I am in tears. Your father and mother represent a generation that thought, lived, and loved beyond themselves. I don't know if that exists with my generation. Beautiful tribute.
Thank you , as always, for your beautiful words. For sharing the complicated memories so many of us share with our fathers; revised, examined, explored as our own lives go on and our own grown children look at us. 💗
Professor Glaude, your tribute to your father touched me deeply because I recognised so much of my own story in yours.
I, too, watched my father sacrifice his own dreams so that his children could have ambitions of their own. Born in Africa and raising a family in Britain, he carried burdens I only fully understand now. A man of immense intelligence, he often found himself diminished by a society that could not see him as he truly was. The frustrations of racism, the daily indignities of work that was beneath his abilities, and the constant effort required to provide for his family left their mark.
As a son, I often saw only the distance. As a man, I now see the sacrifice.
My father and I never had all the conversations we should have had. Today, as dementia slowly carries him beyond the reach of many of those words, I feel the weight of what was left unsaid. Yet one truth remains clear. Everything he did, he did because he loved us. He wanted his children to walk through doors that had been closed to him. He wanted us to be spared the fears, humiliations, and barriers that he himself endured.
I am grateful for the countless journeys he made to jobs that did not reflect his worth. I am grateful that he persisted. I am grateful that he passed on his culture, and that I was able to carry so much of it with me. I am honoured to bear the name Osei-Kissi.
Your essay reminded me that some debts can never be repaid. They can only be acknowledged with gratitude and love.
OI, I forgot to lead with the most important part of what I needed to state. You are remarkable. Many begin a journey; few have the courage, tenacity, or compassion for others and self to discover their own truth. Your writing has created a hunger, to read more pieces from you.
The introduction of Baldwin, specifically his relationship with his own father is not only historic in nature, but specifically relevant to your own relationship with your father as detailed in this piece. As human beings we tend to think in black-and-white, either or and the truth is life is a combination platter; people aren’t good or evil. We are a combination of so many different factors for example, the relationship with your dad, you stated he could affect your state with one glance. I found your writing to be somewhat reminiscent of Baldwins, the honest confrontation of your feelings, thoughts, and behavior regarding your relationship with your father. As Jung stated to know our shadow self is instrumental to becoming a unified, self what you ignore persists don’t resist.
Wow, indeed. Incredible tribute. I think you have to live awhile and absorb a few of life’s blows to put your relationship with your parent’s in proper perspective. At 71 years, I am still struggling with that.
Unlike Eddie’s father—- my dad did leave— when I was around 5-6. So for my entire life, he was either a punchline or a brooding shadow in the corner, unconcerned with our poverty and struggles.
But that made my own commitment to fatherhood very important to me. I have tried to be there and pour what I could into my son and daughter. I am very proud of the people and parents they have become.
I often try to put myself in my father’s shoes: uneducated, veteran, recent traveler in the Great Migration north to Detroit from rural Alabama, transfixed by the big city and its charms? He is gone now, of course. Among my greatest regrets is that I never chose to engage him seriously, to understand our circumstances from his perspective. I am not sure how much it would have mattered. But I now at least, can respect and thank him for having the courage to gather up his fledgling family and take that train to Detroit. And, in retrospect, perhaps it was a type of love and wisdom, that he left us, rather than stay and wound us.
Very nice article. Your father reminds me of my dad. I appreciate your conveying how his love was shown. I don't recall my father saying he loved me. His life was tough because of this world. He stayed as the head of our household (along with our mother), no matter how bad the relentless hardship of racism got. For me at the age of 69, I do know my parents loved us. So I say thank you dad and I love you.
so beautiful, Eddie
I am in tears. Your father and mother represent a generation that thought, lived, and loved beyond themselves. I don't know if that exists with my generation. Beautiful tribute.
Thank you , as always, for your beautiful words. For sharing the complicated memories so many of us share with our fathers; revised, examined, explored as our own lives go on and our own grown children look at us. 💗
Wow.
Professor Glaude, your tribute to your father touched me deeply because I recognised so much of my own story in yours.
I, too, watched my father sacrifice his own dreams so that his children could have ambitions of their own. Born in Africa and raising a family in Britain, he carried burdens I only fully understand now. A man of immense intelligence, he often found himself diminished by a society that could not see him as he truly was. The frustrations of racism, the daily indignities of work that was beneath his abilities, and the constant effort required to provide for his family left their mark.
As a son, I often saw only the distance. As a man, I now see the sacrifice.
My father and I never had all the conversations we should have had. Today, as dementia slowly carries him beyond the reach of many of those words, I feel the weight of what was left unsaid. Yet one truth remains clear. Everything he did, he did because he loved us. He wanted his children to walk through doors that had been closed to him. He wanted us to be spared the fears, humiliations, and barriers that he himself endured.
I am grateful for the countless journeys he made to jobs that did not reflect his worth. I am grateful that he persisted. I am grateful that he passed on his culture, and that I was able to carry so much of it with me. I am honoured to bear the name Osei-Kissi.
Your essay reminded me that some debts can never be repaid. They can only be acknowledged with gratitude and love.
And so, like you, I simply say: I love you, Dad.
A beautiful article. Like perhaps many of us, I raised by a father who like you said “just him looking at me would make me cry”.
Thank for a beautiful post.
OI, I forgot to lead with the most important part of what I needed to state. You are remarkable. Many begin a journey; few have the courage, tenacity, or compassion for others and self to discover their own truth. Your writing has created a hunger, to read more pieces from you.
In gratitude,
Dawn from New Mexico
The introduction of Baldwin, specifically his relationship with his own father is not only historic in nature, but specifically relevant to your own relationship with your father as detailed in this piece. As human beings we tend to think in black-and-white, either or and the truth is life is a combination platter; people aren’t good or evil. We are a combination of so many different factors for example, the relationship with your dad, you stated he could affect your state with one glance. I found your writing to be somewhat reminiscent of Baldwins, the honest confrontation of your feelings, thoughts, and behavior regarding your relationship with your father. As Jung stated to know our shadow self is instrumental to becoming a unified, self what you ignore persists don’t resist.
Beautiful tribute to your father, Eddie.
What a lovely tribute, Eddie. I am very thankful that your parents gifted the world in creating you!💕
Wow, indeed. Incredible tribute. I think you have to live awhile and absorb a few of life’s blows to put your relationship with your parent’s in proper perspective. At 71 years, I am still struggling with that.
Unlike Eddie’s father—- my dad did leave— when I was around 5-6. So for my entire life, he was either a punchline or a brooding shadow in the corner, unconcerned with our poverty and struggles.
But that made my own commitment to fatherhood very important to me. I have tried to be there and pour what I could into my son and daughter. I am very proud of the people and parents they have become.
I often try to put myself in my father’s shoes: uneducated, veteran, recent traveler in the Great Migration north to Detroit from rural Alabama, transfixed by the big city and its charms? He is gone now, of course. Among my greatest regrets is that I never chose to engage him seriously, to understand our circumstances from his perspective. I am not sure how much it would have mattered. But I now at least, can respect and thank him for having the courage to gather up his fledgling family and take that train to Detroit. And, in retrospect, perhaps it was a type of love and wisdom, that he left us, rather than stay and wound us.
Just some powerful writing. Thanks for sharing.
Beautiful, touching, and vulnerable.
Your father's quiet struggle to keep his family afloat resonates across ages, races, and continents.
Love is demonstrated in many ways...
#Empathy
Beautiful.
Light on a grey day. Thank you.
Very nice article. Your father reminds me of my dad. I appreciate your conveying how his love was shown. I don't recall my father saying he loved me. His life was tough because of this world. He stayed as the head of our household (along with our mother), no matter how bad the relentless hardship of racism got. For me at the age of 69, I do know my parents loved us. So I say thank you dad and I love you.