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Silly Papa
By JAMIL COUZENS AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2013Jamil Couzens
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4817-2015-1
Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Looking Back
I had a very whimsical exchange with my grandson that just delighted me, and at the same time caused me to feel overcome with disbelief and gratitude. I love all ten of my grandchildren, as any grandfather should; Only, for the life of me I can't figure out how I made it, somewhat mentally intact and reasonably healthy. I am cognizant of this moment and in awe at the journey. It's these heartfelt moments in the here and now that cause me to reflect on my past. My past is just that, My Past!. I have no intention of infecting my grandchildren with my defects, born of my life as I chose to live it. On the contrary, I want them to learn from the mistakes that I made along the way, and do better at making the right decisions. Decisions that they must make for themselves, and not become inhibited by mine, or anybody's, bias views of the world around them. I still want them to know about me, the man I came to be, as defined by my life's journey. And that is my conundrum.
After a long day on the job, I finished some work around my stepdaughter's new apartment, and was leaving to go home; When, as I was walking away, I heard a squeaky, 4 year old, voice call out to me, "Papa, Papa", I turned to see Chalupa (Kemal, one of my grandsons) coming out the front door, bare footed and walking towards me.
"Papa I want to talk to you", he said, in that squeaky high pitched voice. It was all I could do to keep from cracking a smile, for I knew that whatever it was, my little Chalupa was being serious. And I knew that he had complete trust and faith in me, as only a child could. "Alright whatzup little dude", I replied. He said, "You know that toy I had?"
I asked, "What toy?".
He said, "The one I wanted to play with and it didn't work".
"Yeah", I said.
"The one that you have to get me batteries for".
I said, "Yeah I know the one, what about it"?
"I need you to bring me that one, and some batteries, when you come over tomorrow, ok".
"Alright little dude", I said, " Go on back in the house, because you don't have any shoes on".
"Silly Papa", he said, as he headed back to their apartment.
I was on my way back home and a wave of anxiety began to come over me. It happens occasionally whenever I think about where I came from, to where I'm at, as of that day. The fact that he, and most of my grandchildren, seem to place their trust in me, as representative of a good grandparent, is the cause of my anxiety. They're not mature enough to know and realize that as an ex alcoholic/drug addict, burglar, car thief drug dealer and 5 time ex-con I sometimes feel totally inadequate, and completely out of my element. I want to be the best Papa any kid ever had. An influential person in their lives, that will contribute to their lives being the complete opposite of mine. HOW?, is the question that causes my anxiety. I was in the delivery room when my eighth grandson was born. When my stepdaughter asked me to be there, I was shocked and truly, truly honored. I filmed the moment with my camcorder. It was a surreal moment for me.
My idea of being a Grandfather is, that it is a privilege and not a right. I became a Grandparent by having children, and living long enough for them to have children, simply put. I made too many mistakes and exercised plenty of bad judgment, along the way, for me to ever believe that I earned this position in life. But this position is what I find myself in at this juncture of my life. For me there is no articulation adequate enough to express the humbling and gratifying sensation that I feel whenever I think about it.
I had a wonderful childhood in the environment that I was born into. That environment instilled in me the characteristics that would define me for the rest of my life. These characteristics would stymie, cajole, confound, astound and delight me, throughout my life. I daydreamed a lot of having one kind of adventure or another as slanted by what I saw on TV or read in books.
My Grandparents were from the deep south. They were good, solid people who grew their own vegetables and fruits, spit chewed tobacco and worked hard from sunup to sundown. They owned their home, a two story early American style house, in the city, on a full lot. My grandfather put up a white picket fence around it. He poured his own walkways and stairs, which he lined with those picket fences as well. He built a wooden canopy over the walkway in the back from the garage to the house, where he grew grapes that completely covered the wooden structure. On both sides of the walkways my grandfather had created gardens for my grandmother to grow her vegetables. Between the house and the fence my grandfather had planted fruit trees i.e. apple, peach and cherry. Here they raised seven kids. My Grandmother was a heavyset, goodhearted southern girl who loved nothing better than to have a lot of kids around. She was a God fearing woman who loved taking care of her home and family.
My uncles and aunts and the people they went to school with and their kids would stop by frequently. My cousins were the best of all. Gus, Junior, Ali and Meme were older than us but they were more like older brothers and sisters who just lived with Aunt Essie. I guess the best part about them, to me, was that they always treated me like an equal.
All sort of people would stop by almost daily. They would sit around the kitchen table talking and laughing while my grandmother was bustling around cooking and baking; And, if it was that time of the year, preserving the fruits from her trees. It seemed like everyone in the city knew my grandparents. Which made life at their house cool for us kids. We took comfort in the laughter and camaraderie coming from the kitchen while we were playing in the backyard
My Grandfather had only a third grade education, but it seemed that he was very knowledgeable. He did all the work on their home, from raising the ceilings in the living and dining rooms, including the rewiring, to working on his own cars and trucks. He worked at a foundry for years and eventually went to work as a janitor for the schools. In his earlier years he would cruise the allies in his truck and pick up discarded items such as lamps chairs and many other items he thought he could refurbish.
Mostly self taught he did have some help in his learning. One of the alleys that he traveled down, a few blocks away from his home, took him past the workshop of the Wright brothers. He told me that they asked him what he was doing with the stuff he was getting, to which he answered that he sold the stuff for very little or gave the stuff away to those who didn't have much money. My impression was that they didn't mind teaching him a little and he was naturally mechanically inclined.
Growing up as a child in the 60's was a incomparable time for many kids. My father left when I was 6 months old. My brother and sister were only a year older than me. My earliest memories of the projects back then weren't like the projects of today. It was a tough environment and probably more violent than the rest of the city, but not to the levels that we see today. Then, we were compelled by our parents, uncles, aunts, older cousins etc., etc. to fight back and not allow ourselves to be pushed around.
So I started fighting back at an early age, from the 3rd or fourth grade on. The best lesson that I got out of that was that I wasn't going to win every one. I vaguely remember winning my first couple of fights. It was the first lost that I clearly remember. I don't remember why we were fighting. I just remember thinking that it's not possible for a fist to suddenly appear 1/2" from my face and not see it coming. This never happened in the movies
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Silly Papa by JAMIL COUZENS. Copyright © 2013 by Jamil Couzens. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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