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n the spirit of Nelson Mandela and Rev. Martin Luther King, I decided to write a tribute to three men who exhibited the caring spirit of both of these historical figures. As a teenager, I began to wonder if the other half of me ever existed. Now I know that may sound biologically impossible, but the more and more I began to remember my childhood, the biologically impossible began to sound like the possible. There were many questions that have went through my mind such as, how can a man participate in the “making” of a child, but then abandon what is considered God’s greatest gift – procreation of what is supposed to be the leaders and backbone of our communities -THE BLACK MALE? I grew up with a very caring mother, two brothers and a beautiful sister who “co-mothered” me. My mother always made sure that we were provided for, never ever felt endangered or wanted for anything, and attended the finest schools from grade K to college. Even with the amount of social, financial, and academic security my mom provided for me, there was always something missing, something that no Atari system (yeah I’m over 40, and loved the game Centipede), countless trips to McDonald’s, trips to Cedar Point,
trips to Northland Mall (Detroit area) with my mother’s Hudson’s department store credit card . . . I still had the one thing missing that 70 % of the young black males I come in contact with everyday are missing, A FATHER. I can remember catching the Dexter Avenue bus to school as a seventh grader, attending Presentation Our Lady of Victory Catholic School each and every morning at 6:45am. When I would leave out the house, I would see three examples of fathers next door to the left, to the right and across the street. MR. MANUS MY FATHER NEXT DOOR TO THE LEFT In the spirit of Mandela, allow me to introduce, Mr. Manus my father next door to the left. Mr. Manus was a very patient and calm man. He was a father and had a son whom he spent a lot of time with. I would witness them talking and interacting with each other in the backyard. For some reason I would come in my backyard just to “fantasize” about what it would be like to have a father and I would experience this somewhat, just by watching Mr. Manus my father next door to the left, laugh and play with his son. They had three hunting dogs who were enclosed in separate cages, and Mr. Manus my father next door to the left would always be in his garage working on something with his son by his side. We had a basketball rim in our backyard and I would go and shoot baskets and practice (which was my front, so that Mr. Manus would not think I was crazy) just so I could indirectly be a part of their
father-son relationship. Lol, that is probably the reason that I became skilled enough to make All-Catholic, and All-State in high school while earning a college basketball scholarship which led to a Bachelor and Master level college degrees. One of the greatest “tragedies” that I experienced in my life is when Mr. Manus put up a 7 foot fence across the standard wire fence that allowed me to marvel at the father-son interaction that I had grown accustomed to fantasizing about. I will never forget the day that I ran through the
house out the back door and there it was - the fence that broke my spirit and heart that day. Basketball all of a sudden was not important to me. I WANTED my fantasy of being the son whose father wanted to talk