Just one photo of only a few. I could have taken thousands of photos of this man and not one of them would have bored me.  I could look at photos of him forever. Everything he did was interesting to me, even sitting on his and mama’s bed, talking on the phone, wondering why I am taking his photo as he sits in his underwear.  This man is my father.  Everything I know about being a human-being I learned from him.  He taught me how to walk.  He taught me how to read.  He taught me how to hold my head up high. He taught me how to love myself. He taught me how to drive. He taught me how to cook. He taught me everything there is to know about Black American History, the history never taught in schools.  He taught me about respect and integrity. He taught me that the only thing that matters at the end of each day is what I think and feel about myself and how I have acted or reacted. He taught me about hard work. He taught me about dignity. He taught me about love – real, deep, blood is thicker than water will ever be, love – the love your family has for you and will always have for you. He also taught me about loss and grief.  I miss him every single day.  When I close my eyes I can conjure his smell, his voice, the feeling of his arms around me, and always, always the magnitude and strength of his love for me.

Story by Christina Buck

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