With so much upheaval in the world, Alex Yarde reflects on a father’s role in teaching his children how not only how to think, but how to love instead of hate.
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“You can easily judge the character of a man (or woman) by how he/she treats those who can do nothing for him/her.” ― Johann Wolfgang -emphasis mine
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My father didn’t read Wolfgang. He was more Athlete than Scholar growing up. A Pro Cricket Player for Barbados and for the West Indies Internationally. I suspect the truth in this sentiment, and his very humble beginnings in a small fishing town, is why my father always tipped any help generously. We weren’t rich by any stretch but Wealth like all measures is relative. We vacationed every year for long stretches in Barbados, living pretty high on the hog. My Dad didn’t want his son to be a “Yankee” so he took me around everywhere. I got loads of local flavor and recall folks called him “Big John” I was of course “Little John” or “Junior” as he was formerly Alexander Yarde Sr.
Big John had great “Emotional Intelligence”. A great awareness and control of his emotions. He handled his interpersonal relationships so judiciously he could have given TED Talks about what he referred to as “Human Nature”.
My Dad always seemed to uncannily know everyone’s name, wherever we went, all over Barbados it seemed and felt comfortable everywhere. Lunching with folks from the Prime Ministers office in fancy restaurants in bustling Bridgetown to slamming dominoes with old timers and fishermen at local rum shops in the sticks, talking trash as bad as the rest.
My mother wasn’t thrilled when I came back from a day at the beach or nights carousing with my dad, but she knew I was as “safe as houses” with my Dad. After all, she knew everyone loved him, and the few that didn’t? He could take care of. He wasn’t a violent man, but you don’t grow up in Oistins not knowing how to handle yourself. Plus, he played dominoes with a senior police detective who was one of his closest friends and neighbor growing up CID Valentine who I knew as “Uncle Val”.
Dad was firmly “live and let live” he wasn’t particularly religious nor homophobic, on an island where most went to church on Sunday and you could be imprisoned for being gay (the sodomy laws are still on the books, but it would impact Tourism so it’s rarely enforced anymore) said something about his character that he and “Uncle Val” no relation, (I had fifty “uncles” who were my dads pals growing up) were best friends growing up. CID Valintine was both openly gay and a police detective and no one in thier circle seemed to see that as a contradiction at all.
Val was known as a “he/she” or “AC/DC”, not PC classifications I know, but Val was very witty and gave as good as he got. His buddies on the force and my Dad would use pretty salty talk calling each other out, joking mercilessly on whatever they could use to get a rise out of the crowd while playing endless rounds of dominoes or drinking, or both. It’s called “the Dozens” here. Black folk, and I suspect most cultures have similar insults they hurl back and forth among good friends. I remember fondly all the conversations I wasn’t supposed to hear, but these are the things that kids are most curios about. You only hurt kids keeping them in the dark.
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Anyway, back to Wolfgang. I’ve always liked that quote, because of the truth I’ve witnessed in it first hand both as a black boy in Barbados and now a black man in America. My father wasn’t big on Socrates or the Scientific Method of inquiry either. Yet, he taught me to ask the right questions, instilled a healthy distrust of authority, and to be an excellent judge of character (also, keeping my head on a swivel and cultivating a good right cross/left hook combination when needed) these were life skills black men, boys & girls as well, needed to master early, or may never get the chance to learn at all.
I never forgot those lessons nor Uncle Val, who treated me and my sister like family, let me explore the police station, drive a squad car. So what he liked men? It was against the law but it was a stupid law no one really paid attention too. CID Valentine was a decorated, respected Senior Constable. Nobody cared he was gay. So I didn’t care either. My Dad was very mater of fact about his feelings on the topic ” If Val slept with women, it still would be none of my business.”
That’s as it should be. Shouldn’t it?
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As a father myself, I must teach my kids to be Socratic and scientific in their enquires of the mind. To empower my son and daughter to first, ask the right questions, because that’s the beginning of knowledge, and second, to challenge authority, even my own. (Oh the right cross / left hook combo is in both their backpockets too) and like both my parents, I don’t hide inconvenient truths about the way things are to protect them. I’ve found sheltering children might make you feel better, but it only serves to keep them in the dark and unprepared when the inevitable know-it-all kid (who doesn’t have the facts straight) shows up to misinform the gullible in the group.
My Dad armed us with the truth of how the world works. I’m doing the same for my kids.
I’ve shared, in an age appropriate, easily digestible way, with my kids the unique challenges biracial people face on a daily basis thanks to the twin, uniquely American legacies of Dredd Scott and Jim Crow.
But I temper that fact with the knowledge of and celebrate the rich and varied cultural heritages of both sets of grandparents, the grandparents they know (my wife’s parents) and my fiercely proud Bajan parents, who they are far too young to remember. They know who CID Valentine was and in no uncertain terms that he was gay along with being witty, charming, heroic and one of my dad’s closest freinds. They both know what being gay means and how important Uncle Val was to my father and myself.
We share real talk about love, sex & human sexuality, about the unique challenges faced by the LGBTQ community both here and back home in Barbados. America has a long history of violence & injustice like The Stonewall Riots and the fate of young Brandon Tenna. Tragedies that mirror much of what Black Americans still struggle with today. We also celebrate triumphs like the SCOTUS decision that all marriages are valid in the U.S. Same sex or otherwise. Cultural heroes like Harvey Milk and Arthur Ashe who fought hatred with love, raised awareness and gave hope to those in despair. Hope gets you through when things look bleak. It’s what all oppressed peoples cherish most of all.
Hope, is like any other commodity, the less you have of it, the more valuable it becomes. Hope for a better life, not an unusual immigrant story, brought both my parents here from Barbados.
Hope makes all things possible.
Today, It’s hard for me to remain hopeful however, when I first read the news this morning about #ThePulse. Though my heart goes out to all those affected, we are still planning to celebrate #Pride2016 today with our friends and neighbors. For us, It’s the best way to honor those folks that I’m sure we’re not meaning to be heroes or revolutionaries by simply celebrating who they were, with their allies at an Orlando Nightclub.
I suspect many of histories martyrs were just ordinary people who simply wanted what all free people want. To live as they wanted, do as they pleased, love whomever they chose and more likely than not, gave others the space and respect do the same.
It’s not an unreasonable wish list is it?
We all deserve the right, if not to have our shared humanity be acknowledged or respected, at the very least to be left alone in peace?
Don’t we?
The biggest personal stand I can make against injustice is by following the example of those taken so callously last night (made simpler by easily accessible assault weapons as we watch the number of casualties rise). I’m going to simply enjoy my life and party with people I love, while celebrating with my LGTBQ friends and neighbors.
Their enemies are my enemies. I never liked bullies, and I can’t abide letting them win by putting a monkey wrench in our program today. Our revenge is to choose to live well, in spite of the haters.
My Uncle Val would have loved that.
When hate dominates our culture, Love is a revolutionary act. Happy #PRIDE day everyone, hope to see you out there!
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Photo: thinkanonymous /flickr
