Well, it’s past Father’s day, and you were a no-show, even on your day. But we knew this. You made millions of black children ages 0 to 102 mad, upset, sad, disappointed. Where were you, daddy?
I know where you were. You and all the other black daddy dogs left at about a quarter to midnight on father’s day eve. You all went to that dog place you go to just to ride out the storm. That storm that you all know is coming at this time of year. It happens every year like clockwork. So all of you prepare for it. You pack all the provisions you need and head for the shelter of that dog place, to ride out the hurricane of hate, anger, frustration, pity, embarassment, and disappointment aimed at you, a hurricane that would rip the limbs off of your sanity if you dared to stay in it.
So all of you black daddy dogs huddle in that dog place. You can hear the raging of the storm outside, but you are safe from the storm. You settle down and quietly wait it out. You pull out your memories to entertain yourselves–because you don’t have access to anybody during this storm. So you entertain yourselves with pain of your failure, your broken dreams, your lacks and shortcomings. You entertain yourselves with the memories of the look in the eyes of your children and their mothers. You wish you could get that look of disgust and hatred and disappointment that’s so apparent in their eyes out of your mind, but it’s seared there. You hate that your very being is the reason the look is there, but what can you do?
You hate how that shit happened, how the things you really wanted didn’t come to pass. You hate how you didn’t know what you were doing, nor what you were getting into. All you wanted was a little pleasure, to dabble at manhood, and then you ended up with more than you bargained for: a family, that you didn’t know how to take care of. They all were looking at you with those eyes and you couldn’t handle it. So you fled.
I understand, black daddy dog, that you just wasnt ready. But you didn’t know that you wasnt ready when you stepped to the plate. Somebody told you that “getting some” was what a man did, and you were ready to “be a man”. But they forgot to tell you that there’s “giving some” after the “getting some”. They didnt tell you that part. You didnt have anything to give so you ran away.
From time to time you’d pop up here and there, with a toy or a couple of dollars. But those times were few and far between because every time you went there, they would look at you with those eyes. So you ran away.
But during this past hurricane season, you made sure to go into the shelter of your dog house. It’s comfortable enough in there. It’s painful in there, but comfortable. You wait out the storm. Then you and the rest of the black daddy dogs reappear about a week or so later. Those hatred hurricanes rage for a about a week, but they do calm down again. You understand and accept that the winds will continue to blow, but not too hard. You can at least come out on the streets again. And if the winds kick up, you know how to handle it. You retreat back to the dog place.
The place where you have only your own eyes to deal with.