It was a split second decision. A decision he didn't even know he'd made before he had made it.
His son, a boy he fathered when he just clocked twenty, an unexpected pregnancy from a girl who was meant to be a passing fling now turned his wife.
So many advised him to run away but as a man he had always decided to take care of his responsibilities and take charge in fixing his problems.
Dropping out of college to get a job, coming home, missing meals so his wife Keisha could have enough to eat.
Paying bills and slaying thrills to save money so his son could have clothes that fit.
Now at thirty three he laid on the concrete, head bashed and hand smashed as a car rolled over him.
With bloodied vision he looked at his son who he had saved. He spoke softly hoping his words would reach his son and help him see better days.
He became silent after that and I wondered if he'd realized that his son wasn't with him.
"Doc.. Would I die today?"
The question caught me off guard. I didn't know how to respond.
He knowingly shook his head.
"If by chance my son comes. Please give him the small diary that's in my coat..."
I assured him I would and a few hours later I watched him die on my surgery table.
The son hadn't yet come to the hospital, and I was growing anxious.
His father was dead and the body ready to put in the morgue. I had to collect the diary and carry it home.
I began reading the book at home and I couldn't didn't understand what I was seeing.
"Listen here boy, my time is short, there's so many things to say.
I know it hurts, I wish it did not, but fate must have its way.
You're just thirteen, merely a teen old enough to go on your own for Halloween.
What I'mma give you is a costume that'll last you way past your teens.
For a man is not by how he looks but how he's seen.
And the truth is many men remain unseen."
Yet as I die today, I'll tell you the way. Some words to make sure you'll never be led astray.
These words I would say would make sure you stay a man till the end of your days.
For some men would say they are the best, they'll proclaim and they'll boast. They'll lay waste and they'll roast, they'll laugh in flames and toast.
Some pretend not to cry, not to be burdened or hurt, fake confidence till they fumble and land in the dirt.
There are some men who live, like there's no life to live, stumble outside and fill their days with drinks.
The bumble and mumble, they grumble and fumble their lives slipping away as they land in a puddle. These men are the ones, suffering the worst.
Taking it out on liquor to wake up with more remorse.
The cycle continues, there's not much to do, many men continue, the cycle of revenue. A cycle they use
I steal from you, you steal from me, we run from each other in hopes to go scot free.
Each man owns separate lives, each men gain separate prizes and each men live behind something as they die.
A memory, a song. A tale of a drunk. An ode of a monk, or the scream of a hunk.
A real man leaves everything and yet always takes everything away.
A piece of everyone's hearts, yet at the same time he shares something with everybody.
As people at his burial begin to remember. They share memory, share thoughts, share ideas and relive experiences.
A real man isn't one who's always quiet. He isn't always a problem solver nor is he the most physically fit.
A real man is someone who can connect with others no matter what shape or size.
A real man is someone principled and can keep to his promises or ideals.
A real man is someone who's loved and mourned who's wife and children cry for their loved one.
A real man is someone filled with love.
I love you son.
I read with tears in my eyes as I closed the journal. In my heart I swore that I'd find his son, I'd bring him the journal, and make sure the boy reads and learns how to be a man.
Nothing prepared me for what happened next. For first thing the next morning. I was called in for surgery and on the table laid a boy who was a spitting image of the man whose book was in my bag in my office and his words in my head.
My Instagram page.
