When We

"Easy Conversation" by Jill Scott

...I like that you don't look at me that confused kind of way when / the thoughts are running through my mind / and I can't find the right thing to say...

I wrote a very good paper for my English class earlier this month about what literature is. The question was posed to our class and we were asked to define it and argue whether or not the definition, as collectively accepted, should be expanded to include the likes of rappers and singers, who are recent additions to the ancient life that is artistic expression.

I might post that bad boy up here although it is lengthy. It is good though. My Daddy said it was wonderful and you know I think he is a genius, therefore, the essay is that fire.

I emailed it to him yesterday following a discussion of the aforementioned topic. He said he wanted to read it. I rarely allow my Daddy opportunities to read my writing because his command of language and artistic writing ability dwarf a person's entire existence with its grandiosity. But he thought it was splendid and even read it to the graduate literature class he teaches to introduce the topic. Not excited about that though.

And then Daddy called me again this morning to tell me about the conversation in his class that was sparked by my paper. Daddy has been calling me a lot. It is exciting because I love my Daddy. I think he is the coolest, funniest, kindest person alive, despite concurrent feelings of resentment and frustration.

It just seems odd though. For months, I tried to talk to my Daddy and Mommy and for months, they weren't checking for me. The hot anger of the past and the cold indifference of the future have met to make a lukewarm existence of now. I don't worry about how the relationship turns out anymore.

I guess because I am older, I'm not crazy anymore, and education continues to sophisticate me, I realize that the whole family debacle isn't really that big of a deal. I am learning that time really will heal the wounds because time allows us all to grow. That growth is what heals the old wounds and makes us stronger to sustain future damage with less energy used to heal. I just wish I hadn't been such a dumb ass the past 3 or 4 years. I wish I hadn't been so sensitive, so demanding, so dramatic, so impatient, and so angry. There is plenty I wish of my parents' attitude and behaviors, but I had and have no control over them.

The thing is, love is bold. You scream and fight and reconcile and hate and blame and recuperate because you love one another. The love is permanently bonding so the recklessness is performed under the security of forever, no matter how unsatisfying the love may be. I know I am bold as love and because of love.