a big part of my relationship with my father revolved around food. mcdonald's on sunday mornings before church or on road trips. countless trips to ponderosa or sizzler or shoney's or shakey's. feeling grown up the first time i ordered chopped steak because daddy was nice enough to wait until later to burst my bubble. :-)
are you hungry? let's eat. not hungry? let me know when you are and we'll get you something to eat. i don't remember the first time i joined my father in the kitchen during meal prep. it wasn't a big deal for me to see him cooking (and cleaning, at least until i was old enough to take on kitchen duty) and then we'd sit down to eat. i don't remember being a picky eater so much as i was really clear on what i liked and what i didn't and i had the space to express that (within polite boundaries, of course).
like chitlins. family lore has it that someone gave me a forkful of chitlins when i was 6 or so, and i promptly threw up all over james. i haven't touched them since and no one in my immediate family would even consider offering them to me unless they had a memory lapse of some sort.
daddy would never force me to try new things or eat something i didn't like just because it was there. like spicy food. i told the popeye's in kokomo story on here a couple of years ago and it's still one of my strongest memories.
tamales are another strong memory for me. daddy became obsessed with making tamales, to the point that on every trip to mississippi, he'd ask around for so-and-so's recipe and how did such-and-such make their tamales and, of course, have a few samples. he'd come home, add his findings to whatever he'd already collected, and tinker with the recipe. next thing i knew, the kitchen table would be covered with masa and corn husks. i don't know when he'd decided that he'd mastered the recipe, but i do know he'd sell tamales to friends and family and made enough to cover his costs and a little extra. i also remember bringing a batch to school once for a class potluck or something like that. everyone went crazy over them, and deservedly so. those tamales were delicious. one of my regrets is not getting that recipe from daddy before he died.
as meat and potatoes as he was, i appreciated daddy's willingness to branch out (like with the tamales) without making it a big deal. i've said before that my smoked sausage and broccoli dish was one of the first things i made up on my own in high school. i'm not sure i would've done it if daddy had made a face or expressed disgust or displeasure. it was just, try it out and if you don't like it, that's ok. if it doesn't work, let's try to figure out what went wrong. if you've read my recipe reviews, then you've seen a little bit of that in action.
i think that's one helluva lesson to take away, not just for food, but for life in general. try it out and if you don't like it, it's ok. if it doesn't work, try to figure out why and go from there.
Sunday, June 19, 2016
music sounds better because of you
i saw a tweet that asked people what song(s) reminded them of their parents. answering this for my mother is easy - the theme from "m*a*s*h." no, really. apparently she disliked that show so much that whenever it came on, one of us had to run over to the tv and change the channel immediately. i still have a somewhat visceral reaction when i hear that theme song that i find myself turning away from it, whether it be changing the channel or hitting skip on a music player or whatever.
answering this for my father, however, is way more difficult. i'm not sure i could narrow our musical memories down to a single song. music was almost always playing in the background during my childhood. one of my brothers played drums at church every sunday and there was almost always a radio on. i remember daddy going through a country phase in the late 80s/early 90s and i made what is to date my only country album purchase as a gift for him for christmas or his birthday.
when daddy, james, and i would all be home together, there would almost always be three different songs playing. james had the run of the basement with his stereo system, i had a stereo (with a record player and a 8-track b/c hand-me-downs weren't just for clothes) in my room, and daddy had his setup in his bedroom. r&b or smooth jazz would be on james' system, i'd have a radio station on, and daddy would more than likely be listening to gospel or blues, having passed through his country phase.
what i can appreciate is that daddy never yelled at us to turn off that "rappity rap" or anything along those lines. at least, i can't remember such a thing happening. my brothers might remember differently but maybe he mellowed out by the time i came along. obviously he had some opinions on what i was listening to since i was still a minor and omg won't someone please think of the children, but there was never a flat-out dismissal. wait, i take that back. wkkc would play gospel on sundays until about 3pm and then switch over to house music. if we were in the car when that shift change happened, daddy would flip to another gospel station because he didn't want to hear "secular" music during the day on sundays. sunday nights were ok, somehow, but whatever. i knew i could turn on the radio in my room and have a dance party and not worry about daddy coming in yelling at me to turn it off.
besides, who else would ask one of their girlfriends to take their daughter to the budweiser superfest at soldier field? i was still in high school and i can't remember if daddy had to work or if he just didn't want to go, but there i was with his lady friend, doing the humpty dance and making friends with other folks sitting nearby.
when i'd come home from northwestern and it was just the two of us, there'd still be two stereos blaring and possibly the tv, if i was watching videos (yes, boys and girls, there was a time when music videos actually played on tv on a regular basis. i didn't always like what daddy played and being the know-it-all teenager i was, i'd voice my loud and probably wrong opinion. i'm sure he hated a good chunk of whatever i was into at that point, but if he judged it, he kept to himself.
road trips were fun because it was my job to change radio stations until i found something we could both agree on that wasn't full of static. this was also where we'd catch up on somewhat deep conversations that we hadn't had at home for whatever reason(s). it was on one of those trips that daddy told me that my mother had cancer and hadn't died of a heart attack as i'd believed for years. i don't remember my immediate reaction but i remember thinking later that he thought i was old enough to handle it and being proud that he thought so highly of me.
don't get me wrong. there are certain songs that could start playing right now and i will immediately think of my father. i think one of the biggest gifts he gave me was to listen to the music and not dismiss it outright, and for that, i am thankful.
happy father's day, daddy. you're still missed and i'm still grateful that i'm your daughter. i'm sorry the musical selection in heaven's improved the way it has so far this year.
answering this for my father, however, is way more difficult. i'm not sure i could narrow our musical memories down to a single song. music was almost always playing in the background during my childhood. one of my brothers played drums at church every sunday and there was almost always a radio on. i remember daddy going through a country phase in the late 80s/early 90s and i made what is to date my only country album purchase as a gift for him for christmas or his birthday.
when daddy, james, and i would all be home together, there would almost always be three different songs playing. james had the run of the basement with his stereo system, i had a stereo (with a record player and a 8-track b/c hand-me-downs weren't just for clothes) in my room, and daddy had his setup in his bedroom. r&b or smooth jazz would be on james' system, i'd have a radio station on, and daddy would more than likely be listening to gospel or blues, having passed through his country phase.
what i can appreciate is that daddy never yelled at us to turn off that "rappity rap" or anything along those lines. at least, i can't remember such a thing happening. my brothers might remember differently but maybe he mellowed out by the time i came along. obviously he had some opinions on what i was listening to since i was still a minor and omg won't someone please think of the children, but there was never a flat-out dismissal. wait, i take that back. wkkc would play gospel on sundays until about 3pm and then switch over to house music. if we were in the car when that shift change happened, daddy would flip to another gospel station because he didn't want to hear "secular" music during the day on sundays. sunday nights were ok, somehow, but whatever. i knew i could turn on the radio in my room and have a dance party and not worry about daddy coming in yelling at me to turn it off.
besides, who else would ask one of their girlfriends to take their daughter to the budweiser superfest at soldier field? i was still in high school and i can't remember if daddy had to work or if he just didn't want to go, but there i was with his lady friend, doing the humpty dance and making friends with other folks sitting nearby.
when i'd come home from northwestern and it was just the two of us, there'd still be two stereos blaring and possibly the tv, if i was watching videos (yes, boys and girls, there was a time when music videos actually played on tv on a regular basis. i didn't always like what daddy played and being the know-it-all teenager i was, i'd voice my loud and probably wrong opinion. i'm sure he hated a good chunk of whatever i was into at that point, but if he judged it, he kept to himself.
road trips were fun because it was my job to change radio stations until i found something we could both agree on that wasn't full of static. this was also where we'd catch up on somewhat deep conversations that we hadn't had at home for whatever reason(s). it was on one of those trips that daddy told me that my mother had cancer and hadn't died of a heart attack as i'd believed for years. i don't remember my immediate reaction but i remember thinking later that he thought i was old enough to handle it and being proud that he thought so highly of me.
don't get me wrong. there are certain songs that could start playing right now and i will immediately think of my father. i think one of the biggest gifts he gave me was to listen to the music and not dismiss it outright, and for that, i am thankful.
happy father's day, daddy. you're still missed and i'm still grateful that i'm your daughter. i'm sorry the musical selection in heaven's improved the way it has so far this year.
Friday, June 17, 2016
on: finding and keeping joy at home
i'm having a helluva time with today being the one year anniversary of the charleston massacre. i think it's taken me this long to reconcile the sheer sense of fear and disgust and anger that i still feel about that shooting.
even though i wasn't directly impacted, it hurt me in a visceral way. i grew up going to an a.m.e. church with daddy and still went with him on occasion after i'd joined 1st c. daddy's funeral was at that same a.m.e. church and while i no longer considered it my home church, i still felt welcome. that's a great feeling, especially after the heartbreaking gossip that swirled about me. nothing says awkward like your father sitting you down to confirm that no, you haven't been sleeping with random deacons at his church while you were still in high school. yeah, that happened. ask me about it offline over a drink and i'll fill you in.
before charleston, i'd have the occasional nightmare of being at 1st c. or some other church gathering and some gunman (or woman) coming in and causing chaos. needless to say that i experienced that particular nightmare more than usual after the shooting last year. it still happens and it still hurts like hell. i can visualize myself sitting on a pew, surrounded by family and friends and their kids (some of whom are actually adults now but i still think of them as my church babies b/c i'm that kinda auntie) and trying my damnedest to make sure they're ok when the gunshots start ringing out. i don't think i can understate how fucking nervous i was the first time i went back to 1st c. after charleston. luckily i know that building well enough to know where the exits are and where i can duck and cover and the simple fact that i feel like i have to keep that knowledge somewhat handy is some bullshit.
sorry. got distracted and riled up there for a second. *takes a deep breath*
despite the people and policies and politics, churches are a place of refuge for me. i can sit and have a little talk with god (shouts to stevie wonder). i know i can do that anywhere and trust me, i do some of my best praying outside of church walls. but there's just something different about being in a church for me. it's soothing, really. i haven't been to 1st c. in months but i know i could walk in and be at home.
home. longtime readers know that i have strong thoughts and feelings about what home means for me. home isn't always about a physical place, which is a lesson that has been reinforced constantly for me during the past few years. if home is a physical place, though, you should feel safe there. the charleston 9 should've felt safe. the crowd at pulse in orlando should have felt safe. there are countless other incidents i could name where the people gathered should have felt safe. it breaks my heart and my spirit when these places of refuge are violated. y'all have heard me say god knows how many times that all i want is for the people i love to be safe and free and happy. that we are more than enough just as we are. it gets difficult to keep reminding myself and y'all of that in the face of horrific events like the charleston massacre and the orlando hate crime and yet it bears repeating. we are seen and we are heard and we are loved and we are more than enough. joy may be fleeting but it's ours, goddammit, and i for one am too stubborn to let someone just snatch that shit away without a fight.
even though i wasn't directly impacted, it hurt me in a visceral way. i grew up going to an a.m.e. church with daddy and still went with him on occasion after i'd joined 1st c. daddy's funeral was at that same a.m.e. church and while i no longer considered it my home church, i still felt welcome. that's a great feeling, especially after the heartbreaking gossip that swirled about me. nothing says awkward like your father sitting you down to confirm that no, you haven't been sleeping with random deacons at his church while you were still in high school. yeah, that happened. ask me about it offline over a drink and i'll fill you in.
before charleston, i'd have the occasional nightmare of being at 1st c. or some other church gathering and some gunman (or woman) coming in and causing chaos. needless to say that i experienced that particular nightmare more than usual after the shooting last year. it still happens and it still hurts like hell. i can visualize myself sitting on a pew, surrounded by family and friends and their kids (some of whom are actually adults now but i still think of them as my church babies b/c i'm that kinda auntie) and trying my damnedest to make sure they're ok when the gunshots start ringing out. i don't think i can understate how fucking nervous i was the first time i went back to 1st c. after charleston. luckily i know that building well enough to know where the exits are and where i can duck and cover and the simple fact that i feel like i have to keep that knowledge somewhat handy is some bullshit.
sorry. got distracted and riled up there for a second. *takes a deep breath*
despite the people and policies and politics, churches are a place of refuge for me. i can sit and have a little talk with god (shouts to stevie wonder). i know i can do that anywhere and trust me, i do some of my best praying outside of church walls. but there's just something different about being in a church for me. it's soothing, really. i haven't been to 1st c. in months but i know i could walk in and be at home.
home. longtime readers know that i have strong thoughts and feelings about what home means for me. home isn't always about a physical place, which is a lesson that has been reinforced constantly for me during the past few years. if home is a physical place, though, you should feel safe there. the charleston 9 should've felt safe. the crowd at pulse in orlando should have felt safe. there are countless other incidents i could name where the people gathered should have felt safe. it breaks my heart and my spirit when these places of refuge are violated. y'all have heard me say god knows how many times that all i want is for the people i love to be safe and free and happy. that we are more than enough just as we are. it gets difficult to keep reminding myself and y'all of that in the face of horrific events like the charleston massacre and the orlando hate crime and yet it bears repeating. we are seen and we are heard and we are loved and we are more than enough. joy may be fleeting but it's ours, goddammit, and i for one am too stubborn to let someone just snatch that shit away without a fight.
Thursday, June 16, 2016
a month later
i went shopping on my lunch break today and while i was out and about, it dawned on me that today is the one month anniversary of my surgery. that little tidbit almost took my breath away and simultaneously gave me the push i needed to buy the purse i've been obsessed with for about a week or so as a present to myself. funny how that works. :P
i haven't been feeling all that great this week, thanks to mother nature. i really should've stayed home on monday and yet i pushed through like the superwoman that i try desperately not to be. tuesday was a little better but by the time i got home that night, i felt like i'd been hit by a truck and spent most of the evening with a heating pad on my back.
when my alarm went off yesterday, my body just said nope and therefore i worked from home. you know how sometimes you'll wake up in the morning and you'll give yourself about 10 minutes or so to confirm that yes, you feel ok enough to get out of bed and get moving? i didn't even have that yesterday morning. as i was turning my alarm off, it felt as though every nerve ending and every muscle were yelling at me to stay in bed, so i did...for 2 more hours. today was better in that the pain didn't really kick in until after i'd gotten dressed and was on my way out the door, but i was able to manage it.
there are still days when i feel lethargic and i have to remember that i'm borderline anemic on a good day, so of course it totally makes sense for me to be physically tired even when my brain thinks i should be doing all of the things. people ask how i'm doing and i can honestly say that i'm still not 100% and i'm doing better about being ok with that. i saw one of my doctors last week and she reminded me that this is a process and it'll take some time before i get back to normal or even to establish a new normal.
in the meantime, i'm thankful for a job that allows me to work remotely when i'm not feeling up to going into the office, and for having money left after paying bills to splurge on a new coach bag, and for knowing way deep down that i'm still doing the right thing by giving my body a break when i need to.
i haven't been feeling all that great this week, thanks to mother nature. i really should've stayed home on monday and yet i pushed through like the superwoman that i try desperately not to be. tuesday was a little better but by the time i got home that night, i felt like i'd been hit by a truck and spent most of the evening with a heating pad on my back.
when my alarm went off yesterday, my body just said nope and therefore i worked from home. you know how sometimes you'll wake up in the morning and you'll give yourself about 10 minutes or so to confirm that yes, you feel ok enough to get out of bed and get moving? i didn't even have that yesterday morning. as i was turning my alarm off, it felt as though every nerve ending and every muscle were yelling at me to stay in bed, so i did...for 2 more hours. today was better in that the pain didn't really kick in until after i'd gotten dressed and was on my way out the door, but i was able to manage it.
there are still days when i feel lethargic and i have to remember that i'm borderline anemic on a good day, so of course it totally makes sense for me to be physically tired even when my brain thinks i should be doing all of the things. people ask how i'm doing and i can honestly say that i'm still not 100% and i'm doing better about being ok with that. i saw one of my doctors last week and she reminded me that this is a process and it'll take some time before i get back to normal or even to establish a new normal.
in the meantime, i'm thankful for a job that allows me to work remotely when i'm not feeling up to going into the office, and for having money left after paying bills to splurge on a new coach bag, and for knowing way deep down that i'm still doing the right thing by giving my body a break when i need to.
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