My Father's Son...Pt. 2

As promised...

Pt. II

So I spent most of my socially-formative years without any real male influence in my life. I had my liming pardners, Kory and my uncles. I finished Fatima, worked for a bit and then went to Morehouse. But I realized a funny thing growing up. A lot of my tastes just didn’t mesh with my peers. I would quicker read a book, than play sports. And all the men in my family are athletically inclined. I mean, I have some natural talent when it comes to sports, but they never really interested me beyond watching on TV. I would listen to dancehall and rap, but I loved jazz, soul and classical. And I didn’t get it from mom, cuz she would quicker listen to talk radio in the car, than music stations. And we didn’t have many old records lying about. I liked visual arts, both classical and modern. And this was in secondary school. In forms 2 and 3. Which frigging 13 year old did you know listened to Beethoven and Nina Simone? I could be both out-going and withdrawn, often in a matter of hours. Then it really started getting weird.

My first real girlfriend and my mom had a special friendship. She would run to my mom for advice before she went to her mom, or even her older sister. Even after we broke up and I moved to Atlanta, she would be at my house on weekends for hours, just talking to my mother. Anyway, I came back home one Christmas, and we got into a huge fight. And true to form, rather than deal with the issue to the end, I shut down and went into my infamous “lock-off” mode. And, true to form, she went running to my mother. So, I’m overhearing their conversation, and in the middle of it, I hear my mom say:

“Child, his father is the exact same way. He got it from him.”

Wha???? Excuse me????

(Let me explain my “lock-off” mode. Other people’s “lock-off” mode entails ignoring you so that you know you may or may not know you are being ignored. Not here. I’m special. I will talk to you and address you. But that’s it. And if I think you are pushing it, I will hit you a “you still talking, dread?” Yea, I’m special like that.)

Oh yea, and I will go into my own little world where no-one, especially you, exists. Think of it as a targeted media blackout. Only now, I was finding out that it wasn’t my little quirk. I had a predecessor. And that predecessor was the one person on planet Earth who I wanted to have nothing common with. Needless to say, I was pissed. After my girlfriend left, I blew my lid at my mother. I ranted and raved about her talking to my girlfriend behind my back. I continued for a good 10 mins, and then she got the lock-off for the rest of the week. I was livid. But I wasn’t mad her. I was mad/scared of the fact that I might share more in common with my dad than just looks, tone of voice, or a possible blood type. I mean was it true? Did I share more in common with my dad that just my “mother’s milk” cheeks? It’s not like he had been around, so that I picked up his traits. But, what if it was true?