Lessons From My Fathers Sample (AA Series Pt 2)

He wasn’t my father’s first child, but I’m sure today we might consider him his first son. His name was Malik, and in many ways, he was my first big brother. While my big sister Alicia had to grow up splitting time, Malik was with him 24/7. From the time he could fit into my father’s pocket, to his tag-along terrible 2’s and 3’s, to his untimely death. I’ll get to that dreadful day, but first I’d like to talk about my brother from another mother.

Malik always was more like Watts than me. He was incredibly quick and athletic. He possessed the kind of ingenuity that could be both creative or crafty. He had an almost intuitive street-sense and smarts about him at all times. Perhaps most like Pops, he had an aggressive disposition that comes with being of smaller stature and seemed to always carry a boulder-sized chip on his shoulders. In hindsight, it’s easy for me to see how such traits contributed as much to Malik continually being in trouble as it did to my father’s success. For my dad, that mellowed with age and experience. Malik unfortunately never got that chance to grow.

I remember that day in May of 2004 as if it were yesterday. It was my last day of First grade and my baby sister’s last day of Kindergarten. The night before my mom had given me back my Gameboy and PlayStation 2; she even secretly made arrangements for my best friend “Nola” to come over from the far Westside. The teachers and administrators at Robert Lee Frost IPS 106 decided to end the last day with a schoolwide Walk/Run for charity. It seemed like a pleasant way to end the previous day. The weather was gorgeous. Sunny with a calm breeze that kept the heat in check. We were all giddy after our charitable actions and glad that we had aced another year of school. It was supposed to be a celebratory day.

It seems fate had seen it differently. Malik had loved our old neighbor, we all did. But her son had seen fit to put her in a home and moved in with his kids shortly after. Malik and the neighbor boy had been at it from the start. I was always taken back by their drama. Malik was a mere fraction of his size on a good day. That particular day while we were all away, their words escalated into actions. I never did get the full story.

It quickly became a bad day. I remember my uncle getting his own severe injury attempting to break them up. Him and my dad rushing Malik to the hospital with large wounds throughout his torso. The neighbor was doing the same with bloodied bruises and scars on his boy’s face and a significant injury to his neck. We all waited through the night for updates in panicked prayer. I remember praying to God, “Save them both, but if only one Lord, please choose my big brother.” I believe they both survived the blood loss, but Malik died on the operating table. I remember questioning God’s sense of justice. It was the first time I ever witnessed my father cry. It was my first encounter with demons on my back demanding revenge. The neighbor boy died post-op due to infection from his wounds. However, for some reason, I never felt relieved from this seemingly divine retribution. At the tender age of 8, I realized I was wrong. All life is equally precious.

Fast-forward to 2018. Our culture often encourages and occasionally praises, the pursuit of animalistic characteristics in our artificial habitats. While I’ve been blessed to have many more big brothers and comrades come into my life, Malik was there first, and the second that went. How would it change the story if I told you they were both black?... How much would your perspective warp if I told you while I’ve yet to lie, both Malik and the “neighbor boy” were actually a Miniature Pincher and a German Shepherd.

Regardless of what this revelation did in your opinion of this short story, to this day it still feels as if he left too soon. Regrettably, I’ve watched way too many humans follow a similar fate. I’m sure millions of people can relate to that pain. For reasons beyond our comprehension they’re gone, and we’re still here. We live with the backdrop of sociocultural and political differences like the “All Lives Matter” vs. “Black Lives Matter” debate beginning to manifest itself as Neo-Nazis doubling down on paramilitary training for an “impending race war”--apparently the masses have yet to hear about--and emboldened reactions from groups like Antifa. I pray for a near-future where we embrace our collective humanity and put an end to this toxic escalation. For all those that died, let us seek peace.

To my people and the vast majority of people that only wish to live their lives; who hope and work daily so that their children might have a brighter future where they can do the same, I’d like to paraphrase the words of Claude McKay.

If we must die, let it not be like dogs

Hunting and penning others in inglorious spots.

While round us bark the mad hiding in fogs

Making their mock at our divided lot.

If we must die, O let us nobly die

So that our precious blood may not be shed

In vain; then even the damned we defy

Might be constrained to honor us through life!

O, kinsmen! We must meet our familiar foe!

They’re far outnumbered so let us be brave,

And for their countless blows make them sew

Whatever awaits before and beyond the grave!

Still, human, we’ll face the barbarous, cowardly pack,

Stressed through a wall, half-dying, but fighting back!