Alyice on October 12th, 2009

Thanks For Being My Male Role Model

Growing up, I didn’t have a father-figure to turn to. My biological dad wasn’t in the picture, and the man on my birth certificate (my step-dad) divorced my mother when I was two and never again saw me. And while the men my mother dated were always kind to me, they were, in fact, married men—not the best role models for a young girl. Then there are the men I encountered growing up in the projects: abusers, drunks, drug addicts, gang members, molesters, slouches, and even a flasher.

Yes, finding a good male role model wasn’t an easy task. But it did happen—and on several occasions throughout my time in the projects. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

First, there was Mr. Price. Mr. Price ran the parks and recreation department in our community. He busted his butt to come up with the funds for after-school and summer programs, summer lunches, summer camp, and yes, even holiday treats. He was always there to provide a safe haven and encouraged us, kids, to “be the best” we could be. When you walked into the parks and recreation room, you were no longer living in the projects. You were transported to a club for kids. True, the surroundings were mediocre, but you completely forgot about those surroundings the minute you walked in those doors. Mr. Price never singled one child out from another and he made each and every one of us feel special. And when one of us couldn’t afford to attend summer camp, he found a way to make it happen. And when one of us needed a boost in morale, he found a project that would provide that boost. When the parks and recreation budget was cut, and he was forced to retire, it was a sad day indeed. Nothing was the same again—but his legacy will forever remain in the hearts and souls of each of “his kids”.

Second, there were two father figures (Uncle Sonny and Uncle Dottie) who surprised the hell out of me and showed me that good fathers—loving and caring and safe fathers—do exist. For a time, I was blessed to feel as though I were an extended part of their families—attending family celebrations, invitations to family outings, and being able to just show up and play with their kids without fear of bullies or uncomfortable situations. And it was nice.

Third, there was Mando. Mando was a single man living in the projects and he had the hugest crush on my mom—unfortunately those feelings were never reciprocated, though they were good friends for several years. Every time he chatted it up with my mom, he made sure to spend a little time with my sister and I. He took me and my friends to the local drive-in theatre to see my first Superman movie and later, to see Every Which Way But Loose. And every summer, he’d show up on the Fourth of July with the biggest box of fireworks I’d ever seen and tell us that the Fourth of July just wouldn’t be worth celebrating if we couldn’t shoot off a few fireworks—that was truly a huge blessing as my mom could never afford the luxury of buying them. Aside from the gifts, he was genuinely sweet and kind. He showed me what it meant to show respect to another human being through both words and actions. And he showed me what it meant to give without expecting anything in return—to give simply for the joy of giving. The day he got a job offer too good to pass up he asked my mom to go with him, but she declined. He moved away. I was happy for him and sad for me.

Fourth, there was a young man, six years my senior, who showed me that no matter your circumstance in life, you can choose to be better, to do better, to feel better. His name was Charles and his father was an abusive drunk. Yet Charles was sweet and kind and surprisingly optimistic and happy. He used to tease me a lot and his favorite was to call me “Amazon” for being so tall for a kid my age. One day, I asked him why he teased me because it hurt. He said, “I just want to toughen you up. You can’t let other people’s words hurt you. I want you to be able to walk tall, with your head held high.” I have never forgotten that day, or those words. And while I’ve forgotten the message at times, his strength of character—and that incident—helped me “walk tall” and not be ashamed of wanting something better for my life; for fighting for something better.

Fifth, there was an uncle of a friend. His name was Kevin. He was a true gang member in every sense of the word and people feared him. But I never did. He intimidated me, but I didn’t fear him. He never gave me reason to. Every time he came by, while I was visiting my friend, he gave me a lesson in “living on the streets”. The one lesson that stands out most are the days he’d walk up to me, with his cane in hand, and get right up in my face. He’d get as close as one human being could get to another…waiting to see me flinch. He’d tap me with his cane, on various areas of my body, and tell me that those areas showed others I was afraid or intimated. Then he’d tell me to stand up tall—to not let others see the fear in me. Each time he came, I got better at standing my ground, and each time he came, he intimidated me. Then one day, I succeeded. I stood my ground and I showed no fear, no intimidation. He smiled at me, looked me right in the eyes, and then said, “You have a pretty smile.” Lessons done. Kevin made a huge impact on my life. He showed me how to “survive the streets”—and his lessons came in handy on more than one occasion. A few years ago, he was gunned down simply for denying a young girl entrance into his “all adult/alcohol drinking” party. He had turned his life around, and made a positive impact on society, and he will always be someone I am grateful to have crossed paths with.

Sixth, there was a young man, five years my senior, who often acted like my big brother. His name was Ralph and he was good at reminding me that I was worth something—that I was special. He always had a kind word for me, would look out for me, and would not allow anyone to do drugs around me. I remember one day, arriving on his front porch for a visit, to find he and his friends using a bong. Immediately upon seeing me, he made his friends leave and take their stash with them. When they got upset and asked why they had to leave and I got to stay, he said, “I don’t want her doing this stuff and I don’t want it around her.” In an ironic twist of fate, those words—and that incident—stayed with me for the rest of my life. Whenever asked if I wanted to try this or that, his words resonated with me. Even when we drifted apart, and he was no longer in my life, a part of me wanted to make my “big brother” proud.

I had often wondered why, in all the years I lived in the projects, I didn’t miss my “father” or why I didn’t choose a self-destructive path when it came to men. Looking back, I realize that it’s because of men like this—men who took the time to help me believe in myself and give me the courage to fight for something more. They knew I wanted something better and they took the time to guide me to that something better. And for that, I say “Thank you. Thank you for giving me hope”.

Give thanks…

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Handy Flatrate says:
Aaawwwweee! How sweet.. Thanks for sharing :]
Posted at 1:16 pm October 18th, 2009

AlyiceEdrich.com
I'm a freelance writer, mixed media artist, SMVA, and the owner of The Dabbling Mum.

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