All posts tagged Obama:
A conversation on fatherhood was led by President Obama in DC on Friday. The headlines about the DC gathering were splashed across the web and news channels on Friday and served as a catalyst for me to recall the mosaic of “men” who served as father-figures for me in my life - winos, derelicts, laborers, “mathers,” drug dealers, war vets and businessmen. One of the most influential “men” in my life was a playground called Preston.
I won’t grow tired of sharing stories about Preston Playground so, I have decided to annually reprise my 2008 ode to Preston Playground - a significant play/growth locale for me in my formative years. Enjoy your chase + Father’s Day…
Happy Father’s Day - Preston Playground!
My father was gone by my 3rd birthday – never to return. He left no memories of a stern voice, or comforting touch, “a smell-good” scent, or that weary and pride-filled look of “I’m workin’ my behind off for this family.” I have no memories of nurturing or endearing moments, and no “go git your glove boy & let’s head out back” images to reflect on either. I don’t have one picture of my father anywhere. I don’t have a single snapshot of our family together or of him holding his sons in a bear hug. Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop(my grandparents that ended up raising us)said that my older brother looks an awful lot like my father so, that’s the best I can do for an image: based on my brother’s build that would make him a good six foot, with a thick build, and a full growth of hair on his face. I do recall that his presence was large and dark and that his voice was deep and bellowing. I remember that “cologne” he wore smelled an awful lot like winter-green-scented rubbing alcohol in the medicine cabinet.
I can’t for the life of me conjure up what our home looked like at all. I know what the homes were like after he left us – scattered, transient, unpredictable, frightening, dark and always different addresses.
Without a father in my life, I resorted to finding fatherly lessons from other men in my life who were willing to share their wisdom with me. My teachers came in the form of businessmen and laborers, winos and alcoholics, drug dealers and users, sport coaches, my peers and old-heads at the playground, merchants in the neighborhood and war vets that weren’t quite right anymore, school teachers and other kid’s dads. At an early age, I learned to be constantly on the lookout for any nugget of insight that may assist me on my rite of passage to manhood. So, many boys and many men helped me to become the man I am today.
One male figure that proved to be one the most influential in my journey was not a man in the literal sense. But he was a consistently a source of many of the fatherly lessons I learned. That source was, the Preston Playground.
Preston Playground, a.k.a. the Field was probably one of the most significant male figures in my life. Not much to look at but beautiful nonetheless, the Field was a wide expanse of green grass, a set of swings, monkey bars (which I hung from trying to get taller), a sliding board (which I fell off many times), an old deserted school, a basketball court with no lights that also served as the kickball & wiffle ball stadium (I lost an awful lot of skin on that asphalt falling, tripping, or getting knocked down), a baseball field with an infield made of what was affectionately known as Astro Dirt and the equipment shed. You could find beer, liquor, wine and drug mementos strewn about, Preston. The scent of urine behind the equipment shed was always present and no one ever wanted to retrieve a ball from that locale!
In spite of the many seedy and illicit events that occurred at Preston Playground, there was always this marvelous sense of community there too. It was the heart of the block and it was the convening place for anything that was significant in the neighborhood. Reputations were created and lost there. Myths and legends were conjured up there. Loves were realized, nurtured and lost there. Dreams were inspired and squashed there. And stories upon stories were told there.
Preston was my truly like a home for me especially when you consider how much time I spent there. That playground was probably the biggest influence in my formative years. Preston, and all the eclectic men who trekked across its landscape of asphalt and grass throughout the day, gave me permission to chase my dreams.
Preston and I spent countless hours alone having the conversations that an adolescent boy should have with his father. All of my conversations that questioned world events; trying to understand fears or managing worries and concerns; wondering how to fulfill hopes and dreams; making sense of the things deepest in my heart and soul. Preston was always available. Preston was an amazing listener. Preston was always welcoming. Preston was unconditional, trustworthy, it knew right from wrong, and was honest.
Preston knew about all of my successes, my disappointments, my failures and my moments in sports that were memorable.
Spending time at Preston Playground I received a lot of lessons from the school of hard knocks and via the teachers who hung out there on a daily basis: the importance of practice, sacrifice, determination; the lonely work;” teamwork; the Golden Rule; if you want anything in life you’re going to have to scrap and fight, be clever, crafty, resourceful, and honest to obtain it; always be a straight-up man; keep your elbow in and follow-through; hard work never goes unrewarded; can’t do nothin’ in life with a broke Want To; you better leave that stuff alone cause one day you’re gonna be something.
These were lessons that I should have learned from my Dad.
Luckily, Preston Playground was there.
Happy Father’s Day, Preston Playground!
“What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility - a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.”
- From the Inauguration Speech of President Barack Obama
I’ve been fortunate to assist many organizations from around the globe that use sport to impact their communities in a positive and meaningful way. One of the organizations that I support is Street Soccer USA/SSUSA. SSUSA’s phenomenal team and their efforts were just featured in People Magazine and are planning an important fund raising event on January 27th in DC. If your travels take you to our nation’s capital on the 27th, or you reside in the DC area, try to make it to the event - Lawrence Cann + the SSUSA team would appreciate you giving a little LUV to their sport for social change effort.
A 100 Day Call-to-Action: over the next 100 days…determine your service options/opportunities, make a commitment to activate your service idea and be a human catalyst in your community!
On August 28, 1963, I was three days away from my 5th Birthday when Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered his memorable speech in DC. I can remember listening to his words with my grandfather over the radio.The first words spoken on that day to open the “I Have a Dream” speech were: “I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.” LOUD, STRONG, MAGICAL is the way those first few words reverberated in my mind. As I watched my grandfather (aka Pop-Pop) listen and take in the moment on that hazy and hot summer day, I can still remember the level of attention and intention my Pop-Pop had on his face and in his eyes.
The best way to share what that look was like for me at five years old, is via the above pic. That’s me running track in junior high school. My focus was only on the run and the race; my eyes ahead and clearly looking forward; anticipating the first turn on the track and handing the baton off to the next runner on our relay team. That was my grandfather’s look on August 28, 1963 too.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was the proverbial lead-off leg in the race to affect BIG change in our nation…I’m so happy to be alive to see the “baton” passed tomorrow to Barack Obama. Thank you, Dr. King!
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