What my father left me:
My father was not a man of great means. He dropped out of college. He had a zero work ethic when it came to anything unrelated to music, his one true passion. But he was rich in friendships and social capital. Any given meal he ate or trip he took was more often than not earned solely through his charm and charisma.
I once remember him talking his way into backstage passes at a jazz concert—all he needed was a few minutes of conversation with the ticket agent to work his magic. It was like watching a master class in connection. There were very few people who couldn’t be drawn into his orbit. My father: the sun to keep circling.
A running inventory of what was left to me by an extraordinary and imperfect man:
Friendships with Artists and Creators: These opened the door to some of the most formative experiences in my young life:
Working lighting on modern dance shows in NYC’s SoHo during high school. You couldn’t tell me a damn thing when I was hopping a Greyhound bus from Baltimore for the weekend en route to the city. I knew I was hot shit.
Summers in high school and college working in the Adirondack Mountains. Picture a Baltimore girl scrubbing out hot tubs and changing kids’ diapers but also driving a speedboat at 15 and falling asleep in a lean-to under the stars. What a world it was for me.
Generational Trauma: When my grandfather was sent off to World War II, he was assigned to the 19th Infantry Railsplitters Division that liberated Nazi concentration camps. Part of his work once involved guarding and burning surplus food in the presence of German civilians who were literally starving. It impacted him forever.
Years later, whenever his kids accidentally spilled a glass of milk, he would explode with rage.
My father passed down his father’s anger that now burns within me. If you know me well enough, you’ve seen this bubble over. I get so angry I black out. I can’t even recall what I said--my words too hurtful for my brain to even play back for me.
A French Bulldog: In the early months of lockdown, when so many were adopting dog companions to fill the void on seemingly endless days, it was nearly impossible to find one to adopt—let alone buy. After responding what we later found was bogus Craigslist ad that promised a Labrador retriever puppy, my kids and I were devastated that we were duped. Enter Bob, who unsurprisingly knew just the right person to call to produce a puppy to bring home that very same day.
A Couch to Crash On: For a few weeks in the summer of 2006, while working on a particularly difficult union organizing campaign in D.C., where I met with workers at the 11pm shift change, instead of driving home to Baltimore, I’d sleep in his basement apartment in Silver Spring. I think it gave him a special peace to know that I was refueling under his roof to go out in the world and actualize the values of equity and justice that he ingrained in my upbringing.
Conditional Love: The last time I spoke to my father in person, he told me how fat I was getting. It was the last time I let him in my house.
A Disregard of MPAA Ratings: Throughout my parents’ years-long separation and divorce process, we spent a lot of weekends with my dad in movie theaters. If there was something he wanted to see, he thought it’d be worth it for us to see it too. This meant we saw many movies at an age that was grossly inappropriate. Cue Robert and me seeing Malcolm X at age 10 and The Godfather Part III when I was 8. Clerks at age 12. These are very mature movies! But these early, unfiltered forays into cinema taught me to think critically about storytelling. I learned to parse out the themes and messages, no matter how complex they seemed, and I credit those weekends at the theater with shaping my deep love for films that challenge, provoke and reflect our lives.
A Wheezing Laugh: If you’ve ever heard it, you know his was infectious. Mine is not quite so boisterous, but it starts out the same way: a slow and steady wheeze—the sound of a teakettle right before it starts to shriek.
The Powers of Persuasion: An understanding that building people up was not only the right thing to do but also a way to manipulate.
Seventy Dollars Cash and an Access Code to a Self -Storage Unit We Can’t Find: is what we found in his wallet after his passing.
Bibliophilia: I once complained to my father about being bored. He was aghast. “There’s never any reason for it,” he told me, and relayed that during one of his many periods of unemployment, he used his daytime hours to travel down to the Library of Congress to do research on American furniture. “Books are always available to you,” he said. “If you’re bored, you’re not doing enough.”
A Phone That Keeps Ringing: with calls from all his friends and fans who haven’t yet found out that he’s passed away.
