My father is a 69 year old man, born in Huntsville, Alabama, an HBCU graduate, an entrepreneur, an engineer, a grandfather, and A BLACK MAN. I mention his race last because that is how this country wants him to believe they see him. He knows they do NOT. You see he has lived his life in two different worlds for the black man. He is a product of hard working, poorer than most parents. He lived 14 years before this country ever gave him federally mandated civil rights. But he managed to live a pretty great life. He made his parents proud, gave back to his community, raised children that make positive contributions to society. He would be the example of progress in this country in my opinion. Someone who lived enough of their life to see change, use it to their advantage, become more than anyone ever expected. I respect my father and his story more than anything is this world. As my own son reaches the same age in which my father saw national change in his life, I can be nothing but prayerful 1) that it actually happens, 2) that he uses it to his advantage, 3) that he becomes more than ANYONE ever expects him to become. But as the climate for change in this country grows, as I see conversations increase, and walls begin to break, I can’t help but notice the silence from the one person who always has something to say about just about anything. I haven’t had the conversation about how my father feels right now. I notice he isn’t vocalizing his thoughts, even as an aside to something on the 24 hours news cycle. He gets hyped up ALL the time by the “Stupid” comments he hears on certain stations, but on this subject… he says nothing.
Now, I could honestly think the worst and believe that somehow, he is detached from today’s issue because he, by all accounts, “made it”, but I know my father better than that. I know that my father who curses most of the time, somehow manages to enunciate every syllable of his every word, and not utter one swear word when he is angry, isn’t suddenly silent on the issues that impact his fellow black Americans. Could it be? Nah, that’s impossible. No, Really? Is this the one thing, that subject, that anomaly that renders my father, a man with an opinion on most things, SPEECHLESS? I may never know his true personal feeling about seeing this generation fight for very basic rights of equality, something that was supposed to have changed in 1964. My dad isn’t the emoting type. He prefers to literally “work” out his frustration. My dad finds any excuse to work. So I’ve come to believe, (without confirmation or real basis: he doesn’t believe in psychology) , he pours the painful parts of his life, his grief, his hurt, his loss, his disappointment, and his frustration into work.
I imagine for him and for those like him, there is a heaviness they can’t shake. I imagine there is a disappointment, and a confusion. “Didn’t we already go through this?” Likely a fear of what’s to come. “Will they turn to tactics of the past? Will it be worse? What more can we do?” Some of them are probably angry. “Did our parents and grandparents, friends and neighbors, and leaders fight and die FOR THIS?” My soul weeps for my parent’s generation. They have to witness this twice in their lifetime. As young children and teens, helpless in the fight, but beneficiaries of the results. The “firsts” of their kind. First to integrate, graduate, and even infiltrate a broken system, not designed for them. They moved on to have families and find comfort in the fact that the things of the past were no longer the same. They weren’t perfect, but they didn’t have to fear the same things as before. They finally reach the age of retirement, seeking peace and quiet, enjoying their grandchildren, and looking forward to their much deserved relaxing existence. Just as they get comfortable, the world stops. They now get to see a new system designed to stop the very progress that made them who they were. They get to see their children and grandchildren chant and protest to convince other people in this country that we, BLACK PEOPLE, matter. That we are valuable. That we deserve to NOT die over $20. I would be speechless too.
I am learning to be okay with not having the words. I am accepting of the fact that silence is also an answer. As much as we want everyone to speak, there are those of us that are saying more with our silence. Some of us are acknowledging the loss of words to describe a feeling that is indescribable to those whom have never felt it. Others are accepting that they don’t have the words to comfort us beyond their own experiences. I can accept your silence because too many are talking right now. In your silence, ACT!
In my silence, I cry. My spirit weeps. I say silent prayers, I sing hymns in my heart. I ask for words that help build us all. I ask for guidance for what to do. I wait… While I am in my silent space, I pray for those that can’t keep quiet. I ask God to protect those that have to scream. I feel their rage course through MY veins, and I release it peacefully through my tears. Some of us must be silent so that we can hear. Some must stay home so that can we pray. We all must take up our cross and bare it. Its a heavy load but we all share it. When there are no words, let your mouth be silent. When there are no words, LET YOUR SPIRIT CRY OUT. Put your faith to work, no matter how big or small. I am out of words, I can no longer speak, but my SOUL IS RAGING, so I must weep.
