Skip to main content

I Wish My Daddy Was Alive

Last night, sprawled across my solid wood king-sized bed, I watched history. My youngest sons and daughters joined me. I longed for my daddy.

Senator Barack Obama electrified the audience with what even Pat Buchanan had to admit was the "best and most important political convention speech h had ever heard going back 48 years." Democratic Nominee Obama came out strong and definitely ready to lead. He turned the page of history, he represents what my father and his generation longed for, fought for, and some died for. It was also poignant that this history speech was 45 years to the day that Dr. King marched on Washington and gave his I Have a Dream speech. Senator Obama is the culmination of that dream, and it doesn't end with him.

I truly felt the tide turning and the country on the cusp of real change. It was like my girlfriend told me when 2007 turned to 2008, the word was overturn. Like Obama said, "eight is enough" of fear-mongering, illegal wars, rich over the poor, and big business strangling opportunity. I felt his speech and so did my daughters. I wanted to call my daddy and talk to him about this moment, he would've loved to see this happen.

In the end, I realized that my father and all the ancestors prayed that one day this would happen. They had faith that a new generation would rise up to take the reigns and talk to people about their stories. It is time for the Joshua Generation to carry us forward, and not alone, we must take up the charge and stand ready to do our part. Obama gave a charge to parents to do their part. Yes, the educational system in the inner city and rural areas is not the best, but what about the parent taking the TV out-of-the-bedroom and sitting down with their child to read a book? What about the father being the dad and leading his family? There is much that rests in the hands of families to do to make things better along with a partnership with a progressive government that will tax businesses that take jobs away, that will cut taxes for those in the middle class so they can begin to move forward in life. It is time and a collective populace can change America, it happened with the Baby Boomer generation, now it is time for the Millennium generation to do it!

I wish my daddy was alive to witness that history, but his spirit speaks to me and I can hear him say, "Hey, Taye', that was something wasn't it?" "Yeah, daddy, it was."

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Hannah's Song

We came together last night and sang Hannah's song. Family from California was in town, it was the night before Aunt Hannah's Home Going Celebration. We met at my house late in the evening to fellowship, remember, hug, eat, and laugh. Thom felt the love in the room and I'm sure his mom would've appreciated us doing what she did all her life - love. Aunt Hannah was a gracious woman. Her gentle spirit, sparkling eyes, and constant smile will be remembered. She has left us physically, but never spiritually. The laughter was like music in Thom's ear. For the first time in weeks I saw my cousin relax. He has been in a tornado for the past four weeks from his mother's diagnosis to her death. Even in her final stage, Aunt Hannah was granted her desire. She asked to not suffer long when it was her time to go, she had been a caregiver her whole life and I'm sure her prayer was for her son. In the last days of her life, she still greeted well wishers with a wa...

Brothers, Can we Talk?

 I'm a Black woman, born of a Black woman and a Black man. When my mother died, it was my father who nurtured me and instilled in me a sense of pride of self, of my race, of my abilities to do whatever I put my mind to do. He never imposed limitations on me as a Black woman. The only caution he ever gave me was to not burn my candle at both ends and to be mindful of my health, I am an asthmatic. He never stopped me from trying anything and always encouraged me. Daddy was a strong Black man who introduced me to Shirley Chisholm when I was a little girl. He reminded me of the fortitude of my late mother's quest for gender equality in the workplace and of the namesake who marched at Selma.  He is the one who gave me my pseudonym, TayĆ©. Daddy was a strong tower of empowerment and fought all the way to his last breath for social, gender, and racial justice. It is in remembering my father this morning that I'm asking the brothers, can we talk? What is it, especially those of my g...

Ashes to Ashes

 This is Ash Wednesday. For a lot of Catholics and Anglican Christians, it begins the holy season of Lent. We remember we are but dust and to dust we return, ashes to ashes.  It is a somber reminder of our humanity and the finality of life. We are a mere breath. Today, as a Hospital Chaplain Resident, I am imposing ashes on patients, family, and staff. It is a visible marker of a shared faith and belief. We look with anticipation to the finished work of salvation on the cross and in eager hope of the resurrection. As my day progressed, I noticed how much hope was in the eyes of the ones giving and receiving this reminder of our existence. It was both a somber moment and a joyful moment. Two things can exist at the same time. Like the world we find ourselves in. Even as it seems like the darkest, certainly the darkest I’ve known in my six decades on this earth. Completely imperfect as a nation, there was still a glimmer of light until the nightmare became reality. We wonder abo...