Monthly Archives: June 2012

Father Time

FATHER TIME

 

The time I allowed to share with my father was One year, Seven months and four days.

He got to hear my first words, see my first steps… and change my diapers.

He’d already seen these small miracles three times before me.

At the time of his passing, my mother was coming due with another bundle of joy and he was looking to see it all again a fifth time.

The laughter, the tears, feedings, which lead to vomit occasionally, and always more diapers.

My mother tells me they wanted TEN KIDS, I couldn’t imagine having nine siblings,

But I can only imagine a life where I would be allowed more father time.

Memories of my father aren’t really memories of my own-

But retellings of the things he did, the things he said and the things he allowed.

I was still an infant when I had to face life without him but I’m sure I smile his reflection

I’m sure I speak as he spoke, only with New York regional slang as opposed to a DC metro twang

My father’s passing made him loom larger than most fathers; my mother said he was a martyr

Said he was in paradise with Allah looking down on us

Said don’t do such and such, you wouldn’t want to disappoint your father

I don’t mean to blaspheme but in my mind, my father stood shoulder to shoulder with God

Watching my deeds on earth from a cloud high in the heavens

He and the Angels would casually chat up my playground antics.

He’d talk to the Prophets about how well I recited the fatiha, how straight I stood in prayer.

 

When he saw trouble coming my way he’d lend me strength

Or yell at the devil in the fire of hell to get him his ages of off my back,

But as I got closer to his age

When I went to prom, I compared myself to his photograph of him at his prom

Was I taller? Was I as strong? Did I have more style?

Was I as smart?

Do I measure up to a man I can’t remember?

Do I measure up to a Legend?

He was like Paul Bunyon, Jesus, Malcolm, Hercules, and Bruce Lee.

I never got to see his faults, I only knew him in his glory,

He was a Black Belt in Karate, He a soldier in the Army.

He was a father, He was a husband,

He was an Imam, leader of Muslim Community in the nation’s capital.

To All his siblings he was a favorite brother, always ready with a joke.

To my mother he was ideal man.

But when I visit his resting place, I can only find his grave because he’s two headstones down from my aunt.

This is the Father Time I’m allowed now.

The short time we shared was valuable; any time you have to share with your father is just as precious.

Let him know that it is.

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Filed under Cultural Excurssions, history, Poetry

Project CBRunway Round 4: Breakfast Club

This is from Round 4  of Comic Book Resources Project CBRunway. The theme for the week was John Hughes’ classic teen film from the 80s,”The Breakfast Club.”

We had to make the archetypical characters, the Brain, The Princess, The Basket-case, the Jock and the Criminal, into Super Heros. After selecting a number between one and five I was assigned the Jock,  Andrew Clark, played by Emilio Estevez. The character he played was an athlete on the wrestling team in detention because he duct taped some poor saps butt cheeks together.

He looks capable of juvenile evil.

So my approach was to give him the basic super hero strongman look and add a few touches from the movie. He has typical wrestling gear, a mask and his varsity jacket from the film. Here’s the inked drawing.

And the final colored image.

As the Gym Class Hero, Andrew Clark dons his varsity jacket and wrestling uniform to take down the bullies and creeps at Shermer High School redeeming himself for having once been a locker room bully. He asked the “Brain” to soak his costume in “chemical X” to make them more durable, the treads on his wrestling boots are reenforced with a metallic rubber to help him keep his ground and his mask is worn under his headgear, because it looks a little less silly that way. His belt is a novelty belt he got on line, a replica of the championship belt from his favorite pro wrestling company and his fingerless gloves are padded to protect his knuckles, and not leave bruises on wrongdoers.

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