To my "two dads"...

Life took an ironic twist for me during the 2011 holiday season.

Within a month's time I lost two very prominent men in my life, both of whom held the same title of "Father" but clashed in terms of overall style and execution. The man whom I clearly resemble couldn't be more different than me on the inside. There was no meaningful bond between us for reasons that will always remain a mystery, and though I am not bitter about it, that disconnect will occasionally rear its ugly head as a reminder of what could have been had circumstances been different. I'll never grasp certain truths about that relationship because, to me, fatherhood should always be about preparing a child to be the best THEM they can be rather than a mere "sample" of the original. With the man whom I am bound with biologically, there isn't a single day where I recall him caring for me simply as David because that was not paramount in our life together. Scripture tells us (1 John 4:19) that "we love because God first loved us." In other words, the blueprint of how to become "love" (and thereby build a bond) began with the one who preceded us. But what do we do if we are aware that such a bond should have existed but was never developed? And in my case, what am I to do if I later discovered that the principal builder of this bond, who demanded inordinate amounts of respect and adoration, was actually a deliberate stranger who took carefully orchestrated steps to keep me in the dark? On a day like Father's Day, where children are expected to say 'thank you' and show honor to their dads (living or deceased), how should I remember and honor someone whom I hardly knew or cared for?

The summer of 1988 (when I was 18 years old) was the worst I had ever experienced, the lone redeeming factor being that I had met my second father who became my mentor, spiritual adviser and confidant. He remained a prominent figure in my life for nearly 24 years until his passing shortly before Christmas of 2011. The bond I had missed with my biological father had been firmly established with the surrogate. Besides my husband, "Pops" was undoubtedly the most down-to-earth individual I have ever known. He exuded class and everything he did, from the way he leaned back in his chair during our numerous talks to the way he held his pipe and blew smoke into the air, was with a "Bogart-esque" elegance. Sometimes I catch myself trying to emulate his mannerisms, yet remain a poor substitute by comparison. I took his death very hard, and given the fact that I was on my way to spend the holiday with him when he died, it made his passing all the more difficult. Everything - from how I interact with others to the goals I set for myself - are all as a result of the teachings that came from him. I was headed for a life filled with stress, self-doubt and (perhaps) unfulfilled dreams had Pops not come at the right moment, and today - despite all that happened during the summer of 1988 - I'm grateful for having met him and for all the years that we shared together. The heartache of losing him will never go away, but the knowledge that he is here, inside of me, is all that I could ask for.

Some might say that I'm wrong for publicly expressing my feelings so openly, especially in regards to my biological father, but clearly I disagree. The ability to be honest about who I am is the by-product of my struggle to grow into a strong and capable human being, something that I feel dad would hope for, even if he didn't contribute to it directly. Some might wonder why would I ever consider a white man to be more of a dad to me than the one I am genetically and culturally related to, but I would say that regardless of who it is, the basic tenets of manhood never change. Being in-tune with culture does not guarantee I will eventually become a responsible, law-abiding citizen. It also does not mean I will treat my fellow man with compassion and love. While Pops was never black, he also was never negligent in the responsibility he undertook from the day we met. He never deceived me or made me feel unwanted or unloved. And he never intended me to be an extension of himself, although the desire (to a certain extent) to be a copy-cat is clearly my own doing. I'm grateful to have had someone for so long whose main interest was in helping me get to the next level so I could eventually do for myself.

So whom should I honor on this day? Should it be the man I resemble externally or the one I resemble internally? Well, I'm proud to say that it should be both, for one without the other makes me being who I am today impossible. So here goes...

To T. Lee Boyd, Jr - thank you for giving me life and for sending me to St. Ignatius College Preparatory. My alma mater gave me more than just a high school diploma; it made me aware of the gifts within me and set the stage for positive self-examination that I reap the benefits of as an adult. Had I not gone to that school at your insistence, I would truly have missed so much.

To Reverend Thomas Michael Gannon, SJ - thank you for helping me to 'stay the course', for being an exemplary role model, for taking the risk and investment necessary to help a young man who had lost his way. My heart aches everyday because I cannot tell you face-to-face that I love you, but I manifest that love through everything and everyone I come into contact with. Like you - my attempts are not always successful - but my heart remains firmly in the right place, and I have you to thank for that.

Happy Father's Day to my two dads. I love you both.

David

The Train Has Left the Station

For those who know me (and as I've alluded to in my previous posts), I have undergone some massive changes in my life as of late. Without really getting into what those 'changes' are, let's just say a simple walk up a hill quickly turned into a treacherous mountain climb. At several times during this arduous journey, I wondered whether I was doing the right thing. Something began festering within me, and after Labor Day of 2012 that struggle had finally spilled over. I had decided to execute my plans, knowing full well that some people would be hurt and probably never speak to me again. The last thing I ever want is to hurt anyone, even people who might have wronged me in the past. I also knew that my decision would affect several people's lives permanently -- again, not something that I would ever want to do under any circumstance. If I make a mistake, I would rather it be me that suffers than someone I care for, but due to the nature and depth of change I deemed necessary at this point in my life, there was no way to avoid what lay ahead. I knew several things were in the balance and a slight move in any direction would cause the entire house of cards to tumble. Despite the nagging conundrum, I took a deep breath, prayed and went forward with everything, realizing that I had only two choices: to continue down the road I was going and remain unhappy or take my life into my own hands for the betterment of my future.

Near the end of 2011, there were three significant deaths that not only occurred during the holiday season, but also within roughly four weeks of each other. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas I lost my father, T. Lee Boyd, Jr., my dog "Greta" and my godfather/longtime mentor, Rev. Thomas M. Gannon, SJ. The deaths of these three were significant and made me remember that not only is life precious, but if taken for granted, can be filled with regret and unfulfilled promise. My father's death was significant because losing a parent is a profound moment in any child's life, but in my dad's case (and according to a relative who talked to me about something he said just days before he left this world) he took all that had burdened him for years to his grave. We were estranged from one another for many years, and though I knew I could not remain in his life any longer, you still have love for your parents if you are of good character. Greta was my little girl, my angel, who had two loving daddies, a nice home and was spoiled rotten. She woke us up in the middle of the night because she knew she was about to die and didn't want to do so in front of us. She didn't make it to her destination and collapsed on our bedroom floor, her loving and vivacious spirit leaving us behind. And finally -- Father Tom; a man whom I had known since the age of 18 who literally saved my life. I was a young man who felt misunderstood at home and was exceptionally unsure of himself in every way, but through his steady hand and loving counsel, I was shaped by him into a balanced man who has gone on to do some pretty cool things. Losing him was like being shot in the chest, especially since I was a mere three days away from visiting him at his residence near Detroit. Of the three, Father Tom's death affected me the most and the agony of finding out he was gone was as hard as it gets.



Shortly thereafter, I had received my graduate degree from City College. While taking in the moment, I started to realize the importance of where I was and that I should take a long look at where I'm headed with my life. As I took time and looked deep within myself, I thought of those three individuals who had died. I thought of dad, who took his regrets with him. I thought of Greta, who lived her life with such zest. I thought of Father Tom, who was elegant and sophisticated, yet as down to earth as it came. "Pops" - as I always called him - could draw people toward him like a moth to a flame, and there was no subject where he couldn't hold his own in mixed company. As I held my MFA degree in my hands like a newborn child, I realized that if I want to live a life outside the box, of growth, of purpose and devoid of regret, I had to make some hard choices that would be very unpopular with some. At my worst moment, I actually went to church and tried to pray all of this away, but that was not the answer that God had given me. At the end of the day, I finally accepted that the only constant in life is change, and that if I didn't start the process now, I would live a life of regret and unfulfilled promise that was every bit as taxing on my soul as it was for my father. I made the unpopular choice and began my plans for a different life from the one I had.

Though the months have passed since the start of this renaissance, I still struggle -- not with the decision to move forward, but whether or not I am being good to those affected as well as myself. Treating myself well has always been hard, but I'm working on it. I'm not used to worrying about ME first, and oftentimes I've thrown my needs over for someone else, even when they aren't always kind and actually deserve a harsh word from me. However, I'm reminded of something Pops once said to me shortly before he passed: "Davey, you've been at this station, waiting for the train to arrive for a long time. It's not the fact that you can see a train coming that scares you, but the realization that it might be the one you're waiting for."

He was right. My train had arrived. The doors opened. The conductor called his next station and I had no choice but to get on...

dtb

Regarding Ray Lewis...

I read an article in the Washington Post titled "Ray Lewis will end storied career in Super Bowl 2013, and yet I can’t root for him," written by sports columnist Mike Wise. After reading it, and seeing reactions from people on Facebook, I decided to write the following response to someone who posted this article... "While I'm not a Ravens fan, I'm glad for Ray Lewis and I can't think of a better way to go out, public or not. And regardless if his retirement gave some extra juice to the team, the games still had to be played and won.

What disturbs me about the article is the writer's negligent view of a gifted black athlete who, despite some issues that developed during the course of his soon-to-be hall of fame career, chooses to hold on to very personal feelings about this public figure. Lewis was an athelete, not a saint, and since the tragedy that came to his door years ago (which Lewis faced and handled publicly within the letter of the law) he has gone on to do some very positive things through his foundation, as well as becoming an advocate for people with disabilities in the greater Baltimore area. Why the rancor when this man deserves the respect from his overall body of work? Because he's given extra scruitiny because people feel as if he "owes them" more because he's black. The fact remains that black athletes are under such scrutiny and are made to think that they owe someone for their individual success. While that doesn't always excuse negligent behavior, what it does allude to is that the "system" of slave/owner is quite prevalent in sports, as it has been in our society since Columbus so-called "discovered America," and the black athlete is under an even greater microscope than others of equal or even lesser talent.

That's why I'm happy for Lewis. He played the game he loved, made his money, does his charity work (which very few seem to talk about), and retired as a champion. No one's career in anything is loaded with all high points and no low ones; we all have periods where things don't go well. The most we can hope for is to leave when WE are ready to go. And if it's in front of cameras and adoring fans (as well as the "Haters") then good for us - and GOOD for Ray Lewis."

dtb

This and that...but mostly "this"

Well, it's done! I've finally graduated from City College. Thus far it was the crown jewel of everything I've ever done, and not only was it completed after 3.5 years of struggle, but I managed to earn an undergraduate degree and master's degree without owing a cent. I have so many to thank for that, most importantly God Himself. It was definitely meant to be and I'm glad that it's done so I can turn my focus to new projects.

Over the last few years I've seen a renaissance grow within me that's been remarkable. Back when I was growing up in Chicago, I didn't have the support I needed to make the kinds of decisions I'm making today. I lived with people who had more of their own interests in mind rather than what was best for me. I exhibited a love of writing way back when, and these particular people were aware of it, but they wanted me to do other things instead. I've often believed that if something was meant to be, it will still be there later on. It took a while, but I found something that I love to do and am parlaying that into what I hope will be a long and rewarding career. There's nothing like finding something you feel destined to become, and I'm definitely feeling as if all this was meant to be. God has blessed me with His loving Grace and made it possible for me to get this far. My goal now is to continue putting good vibes out into the universe with the hope that it eventually makes its way back to me, which I believe it will.

Life is a cyclical process, and like bell-bottoms, it eventually repeats itself. If you manage to do things the right way during the first go-around, it can come back to you even sweeter than before. That's my goal: to treat people with respect, to do honor by my craft and continue to grow as a human being so when the cycle completes (and repeats) I can build on my good fortune.

Here's to the start of a brand new life. Everybody needs a new life once in a while.

Sammy's Carol Book Trailer

Attached is the book trailer for my forthcoming release: Sammy's Carol.

Click this link to view the trailer.

Enjoy,
Dave

ABOUT SAMMY'S CAROL

Sammy’s Carol is about an African-American man named Samuel M. Wade, Jr. who shares his story of how Christmas became a special “anniversary” where he learned important lessons regarding manhood, dignity and pride. As a teenager he was conflicted about his use of the N-word and how it affected his relationship with his peers, but through the guidance of a few caring “visitors” on a snowy Christmas Eve in 1997, Samuel was challenged to re-examine his life in order to gain a new perspective on what it means to be young, gifted and black.

"Five-Point-Five!"

'Five-point-five' has become my favorite number. Prior to that, it was 'two', signifying the position I was given by the Dean of my pledge line shortly before becoming a full member of Beta Phi Pi Fraternity, Incorporated over twenty years ago. But as I mentioned, that has all changed, and as much as I love my Fraternity, this new 'favorite' holds a deeper significance in my life; one that goes beyond my t-shirt/jacket wearing days as an undergraduate on the campus of the University of Illinois.

'Five-point-five' represents the number of years it took to go from being a transfer student at SUNY Empire State College to completing my MFA studies at CCNY. While some might say that's a relatively short period of time, I would counter that besides obtaining two degrees and growing as an artist, I also put to rest a number of old ghosts that had followed me since my teenage years. While getting a college degree was always a personal goal, the 'how' and 'what' part of this odyssey was always in question. A situation from my past led me to having to pay out of pocket for my education. That same situation also altered my course of study. I've long known I liked writing stories, but certain "influences" once selfishly advised that "black people don't make money as writers." Whether that was true or not was irrelevant to me at the time, and some today would question whether that advice was sound or was given to purposely sway my attention into another direction. Regardless, I ignored my interests because of these influences. I was a decent student, but could have been better had I made my own choices. And since I was fitting the bill, I should have negated those influences and gone my own way. Unfortunately I didn't follow my heart and ended up dropping out of college.

My odyssey took me away from my beloved hometown, to three different cities in two different states where I eventually landed in New York. A job loss is what brought me to a major crossroad in my life and caused me to ask some difficult questions: do I continue along the same road of working in an industry that didn't fulfill my spiritual and emotional needs or should I venture down a new path - one of uncertainty and challenge, but the opportunity to realize some long-deferred dreams? With the encouragement of two very special people in my life, as well as a timely (and unexpected) bit of assistance from a former love, the year 2006 became a year of change. I went from being an outsider of my own true self to a participator in the fulfillment of it.

From the day all of this began I was a catalyst in my own personal renaissance, watching myself being rebuilt piece-by-piece. The 'skeleton' of my new self was complete in June of 2008 at the Jacob Javits Center in Manhattan when I walked across the stage as a college graduate. The 'flesh' began to attached itself a few months later and has gradually been added until five and a half years later the total embodiment of the 'new me' became ready to take on new challenges, successes and defeats, all in the name of my artistry. Next to the Grand City of Chicago, writing is what allows me to spread all the love my heart desires and represents the missing part of my life that has finally been realized. Because I have been blessed to find my passion, I will strive to not only become a better writer, but a better friend and companion to anyone who needs/wants me in their life. The influences who dominated my former aseptic life are gone. The dawn of a new day started four days ago when I completed my last class and brought an end to five-point-five years of restructuring, of the shedding of old skin, of relieving worn-out suitcases filled with rocks, so the load I carry along my personal Emmaus Road becomes lighter.

I needed a new life and it was time. Confucius once said: "Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life." I have chosen wisely. And because I have, the life I lead today has become something special. Something new.

Everybody needs a new life once in a while.

"Balloons" by David T. Boyd on Zombie Coffee Press

Tomorrow is the day! The author introductions are currently live on the Zombie Coffee Press website.

Enjoy,
Dave