I Am Who I Am (Memoir)

Two of the memories I have left of my dad are of him blind with rage. I think I’ll never forget them because they told me more about life than just the goofy good times and laughing uncontrollably together. One of these memories involves two other people who it feels like devoted years of their lives to solely take care of me and my dad. My grandmother and Uncle Harvey.

My grandmother was my heart. People tell me all the time that I’m a Mama’s Boy, but many of them never got to see the love I had for my grandmother. I loved my grandmother so much that I called her “Mama,” and preferred her over any woman or snackless kid on the playground. Mama had everything I needed. And Uncle Harvey was my bonus. He was a family friend that my dad and Mama always had around them. I was never sure if he was a friend of Mama’s, a random guy who just never went away, or if he was even my actual uncle. But, he was my best friend. We’d often go around Mama’s neighborhood talking to people or just each other, and he would always keep me laughing and safe. With so much love in the room, it’s still surprising that this was the time I first saw my dad become fierce.

I was at Mama’s house for hours with her and Uncle Harvey. By nighttime, my dad stepped in loud and excited to see me. I didn’t move at all yet because I knew his mother was getting a big kiss first, but I respected it because I would do the same. He was the original Mama’s Boy. She was his heart and he would do anything for her. Their bond was admirable. My dad always had the biggest and whitest smile in the world. A smile that made everyone else smile too. It was also a smile that would make you believe he was incapable of being serious.

Now, Uncle Harvey was a jokester like my dad. It was the reason why we all ignored some of his flaws. But, one that was hard to ignore was his love for alcohol. And his drink was not beer or even the commonly accepted wine. This man routinely drank Taaka vodka like it was kool-aid. Everyone knew. He knew he couldn’t hide it, so he wore it like a badge of honor. It was so infused in his scent that to this day whenever I smell vodka at a party, I think of him. Amazingly, even with the drinking, he was still an exceptional babysitter.

Like usual around this time, Uncle Harvey was at his peak wasted of the day and this meant he believed he was the funniest man in the world. He said to my dad, “Hey! Look at you! You finally made it!” His arm wrapped tightly around me as we sat together. He started to hug me close and talk even louder. “He been with me so long, I think I’mma be his daddy now! What you think Lil’ Alex, I’m yo daddy now?” My dad was a tall and pretty slim built man, but in that moment he showed strength I’d never expect from him. He gestured me to come off the couch to him with a very straight face, and I could hear Mama saying, “Now Alex you calm down.” She clearly saw something from her son that I wasn’t experienced enough to notice yet because he looked calm to me. My dad walked over to the front of the couch, looked down at Uncle Harvey, and lifted the entire couch in the air until it flipped with him sitting on it. I’m six years old, so to me it looks like the couch touches the ceiling and perfectly flips three times in the air. And as I watch the couch fly and turn like an astronaut in space, I have time to admire the impressive height it reached. Then, I stare at my dad’s face. He was so angry that his eyes began to water. It was like he was immediately sorry after he made such a violent choice, but it was already too late and he wasn’t going to back down. Uncle Harvey finally landed on the ground with just his feet dangling from the now tipped over couch. My dad looked at his mother. Remorsefully we both said “Bye Mama,” and then we walked out of the house together. My grandmother died later this year in the arms of my dad and right in front of me, in this same living room. In the years we shared, this night was the only time I saw her not smile as I walked out the door.

To be honest, I did not see my dad cry or frown when we got in the car. We didn’t even talk about what happened. I just looked at him the whole ride like he was Superman, and maybe he wanted to keep that image of himself in my brain.

The second time I saw this same rage was months later when my dad’s girlfriend rushed out of his bedroom. She told him that she was leaving. He cursed, she screamed, and they fought right in front of me. Again, I was on a couch. I can’t fully remember if he actually hit her or she hit him, but the words they were saying to each other were not the things my mom would want me to repeat when I got home.

This girlfriend of my dad was the only woman I actually saw him with besides my mom. She was beautiful. I had a big time crush on her, and with the confidence that my dad instilled in me I believed that I could make her my girlfriend one day. Everyone treated me like I was a precious treasure when my dad was around. It partly felt like a show to impress him, but it never felt that way with her. I could tell that she truly cared about me, and wanted me to know that I was special.

But, today I forgot a very important unsaid rule. If it ever came to picking sides, my dad needs to always be who I choose. No. Matter. What. Over and over she kept screaming about leaving, and I didn’t want her to go or be angry. So, without thinking. When she snatched her keys off the table I stood up and yelled out, “I want to come with you too!” In this moment, I could feel the whole house pause. Everything felt silent. My dad stared at me with eyes that were terrifying and also full of sadness. I could see his heart breaking in half in front of me, and him quickly snapping out of his anger like I smacked him in the face. She eventually stormed out of the house. I made the smart decision and didn’t follow the first love of my life out the door. Again, me and my dad didn’t discuss this moment. But, I wish I could ask him what that moment meant to him. Even if he told me he was disappointed in me.

As I break these moments of my dad down now, I see some similarities. Both involved his son. The child who literally shared his name. It also involved challenging his character. And most importantly, him losing control. As I break these moments down even more, I see these are my biggest fears. Having a child and losing them. Someone challenging my character. And most intensely, losing control. In relationships and in parenting, no matter how hard you try, you will ultimately be faced with a moment when control is no longer yours. The thing or person you love most will decide on their own what’s best for them, and you will realize that there’s little you can do about it. Many times this leads to abuse, prison, and even death. I didn’t notice until later in life that this is partly why I was so afraid to be in serious friendships and relationships with women.

When my dad died, I was seven years old. The man with the biggest and whitest smile in the world and smile that I thought made everyone else smile too was killed in a home invasion. Immediately after his death I began to see my whole world change. My dad was just Superman to me. To everyone else around him, he was a God. His wake was full of gangstas. Some of the scariest looking dudes I have ever seen. And thugs definitely cry. One of them was crying so bad that when he kneeled down to hug me, his eyes were blood red and puffy. He said in a deep cracking voice, “We going to find who did this, man. We got to! We got to.” I genuinely felt sorry for whoever he’d find. The other thing I noticed at his wake was the women. There were so many women that loved my dad. Women I’d never seen before. I couldn’t make sense of it. But, the first love of my life was there. And that made sense. She was pregnant with my dad’s baby. He never got to meet her, but they did get to have a wonderful baby shower before he passed. My dad looked like a big kid excited to finally open the gifts on his birthday. I was excited to have a new sister.

After his wake, people began to say things around me they wouldn’t say when he was alive. I remember my cousin who idolized my dad asking me, “What you going to do?” I didn’t know how to respond. “You have to be like yo daddy now! You Lil’ Diesel!” People called my dad “Diesel” sometimes, but I never knew where the name came from. I was so clueless about what a “diesel” was or meant that when I left my dad’s wake, I remember seeing “DIESEL” huge on a gas station sign. I began thinking, “WOW. My dad is so dope even the gas stations are putting his name up!” It makes sense now why he had a giant ring the shape of a truck that fit across his whole pinky finger. But I just stared at my cousin confused. “Your dad was the biggest pimp in the world!” I was lost. I definitely knew what a pimp was. “And now you gotta do it and be strong cause you can be next!” I don’t know if he meant next in line of some pimp legacy or the next person to be killed, but I didn’t like either option.

Paranoia set in deep.

I watched while my auntie and drunk Uncle Harvey cried and screamed at each other, while Uncle Harvey confessed that he was drunk on the night my dad was killed. The people who came to kill my dad pulled up and asked him if my dad was inside his house, and Uncle Harvey regrettably told them he was. My best friend.

Paranoia set even deeper.

I was losing control of what was happening around me. And I did not like it at all. The few people I could trust were dwindling away. All I had left to trust was my mom, and the first love of my life. I prayed that they were still who they said they were. Or were they hiding something too…