Hello #13...More Than Skin

The sequence of current events in America seemed to have thrown me off for a bit.  From the stories of police brutality, the massacre at the Church in South Carolina, to America’s constant immigration issues, I almost considered nixing the blog altogether.  I asked myself,” What am I doing this for?”  I questioned whether basing a whole business concept of everyone having skin and needing to take care of it with the optimism of people taking a moment to consider the vast beauty of the human race to be crazy.  The Fatherhood campaign I was so enthused about became blurry.  All of the sudden I wanted to stop and sit in a room with the curtains closed.  Ugh! I thought to myself, REALLY!?!  Writer’s block had really set in.  I had not been able to concentrate.  This morning as my husband dragged his weary body out of bed to get ready for work I felt a steady rise of determination.  I could stall no longer. 

He kissed me goodbye and headed downstairs.  His work boots were waiting.  Thinking about him as I heard the mechanics of the garage door closing I started thinking about skin; His skin in particular.  I had always loved his skin.  It was a cloak of blackness that reminded me of the night sky away from city lights.  His skin tone always seemed to baffle people.  Some thought it was a beautiful others questioned why he was so dark.  Our kids even curiously took notice upon coming to the conclusion, “Daddy, is dark chocolate.”  They seem satisfied with their conclusions as thinking about him always seems to make them smile.  They then wanted to talk about what beautiful shade of brown they were.  One says she’s milk chocolate.  Another says he is cinnamon.  Others wanted to know what kind of brown they were.  Their questions veer a different course as they were concerned with what the other shades of people in their lives were.  “Mom, what kind of chocolate is Pastor?”  “Oh she’s white chocolate”, one says in a matter-a-fact kind of way.

Thomas is comfortable with his own skin.  On one occasion I remember a rosy colored lad with freckles.  He was sheepishly peering around his mother’s legs at the checkout.  He then looked up and asked her, “Why is he so dark?”  The look on his mother’s face was priceless.  She almost looked terrified as she looked our direction.  Her face seemed to communicate, “I don’t know how to answer this,’ along with many apologies.  Thomas looked at the lady to reassure her everything was ok.  He then proceeded to explain to the little boy how everyone was made different.  The little boy started to regard his own differences.  I’ll never forget the mood of the people around us.  It was as if everyone was holding their breath.

The sound of the garage door opening causes the adrenaline to rush in our house.  Our youngest squeals with delight, “Daddy’s home!,” she chants as she opens the door grinning ear to ear.  Her hero is home and she knows she is about to fly through the air.  “Uppy, uppy, daddy!  She raises her hands up and down while following him.  His day has been exhausting.  How exhausting?  We probably will never understand.  Still, a smile of gladness appears on his face.  The five smiling faces are the period on his sentence.  Daddy is home from work.  Watching this sequence of events everyday always makes my heart swell.  It is a special glimpse into my husband’s world as a father.

  

My Dad

Father’s day is always an interesting time of year.  Remembering my Dad is bittersweet.  Our relationship was interesting to say the least but without him I would not be who I am today.  He was a man who could cause you to dream big and look beyond the stars.  He taught me to always keep a little money in my pocket, never leave the house without a sweater or a jacket, and to always wait for a man to open the door for me even if that meant standing outside or sitting in the car for a moment.  He always said, “You have to make a man come correct.  If he can’t do that, then keep on walking.”  I didn’t go on too many dates.  The ones I did go on, there were a couple of times where I waited in the car as the light bulb clicked on in my date’s head. He would almost fumble as hurried back to the car to open my door.  After something like that would happen our minds seemed to communicate.  Oh, you’re that kind of woman.  I would smile back.  Yes, I’m that kind of lady.  Thanks Dad.  

Flex!

let us not be weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.

                                                                                                        Galatians 6:9 (KJV)

Parenthood ain't for punks!  My running joke is that being a mom is the toughest job you’ll ever love.  (That’s right, the Peace Corps doesn’t have anything on motherhood.)  Sure, at the end of the day it is all worth it, but what about when the peaches and cream goes sour.  In our house, we have outspoken, strong willed, explorers who sometimes push my husband and I to the very limits.  The occasional what were we thinking enters my mind on the days like this week when Monday is gone, it’s the last week of school, and there is literally nothing left to give.  Burnout has been hovering over our shoulders for at least three weeks.  It finally decides to show itself and abruptly stomp on our egos.  There is no wind behind our capes.  (Aw, MAN!)    

Having children seems to work muscles you never knew you had.  When you don’t want to get up in the morning and you do anyway, flex!  When the kiddos are demanding waffles but cold cereal is on the table, flex!  When you fire up the family mobile and drive your kids to school amid their bickering and fighting, flex!  When you’re tired of doing what you’re doing and somehow it got done anyway, flex!  To all my parental peeps, summer has arrived, you made it!  When your see your fellow parent today, slap him or her high five and say hello!  You have officially made it to Summer Break!  When you recharge your batteries a bit the adventure begins.  (Superhero anthem begins to play)  Have a wonderful day!