Parenthood: Week 333 – Long Time Coming, Part 1

There are moments in life that mark the passage of time. Some are filled with joy like marriage, and others are filled with sadness like death. Some moments like birthdays feel inevitable to some of us and to others these are incredible moments. Some of these moments are in our control, while others are in fact out of our control. We face these moments as choices we make in our lives limit the forks in the roads and leads us into twists and turns unexpected, but meaningful nonetheless.

Many moments in life have been marked by saying goodbye to a home. I have been blessed to have many places in my life filled with love, supports, community, and family that have transformed soulless structures into living, breathing, beautiful, and unforgettable homes.

There was the condo I lived in during and after grad school. A place where Diana and I made a home, brought Buffy into our lives. A frat house and a campus felt like a home, where I felt seen, valued, and included. I felt more sure of myself in that college than I’ve ever felt away from that place. Maybe that was my youthful bravado and arrogance, but I like to think it had something to do with the people who helped me along on my journey to learn to be myself and love that person I would become.

I don’t remember much about the place that my parents brought me home to after I was born. It was in Kirkland, it was beige, and what I remember most of all about that place is softness. The carpet, sheets on a bed, and my mother’s arms.

Before first grade we moved to Mercer Island. There was that tiny kitchen where my mother was able somehow to create symphonies of meals. I loved watching my mother cook as a child, and I still do. There was a hot tub room off of the porch which my dad would spend late nights relaxing in by himself. I never understood why you want to be in a hot tub or swimming pool by yourself. Didn’t you need someone to play with? As a father, I completely understand why he needed that time alone, and if we had a hot tub, I would be doing just as my father did.

There was the grand piano that was absurdly big for the living room and meant that we didn’t have a formal dining room, or much of a living room. The size this instrument took up in that room was an expression of the size that me and my brother took in my parents lives and their commitment to nurturing our passions.

My parents’ room fit a bed, a NordicTrack machine, a Lazyboy chair, and an chest of drawers with a television on top. As my father would watch TV with the footrest of his chair fully extended, I would curl up as a small child between his legs in the space between the chair and the footrest. When my dad would eat steak in front of the TV he was always willing to share his meal with me carefully mixing the salt and pepper on his plate and dipping it in there before feeding it to me. If he was annoyed how much of his favorite meal I ate, he never showed it.

That chair at some point was replaced by a loveseat. This was the chair, that curled up with my mother, I watched The Color Purple. I’m not sure either of us knew what we were watching when we settled on the Lifetime network that summer afternoon, but for some reason we stayed with that film. Together, we explored the beauty, power and wonder of the Black experience, and get my first taste of "Black Girl Magic."

If there’s a more memorable and important film watching experience in my entire life, I can’t think of it right now.


My brother, Ed and I had adventures in that back yard, on the living room couch, and playing, well, everywhere in that house. No place was off limits to our play from the stairwell to the garage.

Ed’s room had a smell that has always stayed with me. It was a scent of something older, cooler, and more sophisticated. His room had these bookshelves about waist high sitting on the floor filled with fantasy and science fiction novels. I would spend time fascinated by the covers, careful to make sure I put them back in order. Even when I was old enough to read these books myself, I always preferred to have my brother retell the stories in those books instead.

My room was the space where my imagination ran wild as I created stories and adventures with my Legos and action figures. This was the place where late at night I would listen to songs on my CD player on my head phones over and over on repeat, trying to figure out the wonder and magic of music. It’s where I learned to be a musician, practicing countless hours in that room chasing something I would only understand much later in life.

To be continued….