I’ll Fly Away

I decided this year to make some effort to acknowledge Father’s Day, a holiday that quite frankly, seems made-up to me. But I’ll own it because I think occasions are important and this is the first without my Dad.

My grief has not been what I imagined it would be. I’ve not been incapacitated. I’m not despondent or lost. I’ve not been overly depressed. I don’t weep at the slightest mention of him. Rather, my mourning has been measured, intentional and mostly rational. A pretty close reflection of him, I guess.

I ask myself why I’ve reacted the way I have. I wonder if I should be more….sad, broken, inconsolable?

My Dad was one of my heroes. He was the strongest man I ever knew and he could do anything, it seemed. He wasn’t afraid to stick up for Black folks during the Civil Rights era and got fired for it. He rarely held his opinions to himself. Dad loved to bird hunt and was a great shot. He was genuinely fascinated by God’s creation and devoted his life to figuring out the parts that he could.

We had some fundamental differences. Young adulthood was not easy for me, trying to get out from under his constant “no, we can’d do that” refrain. I am certainly not a “no” kind of person. The word, for me, has become a challeng, not an answer. He is responsible for this.

“No, you can’t go out of state to college.” I got accepted and found a way to pay for it.

“No, you can’t go on that travel camping trip out West.” I mowed lawns, I babysat. I made it happen.

“No, you can’t be happy and be gay.” Bullshit, watch me.

I think he came around after he and I struggled with me coming out. I know for a fact that he ended up deeply respecting me for living my life true to myself. There’s not much more a child can ask for.

Mostly, Tom Brown, I miss you. I miss your integrity. I miss calling you and hearing the excitement in your voice when I told you what I was up to. I miss your terrible, corny jokes. I miss how excited you got when we went crabbing at the beach. I miss the smell of your St. John’s Bay rum aftershave. I miss that big, guffah laugh (mostly at those same jokes). And I miss the quiet moments when you and Mother held hands.

I love you, Dad.

P.S. We found a string quartet to play “I”ll Flay Away” at your funeral, smack dab in the center of the Cathedral, in front of the Dean and everyone. You indeed had the last laugh.