A Diary of A Single Man: A Father’s Day After Thought

When you’ve fathered children and not one has reached out to say, “Happy Father’s Day”, dad.

The crime behind the pain, the shame and remorse.

A Diary of A Single Man: A Father’s Day After Thought

When you’ve paid over $200,000 in child support and have little to nothing to show from it.

A Dad with a preferred lowercase “d” has been placed inside a bottle and put out of sight on a dusty shelf. The unimaginable and excruciating pain that’s felt after a unharmonic relationship has failed, crashed and burned. Divorce equates to death of a family. A division with a capital “D” which is swiftly filed and enforced as soon as one disobey the other person’s request. Another one sadly bites the dust. How quick one is to throw up both hands for financial gain. Another fatherless home in search of and in need of a replacement. As the sunset fades to black, a new reality sets in and the process begins of picking up the scattered pieces shattered across the living room and kitchen floor. Another cold dinner plate thrown against a freshly painted wall. The efforts we make, and the different steps we’re forced to take before the white towel is thrown inside the ring. After it’s all said and done we continue to try one more time, before our final call.

How the menu is never filling and the traditional relationship lasting for 50+ years finds its resting place in the graveyard next to a tombstone labeled, “retirement plan”.

Here behind this thorny rimmed gate lie’s the stagnant and dormant abyss.  There’s no story here pointing the finger, placing the blame onto someone else or looking for a sympathy handout offering.  You will not find this test subject cursing others for his short comings in life. Nor will you find a complaint number, filed. No unresolved issues about not getting the big piece of chicken, an oversize sweater or a cheap tie received. There isn’t an accusation found, just an mere candid observation rarely televised by your most popular local network stations.

One argument and one paycheck from being homeless… I shrink, and separate myself from others so I can think. One paycheck for three households serve a disastrous outcome on catastrophic portions. Let’s do the math, her cut, my relocation to a hole in the wall and should I dare to decide to date. Well, let’s just forget about the thought. I cram to relate. Where will the money come from to do so? I Overstand why, some men lie. They lie because they fear the other person will make a final decision for the both of them. How the closing of the candy shop leads to the infamous search for a new lollipop.  To discover how it all translates. The new woman who tries to be in my life will eventually pop the question with an unpleasant patina aftertaste to match. Do I have a job? Do I have any children and do I take care of them? What she’s really asking is, “How much money is not coming into her household.” Why do women ask about a mans children? Do you plan to help me with them? Is it that important to know what’s left after 17%? Shame on you if you do.

A court order has stripped me from being head of household which is something I can’t control. I’m a man made to become a mouse. For a rat with one hole is a poor rat. 

Child support has become the new welfare. A second full-time job becomes necessary. Now I wear the proverbial pink skirt. Call me by my new name; “A Bitch” minus the pumps. 

A Diary of A Single Man: A Father’s Day After Thought

How a beautiful flower blossoms in a dark room without any light. From the mixture of organic remains to the blacker the blueberry to the very acid is the soil. Who’s in control? To the abstract principle of territory of a particular nation. The foundation remains black in origin. Dark matter always quite the noise and silence the chatter. Some people have the nerve to say, “Why does it matter?” 

 Beloved, life is everlasting; continuous. You can see it if you know how. You can even hold it in your hands. It’s warm to the touch and it gives off light. You’ll discover it has a little weight to it, if you hold it right.  All light surrounds itself around darkness. You are a vessel of sound in the mist of darkness; a shadow which reflects a house of light and insight.

Darkness is a closed door, a lingering illness filled with suffering. It’s damp and lonely. It’s also a cold unforgiving, miserable wind which forever twist and bends.

A Diary of A Single Man: A Father’s Day After Thought

How two people can come to together

 Balancing The Scales:

 When one works two full time jobs to keep his head above running water while holding his breath with a punctured lung, during a raging storm.

The domino effect and the overall countless total which lies ahead.

From the lives which are lost, to the healing during and thereafter the critical, recovery mission to the part we all partake.

The Paragon Effect:

Behold the awesome weight and the responsibility of a person who’s regarded to be a perfect example of a particular quality of substance. 

A Diary of A Single Man: A Father’s Day After Thought

The feeling of being boxed in and trapped to a finite existence.

How life tapers off at the core. 

A Diary of A Single Man: A Father’s Day After Thought

He was a rube of a man who lived in a six story flat which was well below the quality of substandard. Faint voices in the dark can be heard casually talking in the background.  Meanwhile, the jingle jangling sound of keys hitting against each other echo throughout the 4th floor hallway by an oversize pest control serviceman whom was strutting his stuff and last seen yesterday with a toothbrush tucked in between his cheek and tongue, while he willy nilly down a flight of stairs not too swiftly but in a jiffy, rhyming to a beat, eating in volume his penchant of sweet & spicy 🌶  chicken 🍗 wings with his partner Billy, a promising neophyte who shimmered in a stink of sweat. It was reported he had tripped and missed the last three steps falling flat on his face breaking his nose and chipping a tooth. That must’ve left a terrible sting. As many would say, black don’t crack until you smoke it. People had mentioned seeing him last week ambling stumbling through the streets, talking strangely to himself and acting awkward in an bumbling manner.  

Over time the texture of a picture on the wall in the hallway became grainy and unclear. A woman screams from a distance. The volume of the static from the television became an unbearable symphony, played off key. Sunny days of yesterday are now shades of grey on a very foggy day. Death has its own visceral distinctive zoo like  fragrance, something one can’t easily wash off. Christmas and birthdays aren’t like they use to be. A big beautiful ice cream cake with candles melting as unwrapped gifts are found under a swinging body hanging from a steel pipe on the wall. Like a child plucked from a grim foster home the image of it all reflected complete hopelessness. The sight of it would make your skin prickle in horror. Initially, it was difficult to determine the age of the victim. As his stiff body swung from left to right it was obvious he didn’t have the courage to fight his demons. Nonetheless, his stress is now relieved; chest is no longer inflamed and tight. Strangely enough, his entire body was covered with tenterhooks. The loop-knot tethered around his neck indicated there were restrictions to his struggle. The overwhelming weight of the body made his neck and head spin like a wheel on a carousel. It eventually popped off causing blood to ooze on the floor and splatter on the walls, then splatter on the cake and gifts below once his body hit the floor. Filthy rodents who snack, on their freshly delivered assorted edible arrangements, sniff then scurry while other varmints dash and scamper in the dark. meanwhile, the neighbors cat eyes sparkle in the night has its feast on what was left of his decomposed body. 

What a flame means to a pot of water which evaporates, I can see his spirit levitate and sail away. I was forced to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming or experiencing the present. The sight of it all made my entire body cringe because it seemed like an awful waste of good cake. Maybe he could’ve exchanged the gifts if he didn’t like them. Why do people judge and meddle into others affairs? Who knows what goes through a person’s mind on the day they decide to end it all? Perhaps, they felt too old to continue to play a role in this kind of caper. He simply became another lonely soul of a passenger desperately seeking to get off at the next stop from life instead of overcoming obstacles set before him instead of returning to the savage life he once lived. 

A peculiar discovery was found in the right inside pocket of his tailored made sports coat, a feather of a vintage quill pen encased inside a glass case for safe keeping. Before the auction it was rumored to sell at 2.5 million. Investors say, it’s a priceless time in history piece and will go for more now the owner is deceased. I wonder if his children will resurface and claim what they think belong them. I ponder more about the cold hearted greedy people who didn’t call nor came around when he was alive. Who’s to know the things we collect would later accumulate value. Who’s to know he didn’t want to face the clear snippets of truth of knowing you’re only worth something when you’re dead.

Glorious hymns echo in the chamber. Memorable songs heard recited in the background. Members of his family organized and arranged a closed casket funeral, paying homage to a dearly loved one who was sadly forgotten. There, it was mentioned and unfurled he once possessed a unique force of character with a level of determination to be modeled. His mannerism complimented his style, and nerve to match. His moxie best defined his overall swag.

Revelations

There’s a book out there created to paint the illusion of a particular historical story. Its the greatest story ever told, a guide which attracts the ignorant and the sick at heart like a magnet. Does anyone know the title of this book?

It’s a scripture used to control sheep; the weak. It’s a manual a whole person doesn’t need, at all.

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A Diary of A Single Man: A Father’s Day After Thought

–

Harlem, 

 

Heaven is at the foot of Mother…

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