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.
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