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Introducing a Legacy of Love
~For the Love of Words~
“I knew I was destined to write poetic expressions when I found myself engulfed in reading a dictionary. Poetry gives way to the collection of words allowing you to have more than the acceptable second helping, stuffing your- self to capacity.
The library was my personal intellectual amusement park where books came alive to become rides. At the stroke of the pen, new doors were opened and stories never end they merely begin again. Basking in bookshelves of genres. Teetering between non- fiction and make believe, a writer gone mad, visualizing verbs, narrowing down nouns, adding solid adjectives to adequately timed adverbs to produce poetry personified kept me busy for hours…..
Young love was sparked by that first kiss excitement of using metaphors and similes like skilled soldiers baring arms for battle while intertwining inferences to draw multiple conclusions. Captivating readers with suspense filled lines that seldom contained rhymes was the beginning of the end of monotony.
Intrigued by the seduction of eye catching introductions and themes tangled with lucid schemes of literal palaces
Determined to draw in the world by ending conclusions filled with illusions that scream the end came to soon ….
All the while elementary prose take responsibility for you watching your dictionary waiting on the moment it will come alive and consume your mind giving you a verbal massage
Closing your eyes to embrace thoughts as if they were young lovers, devouring elevated peaks of lyrically soothing melodies created when reading, leaving the unsung scores of lines floating in the mind of a word junkie……..”
The Love of Words
I think my parents had grandiose fantasies of living the Tupac Shakur and Janet Jackson big screen love affair when they named me Lyric from the movie “Jason’s Lyric.” I also think I was predestined to write. You could find me at any given time reading a book. After I read every volume of our Negro Almanac, Negro Encyclopedias (Volumes A-Z), and all the other Black Power/Black Panther propaganda in our house that my parents used in an effort to stay connected to "Our People" and foster self-pride, knowledge of self, and Black Love, I went on to read everything from the labels on the cleaning supplies to the labels on our canned goods in the kitchen cabinets.
The Curious Mind
I would often bombard my parents with questions of the why's, when's, who's, and where’s of life. I had an insatiable thirst for knowledge; I had to know everything. Some information I wanted solely to possess, you know, to say I owned it, that I knew without a shadow of a doubt this beautiful thought was mine. Other knowledge was necessary to assist in winning with know-it-all peers, arguments that were usually incited by my quick temper, keen wit and smart mouth. Seemly trivial pieces of information came in handy when I thought I needed to develop a strategic plan to overcome the monotony and what seemed to be ill-fated future headed towards a boring life with a husband and two kids.
Through the Eyes of a Child
I often looked at my parents’ life and felt sorry for them. In my undeveloped preteen aged mind, they were sadly wasting away and becoming old by buying into the American dream of a marriage, 2.5 kids, and a dog. Speaking of the dog, my dad wouldn’t allow us to have pets after experiencing the worst period of my 9 year old life.
I nearly loss my mind when I tragically loss my only friend in the world. I behaved comparable to a ghetto-scene funeral mourner when our dog, Satan, was hit by a car and killed not even a month after we moved to Small-town, USA.
Devastated to say the least, and his death was my first real, tangible experience with death. I watched Bambi and various other Disney films that were supposed to prepare children for death, but nothing prepares you for the loss of your favorite pet and confidant at the age of 9.
Death is Enough of a Reason to Leave!
Satan’s death fueled my argument for us getting the hell out of dodge; we weren’t even living in Small-town more than a month when it happened. In my small self-centered mind it was precursor for the end of days as I knew them.
It was never my choice to move there from the east coast anyway. I was content living on base with Momma, Daddy, and my little sister, Fatimah, and of course, Satan. At least there we were a family and I didn’t have to share Momma, Daddy, and Fatimah with people I barely knew. I thought they had Satan assassinated because they didn’t like him.
Satan was a mixed breed dog who was an awkward mixture of Dachshund and Doberman. He was a funny looking weenie dog, short in stature with the attitude of a Doberman; I think that’s how he earned his name. He was a gift to my mom from one of her friends on the Marine Corps base where will lived while my dad was proudly serving the country as Staff Drill Sargent FLOWERS.
I recall thinking that he wasn’t in the Marines, the whole family was! He led with an iron fist; there was no room for grey areas. I can still hear him telling me and Fatimah, "It's either my way or the highway. This house is not under democratic rule. It is a dictatorship and I make the rules; no if's, and's or but's." The past has a way of becoming the foundation for the future. I didn't know that then, nor what he meant, but I am my father's child.
An Unbreakable Bond
Unbeknown to me at the time, our move to Small-town USA coupled with the death of my best buddy lead to an unbreakable bond with my sisters. Yes, you heard me correctly, I said SISTERS. We are actually a combination of first cousins with two sets of sisters who grew up with a bond so tight you would think we were the inspiration for crazy glue. Fatimah and I are blood sisters from the same mom and dad, then you have Jetta and Kitty who are sisters whose mother is my mother’s older sister, Sassy who is the daughter of my mother's youngest sister, and Serenity whose father is my mother’s brother.
Our parents have been extremely close from childhood. I think their close bond is a product of their country, ranch upbringing. They instilled those same country values in each of us and I am grateful, to say the least. They gave life to the proverb, "It takes a village to raise a child."
My sisters and I often joke about the bond our parents have; it wasn’t until years later that we came to the realization that we have formed that same bond and have unconsciously passed it down to our own children, hence A Legacy of Love.