My (biological) Father died this month. As of this writing I don't know exactly when. I never really knew the guy. My Mother told me this weekend.I have a handfull of memories of him and all of them unpleasant. He was a married man with two kids that I have never met. I was a love child product of his and my mother's affair. Black women in her era didn't think of some fine young gentleman with prospects to court them properly. You met somebody hooked up and if you got pregnant, then you just raised the kid with or without marriage. That's true today of course. I have met so many "normal" white kids I just can't understand why young blacks continue that cycle.
Lot's of people have called me a "bastard" behind my back, few have done so to my face and lived. The one's who have well..what can I say..that's what I am.
Symbolically, a mother gives you a body, a place in the world of earthly things, a father gives
you a name and place in the earth of worldly things.
Anyway..I got no cards of sympathy, made no announcement, went to work like nothing happened. Gave my half-sister a call..it will be nice to finally meet her.
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