Dad is writing a book.
He grew up in Alabama in a home that raised him and 9 siblings. He was born in 1959. He’s black.
I’ve been privileged to hear some of the stories from my dad, aunts, uncles, and grandparents about the 60s and 70s. I’ve read articles. I’ve watched documentaries, demonstration footage, interviews, and speeches. I can’t imagine the stories he could tell – WILL tell – from living in that period.
I had a good conversation with my dad this morning. He got to see what happens when I’m asked, “What are you up to?” when I’m firing on all 12 cylinders. I spazzed. Maybe I breathed 3 times in 3 minutes.
I got to talk about Book 1 and its message again (I’m calling my first book Book 1. It’s a working title). My dad matched my energy talking about his book, its progress, and target time to publish.
This guy is a storyteller. I always sit closer when he talks about anything creative. It’s in these moments that I see what’s influenced me so heavily to create. I see that familiar, persistent, burning need to tell people something that could help them. To present ideas in relatable stories with drama, humor, metaphors using any tools, any medium.
I’m geeked for my kids, my niece, and my nephew about my dad’s book. A huge part of their childhood will be establishing their identities. Schools, news outlets, and social media can’t be trusted to tell them the full picture of their history or their places in the world. It’s up to the stories told by people they know and trust. It’s up to the family. They’ll grow up and still have questions. But that’s kind of the point.
I want them to have questions, especially about the way things are. The way people are. I want them to ask why. I want them to have secure enough footing in who they are that they raise flags, speak up, and reject ideas that are unjust, unfair, or inhumane. And I pray I’m blessed to watch them boldly change the broken things around them.