Time To Take The Big Shovel

Pride is one of a man’s best and worst attributes.  Pride will make a man work as hard as he can and give his best effort.  Pride will also blind a man to the fact that there comes a time in life where it is time to move on and “pass the torch.”

This post is a bit more personal.  It has to do with someone I admire and look up to…my father.

For those of you who watch the national weather, you’ll know that we had a major snowstorm in the Northeast the weekend before Christmas. Some areas got anywhere from 18 – 24 inches of snow.  I live in the area that got the 24 inches.

Anyway, just as I’d dug myself out, I got a call from my mother asking if I could come by.  She sounded worried and asked could I come over as soon as possible.  I drove over as fast as I could, considering the weather, to find my father digging out the driveway.

I grew up here so I know how bad the snow can get, but this was the most snow we’d gotten in years. The plows had already come through so they pack heaps and snow in front of everyone’s house.  And there was dad, bent over and grunting considerably to dig himself out.

This bring me to my story of the Big Shovel. For was long as I can remember, there has always been the Big Shovel, about 4 feet long with a large metal end that looked like it could move mountains with one swipe.  When I was younger, it reminded me of a battle-axe with my father being the only black Viking in the neighborhood as he dealt the snow his wrath.

But I’m not so young anymore, and my dad not so mighty.  You can only expect so much from the old man.  He’s still pretty strong for his age and will probably outlive most of us, but you could tell that Father Time had finally gotten a hold of him. He seemed to struggle with the ice.  Instead of the superhero I’d looked up to for so many years…he looked…human…mortal.

I knew why my mom called me now.  It was time for me to take the Big Shovel.

It wasn’t like I didn’t try to take it before.  All through high school and college, my dad insisted and demanded that he take the big shovel and the brunt of the work.  Even after I had a family of my own and stopped by to check on them, dad was still outside shoveling away.  He’d always told me that’s what the man of the house does.  I was always given the smaller plastic shovel and was tasked with clearing the walkway and the steps.  From the car area down to the street was the “man work.”

I thought about how I’d approach him about it.  I really did.  My dad is a very proud man, who often tells of how he and his brothers had to go and chop trees for the wood stove to heat the house.  I remember him attending a football banquet at his old high school where he presented an award to an athlete that broke his all time rushing record, a record that stood for almost 40 years.  He was strong as an ox and took pride in taking care of his loved ones.

But this wasn’t the same man.  I wasn’t as concerned about his physical well-being as I was his pride.  As a man, we always take pride in taking care of our family and home.  And he couldn’t do that anymore…at least in this case.

I stepped out of my car and put on my gloves.  I approached my dad and gently tapped him on the shoulder.  He looked at me as if he knew it was time.

“Hey dad, let me take over for a while.”

He gave me his usual “I got it” and went back to work so I let him shovel a few more times until he was out of breath.  Then I tapped him on the shoulder again and smiled.  He gave me the shovel and went into the house.

It’s a hard thing, letting go of your pride and stepping aside.  Admitting that you’ve taken something as far as you can.  The mind is willing but the body is able.  But eventually, we all have to do that.  My father finally passed the Big Shovel onto me, and one day, I’ll pass it onto my son.

…or maybe I’ll just call him and tell him to take it.  That ice seems to get heavier and heavier.

Feel free to comment.

Happy Halloween!

Today is the day went most of the kids in America will dress up in costumes of their favorite characters they will only wear once, go out in their neighborhoods, and do what most consider a socially acceptable method of begging by saying “Trick or Treat!” to get  candy.  

It’s also a day when most parents will have to trust their children and begin to let go.

The other day, I found that I’m not cool enough to hang out with my son anymore.  He called me and asked me if it was ok if he went Trick or Treating with his friends instead of the old man this year.  He’s 10 now and I guess he’s beginning to feel his oats.

As much as it hurt me to say “yes”, I did.  I still remember the first time I took out.  He had on his little Spiderman costume and could barely say “Twick or Tweet”, but we got around to just about every house in the neighborhood.  After all that walking, he was too tired to even think about eating his candy and just went to sleep.

Dads, even though it’s hard sometimes we have to let our kids grow up.  The best thing you can arm them with is common sense and a set of rules to go by.  Drill these into your kids head before you let them go out.

• Give you child your cell phone (or if they have their own, make sure it’s charged).  Call them every once in a while to make sure they’re ok and that they’re staying in the neighborhood.  Let them know that if they don’t answer the phone or don’t call back right away, Trick or Treat is over and you’ll come looking  for them to make sure they’re safe.

• Establish the Trick or Treat route they are to take.  No sidestreets or unknown areas.

• Tell all of the kids to stay together as a group.  They all go on the porch, they all come off.  No one goes up alone.

• Under no circumstances is anyone to go into anyone’s house.  I don’t care if one of the kids knows the parent at the door or not.

• No candy is to be eaten while they’re out Trick or Treating. When they get home, inspect all candy with a flashlight (if there are any pins or blades, they will shine in the light).  I knew of a kid that bit into a Snickers bar while they were out and got cut up with pins.

If this is your child’s first time going out alone, let them know that this is a big step and that you are trusting them to make the right decisions while they’re out.  This will give them a sense of responsiblity.

And don’t be cheap and cut the lights out when kids come to your door.  Have a heart.

Happy Halloween.

Feel free to comment.

The Sins Of The Father

I have an interesting story to tell.

This past weekend, I took my son to Great Adventure for Fright Fest.  The park is decked out for Halloween and the staff get dressed like ghouls and goblins and tries to scare the living daylights out of you.

We got on the Superman ride with these two young white kids.  They couldn’t have been older than 13.  They said “hi” as the carriage the four of us were in lifted us into the air and took off.

As we dipped, turned and twisted through the air (I hate rollercoasters), I heard a very loud and unnerving noise…

“JIGGABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

I turned to my right and the young white teenager next to me was screaming at the top of his lungs, lips puckered up…

“JIGGABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

I was in disbelief.  My son and I were sitting right next to him and he’s saying this.  This young punk.  I figured the best course of action was to grit my teeth and get through the ride.

(If you haven’t figured it out, yes, I’m African-American.  My son is African-American and Puerto-Rican.  I call him my “Bor-Negro.”)

As the ride slowed down towards the end, I turned to Eminem’s stunt double and asked him, “Young man, why would you say that?”

“Say what….jiggaboo?”, he replied.

“Yes,” I continued.  “You know what that means??”

To quote a Talib Kweli lyric, “the question was rhetorical, the answer is horrible…”

“No, I don’t’ know what it means.  I just hear my dad say it a lot and I thought it was a cool sounding word.”

Now, I was no longer mad at the little boy.  I was mad at his father.  His father thought it acceptable to say those kind of words in front of his son.  If you’re ignorant enough to say that in front of him, at least be man enough to tell him what it means so your son doesn’t look like an ass in public.  Be man enough to let your son know that you don’t have the intelligence to judge a man by the “content of his character” and that you probably don’t’ have the “testicular fortitude” to say that to someone’s face.

I told the young man that was a horrible, offensive word.  He instantly apologized.  At that point, I honestly believed, and still believe that he wasn’t being hurtful.  He really didn’t know.

It just so happens when we exited the ride, his father was waiting for him outside.  My son and I waved goodbye as we saw his son ask, “Dad, what’s a jiggaboo?”  His father turned as pale as a ghost and caught my eye staring at him, waiting for the answer.

My moment was interrupted by my own sin.  My son looked up and asked me “Dad, what’s a jiggaboo?”

My sin was for a different reason.  My little boy was getting older (he’s 10) and I’ve tried to protect him, so I’d never really told him how cold people can be when it comes to race.  I can’t protect him forever, even though I’d like to.

I needed to man up.

I wasn’t going to let this ruin our night, and I knew that if I didn’t tell him, he’d be wondering about it the whole time we were there.  So I told him.

He stood there for a minute and thought.  And as I had to grab him by the arm and pull him back (“I’ll be right back, Dad.  I’ma go smack the chap off his lips”), I told him that if you spend all of your time fighting people like that, you’ll be fighting for the rest of your life.  If they put their hands on you, beat em’ like they owe you money, but don’t people like that get to you.

He smiled, gave me a hug, and we starting walking towards another ride.  I took a look back at the young white boy, and I started to feel sorry for him in a way.  The sins of  his father’s ignorance would be passed onto another generation.

And we wonder why things won’t get better.

What are your thoughts?  Feel free to comment.