"Shoeshine" by Adam J. Lee

Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless chile,
A long ways from home,
A long ways from home.

That ole spiritual be playing boy, but don’t nobody be listening. Well except for Shoeshine, that be your daddy. He never did get on well with being away when he was little. The things people just don’t forget. Mama sent him up to Philly when he was about a year or so to stay with our Aunt Beatrice. With the thirteen of us and the livestock to tend to, Mama didn’t have the time or energy to nurse him up like she had with the rest of us. Anyway, where was I……….oh his name. If I recall correctly he got the name cause he used to walk up and down Beckerville Road over in Robersonville trying to make a few. Little brother was determined to get his self some new shoes. We ain’t had but two, three pair ‘mongst the six of us fellas so he went around shining shoes for about a dime a shine. He came back one afternoon, sandy and salty just grinning, with more of that polish on him than in the jar. Had a few coins to show for it though. Picture your daddy with all that polish black as tar on his face and his arms. Your Uncle Clarence and me had to wash him up before anyone took notice. Took some heated water, one of Mama’s dishrags, the nice one with the canary yellow ribbons sewn in and a whole lot of sweat to get gone. It would have been his tail if momma ever found out what happened to her fine cloth. That’s what happens when you trying to be grown up, sometimes you end up looking a fool. Being a fool ain’t stop him from becoming a man. Yes sir, at eighteen he join up in the United States Army, Airborne division. Hear he’s been doing big things up in New York since he came home from Germany. He was stationed at Fort Hamilton Army Base, believe that’s where he met your mother. Must be proud of your daddy, the way he taking care of you, putting you boys through college. Must be proud. Must be.

Next stop Croton-Harmon!

My head bobbed from left to right in search of a balancing point between my shoulders as I attempted to orient myself. Horns, crying out to trembling drums with a repeated dance across the piano keys, had hastened my eyes to rest. Somewhere between Grand Central and 125th Street I had drifted to sleep on the wave of Coltrane’s Naima playing through my earphones. Hues of red and green fluorescent lights, and silhouettes of brown and tan structures passing outside the silt covered windows all faded to reddish grey. The faces, tired and weary from the commute and scattered about the burgundy and blue weathered leather-clad seats in the car, fixed on me. In that moment it was clear that either I had drooled, snored or done some other disturbing thing to gain this much attention. I wiped my face and there was no sign of saliva, moist or dry, and I’m not the snoring type, so what’s the deal with everyone staring? On the edge between concern and bursting with a what the hell are you staring at, I recalled something my mom said longtime ago. “Every time someone looks at you, it doesn’t mean it’s because something is wrong with you, it might just be because my baby boy is handsome” or in this case because while Coltrane was looping in my ears my cell phone was screaming for attention. Missed Call the screen read. I didn’t know who it was that called, but it was enough to draw my attention to the time and date blinking on the phone’s LCD.

Damn! Five minutes until father’s day……is over. I stared for a moment into the grey silt-covered window that reflected my image. In it I saw a hardheaded man with locks for hair and on his mind. I braved my own stubbornness and dialed home. As the phone rang, I searched for words. Hey, dad Happy Father’s Day, you’re the best, I love you. No, that wouldn’t be the truth. They don’t make Hallmark cards for the father’s day that I have had everyday. What would I say to a man that I didn’t have much to share with except pain? It rang and rang some more, then a froggy voice answered, “Hello?” It was my mom. Hey, is dad up? I, ah. “Hold on.” An even raspier voice approached the phone. “Hello, son.” Dad, um how’s it going, I just wanted to wish you a happy father’s day while there were some minutes left in the day. “Thank you son.” How are you holding up? “Doing alright, how bout yourself?” I’m okay. “You know I, I quit that thing, yeah I quit that thing.” His voice faded and Coltrane starting playing again, and something came over me. I began to tremble, and my eyes were wells overflowing with ground water lying deep below the surface for years. My well had dried up from years on torment.

You know your daddy was all right in school, wasn’t quite straight A, but close enough. As a matter of fact, he played football over there at, ah, E.J. Hayes over in Williamson, too. The same school where that coach, Boone think his name was, came over to work with the team, but that wasn’t ‘til some years later. He could of played in college or something, your daddy played wide receiver. Should of seen him move. Lightning, pure lightning. Always could run, whether it was from or toward some kind of something.

There I was in a pool of salty water, and just then nothing mattered. Not the fact that I was in public surrounded by strangers, not that I was showing, I mean nothing. As he passed the phone back to my mom, I was eager to find out more detail about how long he had been sober and how life had changed for him, for her. Mom, I just got the news, why didn’t you tell me? Dad just told me that he’s clean. She was silent. Oh my God, it’s been a long time coming. Silent. What does this mean, I mean, wow, it’s crazy, right? Silent still. Right? Almost inaudible, “Son, I hate to burst your bubble but…” But what? “Your father was up to his usual tonight, nothing’s changed, I’m sorry.” Words escaped my lips in a gasp, goodnight mom. I…I crumbled.

Stuff, keep your head up, God made us to weather the storms of life. It’s a test of faith you know. I am not going to have my grandson moping around, you hear me. I want you to realize that we love you, God love’s you and there is not anything in this world that is impossible for him to help you through. I’m not going to sit here and tell you the road is easy, cause it’s certainly not. But what I do want you to know is that everything we go through is preparation. We are being readied for his mission. Now I want you to go out there and make something of yourself. Don’t let your father and whatever else keep you down. And I know, that I know, that I know God will see you through. What he’s done for others he’ll do the same if not more for you. I’m a witness to his goodness, grace and mercy.

The well dried up and my cheeks had quickly become an expanse of drought-ridden land. I envisioned a train wreck; you know, a head-on collision due to some signal error. I was prepared at that moment. There wasn’t much else that could hurt worse than the unhealed wounds I had. It’s a funny thing because life wasn’t all bad growing up, there were some all right moments between my dad and me. The relationship we had was about as distant as his side of the family from New York. Our communication with them was limited at best. Mostly it was awkward long distance calls after school. You know, I’d come home from school and my father would be laughing and coughing, both at the same time while on the phone with somebody southern. I could tell because the country would come out in his voice. “Listen here, my boy just come in now talktohimnow.” Then he’d call me over. “Son somebody wants to talk to you, it’s your Aunt… your cousin… your uncle.” Always someone I was likely never to see until that reunion came around that we could somehow with two cars in the family never manage to make it down to. Shoot it was only in Greenville, NC. They’d always ask, “When you gonna come down and see us?” I’d always answered with the general, “soon” that I had become accustomed to responding. I knew that soon meant near never, but it satisfied their query. It wasn’t until after I graduated high school that we finally made the trip down. Mom rented a car, because my father was making excuses as to why the cars couldn’t be driven, and we drove down with my little sister, NeeNee. We took turns at the wheel on the trip there, and when the trees along the highway faded into strokes of Bob Ross’ brush, I knew that I’d get some history, some idea of where my father came from. After twelve hours, three stops on the road and getting turned around once, we arrived to smiling faces and open arms. It had been my entire life since anyone on my father’s side had seen me, at least outside of childhood photos that my mom would occasionally send down.

It wasn’t long before I was sitting down in the backyard with my Uncle June at the reunion talking about the way things were back in the days, long before my parents met, long before my siblings and I were a thought. Uncle June was a thin man, about five foot five with the seventy-two years of living etched into his face. His smile was one that revealed few teeth, and his health was failing. The only thing that kept him going was family. That’s exactly what I was lacking in my life. It was obvious how much that it meant to him and everyone I met that weekend.