading this, my bad. No getting on my phone while service was going on.
I know it’s been 2.5 years since I went home, but I don’t remember when the last time I went to church was. Funerals don’t count. It’s been so long that the lady reading the announcements recognized this phenomena and mentioned it to the congregation. Sheesh! She put me on blast.
It was good to be home. I haven’t seen my family in quite some time. As I’ve gotten older I realize how important my family is. It’s not like they didn’t show me love. I’ve always been “wishy washy” or “funny acting” like that.
My family’s culture is one that’s fun and endearing. My family had those Soul Food type dinners every Sunday. Dinner was typically followed by Spades. It was either a game to 500 or we’d play “rise and fly,” which is the best two out of three hands. If you didn’t know how to play, this was not the time to learn. There’d be much trash talking. I hope you have tough skin. Crying isn’t permissible.
I’m not sure why, but my family liked throwing the Frisbee. I could throw a Frisbee before I could throw a baseball or football. I seldom leave home without a Frisbee for this reason. It calms me down to throw or merely having it twirling on my fingertips.
I had to take my aunt 2.5 years worth of magnets. She puts magnets from places people have traveled on her refrigerator. I’m deliberate in my pursuit of magnets when I go anywhere. I like to look at them on her refrigerator sometimes and reminisce on the memories created while visiting landmarks, cities, parks, events, etc. It’s a way for me to give her piece of my life regardless if I’m not physically there.
I was able to visit my great-grandfather. He’s always a hoot to be around. I’m amazed at how much he remembers. He loves to fish. His stories of his private spots and catches are fun to hear. I never found fishing fun, but most of the men in my family thoroughly enjoy it. I equated it to watching paint dry.
I knew he would make a remark about my hair as my mom tells me he often asks, “Has that boy cut that hair yet?” One of the first times I saw him with my locs he asked me what I was doing with a mop on my head. They weren’t nearly as long then as they are now and he noticed.
The prodigal son returned and he needs to return again before 2.5 years. Life is too long to not enjoy it with your family. After all, you only get one. Once they’re gone, it’s too late to wonder what if. Maximize the time with them. At some point you’ll be the one telling stories about them.