I'm having a very different summer than I thought I'd be having. I had a plan of writing, reading, podcast listening, sun soaking, and chillin' with my dad. My dad died on Tuesday, June 26th after a long year of dealing with Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis. Since that day, I've found it very challenging to write anything and haven't until today. Today my dad would have been 77 years old (August 8th, 1941). When we first found out he was sick, I called our routine "our new normal". Over the past few weeks, I've had a chance to reflect on a lot of things in the days and weeks since that terrible Tuesday. One of the things I will miss for sure will be our Fridays. What I claimed was our "new normal" was really an old normal.
Growing up, it seemed like being a person of Caribbean descent always started on a Friday. I mean, for real, this is the Great White North. Ottawa back in the day was really a place where all the black people did know each other and you could go the week and see none of them. Come Friday though, BOOM! Weekend West Indians come alive. The world got blacker, spicer, filled with characters and was very different than any of the white kids I went to school with. As a "First Generationer", weekends were my connection to Caribbean culture. The connection to a community was essential. A Friday would sometimes start with coming home from school to find my father in the kitchen getting ready "fi de limin'" to start. Press cooker ready for 'cookup' rice, cutters for the drinkers and of course, drinks. The fellas would begin showing up after 6pm and depending, you might wake up Saturday and find them still there. It drove my mother crazy. By the time I was a teenager, I was sometimes called into duty as the designated driver. No matter what, I observed quietly like an obedient Caribbean child, seen and not heard, The whole time plotting for my turn to be part of the lime one day.
Life can be funny when it's true. The things that get in the way and pull us in different directions can cloud how we see childhood once we become adults. The relationship between an adult child and a parent can be complicated. Or, the past can just be what it is....in the past. Easier written and said for sure.
When I was coaching, Fridays changed and sometimes included my dad jumping in the van with the basketball team to hit the road. The trip he was most likely to come on was when we went to Washington DC for the Charlie Webber Tournament. Big Berbice Reunion Fete that weekend in the DVM and he would take advantage, connecting with his sister, some old school chums and friends from back home.
Nothing can beat two very special trips to DC. In 2009, my dad, my sister and I were part of a group of Ottawans who drove to DC for Obama's first Inauguration. One of the things I've been thinking about since he died is that he lived long enough to see a black man be President of the United States and we were there together to see it.
We were both interviewed that day and thanks to my friends at CBC Radio, here's the clip of his interview about the impact of that moment on his life.
and what it felt like after the first 100 days....
I didn't listen to this again until today and I got goosebumps hearing my father's voice. I heard him speak that he still had more to give in the time he had left. In doing so, he returned to the Guyanese community and the association he helped start so many years ago. So leading up to 50th anniversary of Guyana's independence in 2016, he came full circle, back to the grassroots. And that meant that I was involved too.
The planning included him returning to Guyana for the official celebration. I was so happy he was able to go. It would be his last trip to Guyana. I still remember my sister and I helping him pack. I can hear my sister telling him, "No, you're not taking that shirt. It screams you don't have daughters." Or, "Dad, socks? What do you need socks for? It's about to be a bazillion degrees." Even though we took great measures, he still managed to sneak the items into his suitcase.
Here he is, wearing everything we took out of the suitcase SMH! I kept the shirt! It will always remind me of him.
He also got to see the Kaieteur Falls, He was able to hike to the different viewing points. It's a trip I'd do that summer. I stood in this same spot and sent him my picture. He would lime with his brother and they visited their childhood home. Three amazing weeks at a great time to be nostalgic about growing up in Guyana. After my trip, our Friday's included the stories of my adventures in Guyana, places I now know, joke about trying to finish the wash basin-sized bowl of Germans soup, the characters of my uncle's law office, and every nature of Guyanese foolishness. That trip and hanging out with my uncle gave me a different understanding of my father. It helped me overstand a lot of things that made these past two years memorable.
He turned 75 that summer and the same community that would be so helpful to me over the last year, helped pull off a surprise birthday party. I told him that I was going to be in Guyana still but my sister and I rolled up just in time for the surprise.
We presented him with this picture, the first time all of his grandchildren were together.
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| Marissa, my brother Steven, Marc-Anthony Thompson, Rachel Thompson, my sister Angela, and Marcus |
Our second important trip to DC was for the 150th Homecoming at Howard University, October 2017. We hit the road so we could spend Friday at the
National Museum of African American History and Culture. Did we have a plan? Nope. Did we have tickets? Nope. What is the sense in being a sexy black man and not use it? So, after waiting outside for an hour and a half, I sent my dad to sweet talk the older lady at the security checkpoint. Considering I was about to weaponise some tears to get in, pimping my pops didn't seem too bad. Whips, Waps Boom! We were in. We each picked a section and then decided together for a third. If I tell the truth, there is only one thing I wanted to do that day. Anything else was gravy. My dad and I have always been big fans of track and field. I ran. He ran. I feel in love with the Olympics after going to 1976 Montreal games with him. This was a proud moment that could only be topped by standing with John Carlos or Tommie Smith or Peter Newman themselves.
Like many of the days since June 26th, my head gets it. It's my heart that needs some more time. I've cried with laughter. I've cried with tears. I've sat aimlessly. I've laughed hilariously. I've had nightmares. While watching Avengers: Infinity Wars, the quote I tweeted was "We all think that at first. We are all wrong." Prepared that is. Many of us know loss. Fridays don't change. They merely transform. Leaving work on a Friday and heading over to his place I will miss for sure. I will miss our Friday routine, new and old. I will miss him. I miss this guy. My simple and complicated pops is still the spirit from which I lime, one Friday at a time.
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Online Guestbook for Randolph "Archie" Coddett
