Dat's Perry's Kid

The other day I was over at Big Mamma's helping my uncle move some things from the basement when he let me know that my pops was just down the block working on the renovation of some old church. At first I didn't give it too much thought...I was in a hurry to get the days work done so I could get home and grab a shower before I went out to enjoy such a nice, early spring Chicago night. But then as time went on the thought of not at least stopping by to see what was up began to gnaw at me, so, almost to prove to myself that it wasn’t such a big deal I made the decision to just stick my head in and see what was up before I headed along. When I got to the end of the block there was my pops chillin’ on the pulpit stage talking and laughing…one thing you can say about my dad is that he never has had a shortage of friends. His personality draws in all kinds of crowds, his laugh is infectious, and his charm warms over many hostilities. He didn’t see me at first, I think I was walking directly in the sunlight and his eyes had a hard time adjusting, I would have needed a second myself but his large frame is unmistakable…I supposed to him I looked like any other construction/painter that had been walking in and out of the church all day, especially with me in my grubs and all. As I began to move closer, he noticed that young man walking toward him was his first born and uttered out the words with a little bit of surprise and a bright smile; “hey P.D.” (to my family I’m called by my initials…this man before me has top billing). “What’s up dad…I was just over grandma’s and thought I’d stop by before I headed home”. Now, there were about two or three guys standing with him that he introduced me to and another started walking toward us and took a look at me and then my dad, “Perry, is this your kid?” and all the other guys, as if on cue uttered a “yep, DAT‘S PERRY“S KID!” And my dad affirmed it with his heavy hand on my shoulder and smile on his face, “yep this is my first born P.D…” Now, I have to mention how weird it is to be in a social setting outside of family functions and being acknowledged as a Jr. I mean for a time I cherished that name…I know it may sound silly, but when I was younger and wanted desperately for my father to be the hero in my life that every father should, I clung to it as a special sence of belonging. Not only was I his kid, but a special kid that was destined to grow as strong and powerful as he, to be as cool as I thought he was when I was a young boy. I won’t get into it too much, but as maturity and the years of hard learning set in, my name became a curse, a dead weight that I didn’t want to be associated with, the more hurt and pain that came over the years the harder it became for me to look in the mirror and not want see any part of him in me. The reckless, mean son-of-a…I didn’t want to be destined to become. For a time I even asked my friends to call me by my middle name, which was different than his because thankfully mama hated his. But there on those unfinished church steps leading to the pulpit the good slowly began to creep in. The men were talking about how great of a job my ol' man was doing. And he, with a proud look on his face was taking me around and showing me his handiwork, which, without any bias was impressive. He would even ask me what I thought…me, as if HE ACTUALLY CARED what I thought. It was like that one time when I was five and he took me to work with him when he was a high school security guard. I got so much attention because my dad was very liked and respected as the big enforcer…it impressed me to see the jocks and cute girls huddle around him. They would all come running and saying, “DAT’S PERRY’S KID?” And he would rub my head affectionately and tell them all with pride that “yea, dis my bad lil’ rock head boy.” Being 27, and in that kind of moment felt strange…I was proud of my dad, all these men around him saying such nice things about him, seeing his God-given gifts on display. Well, I didn’t much mind being called "P.D." because for a second I had my hero back…for one boyish second…
But that was all it was, because as I was wondering around taking it all in I could boastfully hear him talk to his friends/co-workers about how much money people paid him for his services. How well he did when he went down to Texas. In the back of my head I started thinking about mama. About how all through those years she struggled to make ends meet raising two rough housing boys, praying that God would send good and honest men along to teach them important things that she didn't understand so their fathers path could be diverted…all the while listening to his spin about the “hard times” he was going through. Texas, was a place he moved to with his then wife and their two kids (my youngest two brothers) just after my grandfather died when I was about 16. He had said the “pain of losing his father was too hard on him”, and promptly left my little brother and I. Yea, those bad memories came back to me in a hurry…and bitterness fluttered a bit in my heart…because see pops puts on a great show but when it comes down to it there just aint nothin’ there. So, I decided it was time to head out. I really didn’t want to get mad…after all, I’m a 27 year old man now…I’ve lived a lot of years knowing what I know. I guess, if I were to be honest, it was a little painful to have let myself peek down the hallway and still see that little kid staring out the window hoping, praying, believing…
“Dad, I gotta’ go…nice job on the place”
“Thanks son. I’ll catch up with you later.”

Today, Athena (my daughter) and I went to the Cubs game with some friends. And as we bumped into a few people I hadn’t seen in a while, they would all look at her and then at me and then back to her. Luvbug carried a wide grin upon her face covered over from her battle with cotton candy and mustard from the hot dogs. As she looked up at me, I ruffled through her hair with pride at my little God-given beauty. Before I had the chance to introduce her one of my buds spoke up...
“DAT’S PERRY’S KID:)!”