Bobby “Blue” Bland died this month. So did Aaron Williams.
Bobby was my blues idol. Aaron was my dad!
Like a dutiful daughter, drove 22 hours to be with him in his final hours. Missed his goodbye by 30 minutes.
Folks can attest that over my 56 years I was his lone and ever faithful daughter. Through “thick and thin” dad could always count on my unwavering support, undying devotion, and unconditional love. Through “hell or high water” dad knew that I would always be there for him. Regardless of the fact that he often left me with an empty belly, no panties for my ass, no shoes or socks for my feet, no hot water for my baths, no presents under the Christmas tree, and frequently sent “bounced” checks for my birthdays, I still loved dad!
Even though he married five times and consistently provided for his wives’ kids and extended family members while woefully neglecting his own, I still adored dad. Although he never bought me a book, never attended any school functions, never witnessed any of my graduations, never escorted me down the aisle, never took me to the library, and never treated me to a vacation, per the Ten Commandments, I still honored dad.
Regarding his kids’ health, welfare, and tender hearts, dad had amnesia. Couldn’t understand how he could allow his “sperms” to impregnate mom three times without giving a rat’s ass about his daughters’ well being, futures, or outcomes. Couldn’t understand how he could stay in a cozy, warm house while his daughters stayed in a frigid, cold one. Couldn’t rationalize how he could eat wholesome meals without inquiring if his daughters had enough crumbs to share. Couldn’t comprehend how he could playfully engage and interact with other peoples’ kids without ever availing himself to his own.
Dad never accompanied me, or any of us, to medical or dentist appointments nor did he visit when I required hospitalizations or surgeries. Dad was not available to offer manly advice about the purchase of my first car or concerning the “first” of anything. Dad never peered over college or job applications nor was he around to scrutinize my dates. In other words, dad’s broad shoulders and comforting embraces were never present when I needed them the most. Needless to say, he was “missing in action” or was a member of a “witness protection” program whenever I won or lost my speaking contests or whenever I celebrated meritorious milestones.
Tears did not whoosh from my eyes when dad died partially because his “side kick” was bungee jumping in animosity and performing demonic cart wheels and calisthenics in hatred and partially because dad was an absconder and circumvented his role and responsibilities of being what God had created him to be—-a father!
To have known dad’s mother, my grandmother, one would not be able to reconcile why dad failed miserably as a parent. Granny was an incredible role model and the epitome of a dedicated and saintly Christian woman who raised five healthy kids and one profoundly disabled child on a pittance budget and as a widow as her husband was tragically killed early in their marriage. As the oldest child, dad witnessed Granny’s gallant attempts in scrimping and scraping in order to raise her children singlehandedly. Without a murmur, my grandmother toiled on the farm from sun up to sun down “wearing sweaters so some day her children would be able to wear coats!”
Dad’s obscurity was reprehensible. To “unplug” and to live obliviously by consciously refusing to contribute to the growth and development of his “flesh and blood” was nonsensical, obscene, and unquestionably cowardice! Insult to injury, dad’s blatant disregard in not providing for his kids throughout his life and upon his death, without a plausible reason or sensible explanation, was equally searing, scandalous, and inexcusable!
Paraphrasing a scripture in the Bible, “when you know better, you do better,” and dad knew better than to toss his kids into oblivion. Thankfully, granny came to the rescue by sending us “care packages” each birthday and Christmas which were filled with “used” clothing and accompanied with a card totaling two dollars with instructions for me to “take one dollar and to give my sisters fifty cents each.”
Granny died when I was 36-years old. During one of our last conversations, she predicted that my dad and I would “grow closer” and she was right. Consequently, we spent the last 20 years “making up for lost time.” That fateful decision, however, created a Holy War as my mom was freaking incensed. Over the years, it was her contention that dad would “reappear” after we became successful and prosperous as adults and then he would take the “credit” for her sacrifices and for our achievements. I was forewarned by her that to develop a relationship with him would be to my peril as I would be excommunicated and forbidden to see the family—–forevermore!
She kept her promise!
Additionally, mom constantly reiterated that “if he didn’t spend a damn dime on me while he was alive, she predicted, that he’s not going to leave me a damn dime when he dies!”
She was right!
To my detriment, did not heed mom’s dire warnings because I sorely wanted a father-daughter relationship. Truthfully, I desperately wanted a healthy relationship with both parent and with each of my siblings, simultaneously, too.
Over the past twenty years, dad marveled in my professional and personal worlds of radio, television, politics, corporate and business life, meeting influential people, celebrating the birth of his granddaughter, participating on a speaking circuit, visiting Disney World, attending Grandparents Day, and other memorable experiences and happy occasions all at my expense. Each year, he would return to Oklahoma saturated with pride and giddiness while being over loaded with gifts, souvenirs, mementos, treasures, sweet potato pies, and wrapped, from head to toe, with lots of home-made love, kisses, affection, and attention.
Read with intensity Mr. Gantt’s Father’s Day salute. As dad was lowered into his grave, Lucius’ oration about why dads should be celebrated and honored, even if they are deadbeats, kept reverberating within my head. However, resulting from my funky experience, I would offer this rebuttal——leave folks alone! Don’t “force” or “beg” or “plead” with any man to be something that he isn’t capable or willing to become or do.
In other words, all of my life I needed Aaron to be a “dad” but it took his death to realize I had broken a Cardinal rule. I should have “surrendered to the universe” years ago by not putting “considerable effort” in vying for someone who had obviously detached himself from me. Seemingly, it was not in his testosterone, in his DNA, or in his make-up to be what I desired the most—–which was for him to be my DAD!
“Won’t miss what I never had!”
