Chapter 5 The Fish Dance

Chapter 5 The Fish Dance

 My first memory of my Dad was playing with him.  I would jump on his neck, when I was little and wrestle him and he would tickle me, making me laugh.  He wanted me to call him Aubrey. I remember thinking he was the cool guy in my mom’s bedroom every morning who I would run to and tackle when I awoke.  When my grandmother heard me refer to him as Aubrey, she would hear nothing of it.  “You tell that boy who you are!”.  My dad obeyed.  My second memory is him sitting me down and introducing himself.  “You are no longer to call me Aubrey.  I am your Dad.” I remember immediately becoming afraid.  I always wondered why he waited until becoming a father myself.  He wanted to consume as much pleasure in having his first son, before the real work began.  The role of being a father.

Being a parent is incredibly hard but for black fathers, the job seems impossible.  My Dad was a six-seven-foot quarterback in high-school who had the mentality of a linebacker.  I found his high school newspaper articles when I was young and put them all in a scrapbook and peered through the clippings hundreds of times.  He was really, really good.  If he played today, Nick Saban would have offered him a scholarship in the eighth grade.  However, at thirteen, my Dad watched his governor stand in front of the University of Alabama, with the state guard, to prevent a black person, from attending school.  Bear Bryant didn’t integrate his football team until my Dad was twenty years old. 

My Dad grew up as one of the most dangerous entities in America; a dark skinned large black man.  He knew Tremayne and I would be the same, (even though Tremayne got that light skin).  What he needed to teach us needed to save us.  Not just save our academics or future or our potential, it needed to save our lives. 

I remember, when we were in elementary school, someone called my brother a “nigger”.  My Dad found out about it and sat us down.  It seemed like waited to teach this lesson to us our entire lives.  He asked us, “What do you say when someone calls you a nigger.” My brother told our dad, “I saw I am proud to be one” and waited for my dad’s approval to his answer.  In a very stern way, my Dad told us that WE ARE NOT “niggers”.  That a “nigger” is a low down dirty haggardly person.  He told me to get the dictionary.  We had what many families possessed in the 1900’s (as my kids like to say): Brittanica Encyclopedias.  I retrieved the Brittanica dictionary and gave it to him.  He looked up the word and read the definition aloud.  I have never seen him so disappointed.  The dictionary stated a nigger was a person of African descent.  Dad mumbled that he would have to write to Mr. Brittanica and tell him that his dictionary was wrong, but I could see it in his eyes: Even the dictionary stood as an adversary to his sons.  His role as our father seemed overwhelmingly vexing.

So, he taught.  He motivated.  He disciplined.  He fulminated.  He whispered. He cajoled.  He counseled.  He protected.  Some things he did were so nonsensical at the time, that I didn’t understand and fully appreciate until having my own sons.  Thousands of hours of this.  My brother played this trick one time when talking to Dad on the phone. He put the phone down, and made a sandwich, and came back.  Dad was still talking.  (Sorry, Tremayne. LOL!).  We often heard.  “I am not your friend.  I am your father. I will always tell you the truth.” That he did.  And of course I battled sometimes.  I am my father’s son.  (No one could make him madder than me.  We laugh about it now.) He continued in that role through elementary school and high school and college and even as a young adult. Tremayne and I were among the very few black kids with very active fathers. When he spoke at my hall of fame induction or watched my brother win player of the year on his Florida Gator national championship team for behavior exhibited on and off the field; everyone could see, he fulfilled his role well. 

However, even into my burgeoning adulthood, my dad could not let go of his role of training me to fight the world.  Almost all of our talks were serious and filled with counseling, whether I asked for it or not. 

Then something funny happened. My Dad ran for Juvenile County Court Clerk.  He always possessed a brilliance for nurturing, coaching, and raising kids.  He felt a calling to win this election, believing he could help thousands of children, especially black children through the court system.  The person who held the position was a member of a local political family.  He held the seat because of name recognition and didn’t really seem to take the responsibility of the job seriously.

When he first told me, I tingled with excitement.  I graduated from college with a double major in political science and theology.  I already wrote a book and spoke several times in public during high-school and college.   I wanted to be his campaign manager. I could write the outlines of his speeches and use my political knowledge to help formulate the strategy for his campaign.  He didn’t want my help in that way.  He wanted me to come to as many events as possible, wearing a suit. It was almost like he told me he just needed me to be there and look pretty.  This was also the same for his fiancé, Gail.  He didn’t need help from Gail either.  He would introduce Gail and me at every event before giving his speech. 

 I looooooove my mother. As far as I am concerned, she is one of the greatest people to ever live.  She is in the same class as Martin Luther King and Moses, and Peyton Manning (That wasn’t a typo – PEYTON MANNING!).  Honestly, at first, hanging out with my Dad’s fiancé felt like betrayal to my mom, even though my mom never felt this way. In the beginning, Gail and I sat together, awkwardly, at the first few events.  At the beginning of every speech, he would introduce us and then we would sit down and have no responsibility and barely speak to each other.

Then something funny happened.  Gail cracked a joke at my Dad’s expense.  And it was funny.  And I laughed and then I felt guilty for laughing. Then she heckled my dad’s opponent and I laughed harder. And for the entire event, we cracked jokes and giggled.  From then on, I closely watched her.  She was my dad’s biggest campaign contributor, owning her own insurance business. She believed in him.  But she was fearless around him.  I never saw her intimidated.  That’s maybe the only person I can say that about.  She knew how to handle the dominating nature of my dad’s personality and still hold on to the power of her own identity.

 I began to look forward to these events so I could hang out with her. I may be the world’s expert on Aubrey Allen and she loved to hear stories of how he raised me. She would laugh and empathize.  The melody of her laughter was infectious and singular. I guess, out of the corner of his eye, my Dad saw this party going on at his family’s table.  I heard her say often to him, “Al is a wonderful young man.” She even offered to take me under her wing to start my own insurance business.  He knew how I idolized my mother, so for him to see me enjoying Gail so much was like a bush on fire that wasn’t burning. 

 After one of these events, my Dad introduced himself to a live band, the Groove Addiction.  They were rehearing for a party after his event. He convinced them to play for free for his guests.  They were awesome, playing covers of Prince and seventies disco.  I still love some of those people I met through that band today. 

 And then something funny happened.  I saw my Dad dance.  I have written over 200 poems, and I don’t have the words to give it justice.  He would put his hands together like he was praying, and he would stab the air to the beat of the music in every direction. He did it proudly like he was Michael Jackson.  I couldn’t believe it.  Apparently, in my entire life, I never saw him dance.  I named it the Fish Dance.

 So, when we got off the floor and were all sitting together, basking in the spirit of freedom produced by my relationship with Gail, I let it slip, “Dad, I thought you were the coolest person in the world, until I watched you dance.”  As I ended my sentence, my brain caught up with my mouth.  “Uh-oh”, I thought.  I shouldn’t have said that.  Tremayne and I have filled my dad with overflowing joy multiple times in our lives, but I never made him laugh. Gail died laughing.  I waited for what seemed like hours, and then something funny happened, my dad died laughing too and then he started to make fun of my dancing.  And then it happened.  He never stopped being my father but, in that moment, the role evolved.  He would always still try to guide me and help me and defend me, but it was now okay to enjoy me like he did when I used to call him Aubrey.  I imagined Gail would preach to my Dad, outside of my presence, what a good time she had with me and how funny I was. 

 From then on, he became my best friend.  That is not a metaphor.  He literally became my best friend.  I spent more time with him than anyone else, except for my wife and mother.  I would stop by his house or job and just hang out.  Sometimes, we would meet someplace after work.  We would go on multiple double dates with Gail.  We, often would go to this dance club that looked like a set out of “Good Times.”  My dad would pay for everything, and we all would dance and laugh and just enjoy each other.  He would do the Fish Dance there, too.  I even started doing it with him.  When I had parties to watch Tyson fights or big football games, he would come over with Gail and hang out with a bunch of kids in their twenties and be the life of the party.  Everyone loved him.  When one of the most significant moments of my entire life happened, I was in his living room.  I remember falling to the floor and praising God.  Peyton Manning won his first Superbowl.

Gail and I went with him to his mother’s funeral.  With all of his brothers and sisters and his own father there, he just invited me to go into the chapel for his private viewing of his mother.  I watched him fall to his knees and weep over her casket. It is the only time I have ever seen him cry.  I was the first person he hugged when he got up as he wiped his tears. 

Even now, with me living in Florida, when we talk, I have to plan it like an appointment because it’s going to be over two hours. I would sit on my back porch, and we would talk.  I loved hearing his stories and would roar my amusement.  My family had to rebuke my cackling out of fear of disturbing the neighbors.  They never had to ask who I was talking to.  They knew.  I talk to Gail often as well.  I consider her my second mom and she treats me like her son. 

It just took one joke from Gail that led to a paradigm shift for me and my Dad.  He got to see his work and saw that it was good and now he could finally rest a little bit and take pleasure in it. And for almost thirty years, through good times and really hard times, that’s what he has done and will do until the end of his days. 

I have read the bible my entire life. The God of the Old Testament does not seem like a nice person.  It has taken decades and many revelations to see the God who flooded the entire world as a God who personifies love.  I wish I could explain it in a couple of sentences, but no one really can.  We can only know in part because we don’t see the whole picture.  But the bible states, before the beginning of creation, God created us to become His children for His pleasure.  For HIS pleasure. At the end of the bible, something funny happens. God literally takes heaven, His home for the eternity past, and throws it away.  The reason is because He is going to make this earth his home and live with His family perpetually.  He will wipe every tear from every eye and evolve in his role from God to Father. 

It doesn’t quite say in the bible, what that our eternal home will be like, but I can gather a few clues to share a tiny glimpse.

 In high school, I remember going to a very dry church and hearing the music pastor lead the congregation in hymns.  Everyone would mumble the words and then the pastor would state, “Isn't it wonderful?  We are going to be able to do this in heaven forever.”  It didn’t seem wonderful.  It seemed pretty boring.  And if heaven is like that, I am not very excited about it.  And looking around the room, no one else seemed excited about it either. 

I imagine heaven will be more like a Dave Matthews concert.  Everyone screaming the lyrics to the song, jumping up and down, putting their arms around strangers as they sing their favorite Dave Matthew hymns at the top of their lungs. The sound of the music was always so loud, no one could hear how horrible singers we were.  For the entire concert, the security guards would make sure no one stood in the aisles, ushering everyone to the seats.  But when Dave came out to do an encore, the guards got out of the way.  Thousands stormed the aisles and danced and sang and screamed.  You could do the cabbage patch or the Kid and Play or the fish dance or whatever stupid dances kids are doing these days, and all of us looked beautiful. 

 It is fitting that Jesus’s first miracle was at a wedding.  He turned water into wine.   The people at the wedding were already drunk and he gave them the very best wine they ever tasted.  He promised his disciples that he would not drink wine again until they were in heaven with him.  If God does not show favoritism, that means that there is a 2000-year vintage waiting for me.  I plan to never have a drop of alcohol again on this planet, but apparently, in heaven, all bets are off. 

 The bible says David danced out of joy so hard in front of everyone that he embarrassed his wife.  And when she nagged him, he said next time, he is going to dance even harder.  God was so displeased from her reaction towards the unadulterated delight her husband showed Him, He closed her womb, which was essentially removing her from being David’s wife and queen.  She was replaced and never heard of again.  

CS Lewis, in the Great Divorce, said the music of heaven is so extraordinary, that anyone on earth who heard it would never grow sick or old. 

I think I can safely say, heaven will be a party.  A party like no other.  A party that will never end.  Our Father will experience overwhelming joy in his sons and daughters and we will experience overwhelming joy in Him and we will get to swim in that euphoria forever.  We will finally see our Heavenly Dad as who He truly is, the personification of love.  And He will see us, His greatest work, the apple of his eye, the crown of his creation, His children.  And He will see that we are good. He will be able to rest some from his role from being God and evolve into that role of a Father and take pleasure in His kids until the end of eternity. 

 1 Corinthians 2:9

 However, as it is written:

“What no eye has seen,
    what no ear has heard,
and what no human mind has conceived”^[a]—
    the things God has prepared for those who love him—