About My Dad


I don’t remember my dad calling me pretty, but I remember when I was small, he lifted me up and took me to my bed upstairs when I had fallen asleep on the couch.  

I remember him holding a children’s bible when I was five and teaching me to read with fluidity, starting with creation.  
I remember him explaining the game of basketball, remember every car ride down to Bartow Arena. 
I can’t quite remember him graduating from UAB in the summer of 1999, but I know I was there, and it planted the seed that one day I would call UAB my alma mater too. 
I remember the worst whuppin my dad gave me when I didn’t do my work at school.  
I remember the flowers he brought me when I was inducted into the National Honor Society in high school. 
I remember him putting steak and potatoes the size of my head on my plate and me eating all of it. Now that I don’t eat meat, he brings me salads and wonders how I feed myself.  
I remember when he thought me and my sister were neglecting our blackness and made us watch MC Hammer’s greatest hits or Brother Al or a PBS series on Africa and the damages of colonization. I remember him dancing to 2 Legit 2 Quit with his old Navy cap pulled over his forehead.  
I was never my dad’s pretty princess. I didn’t need to be. He showed me that a black girl could be more than that. 

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