Neighborhood Night After listening to Lydia Marks Struble sing Blue Bayou (ahhh) all the way to Its a Wonderful World at the National Night Out concert, I got in my car, parked near Front Street, and drove south on Wallace. Now, most wouldve taken Front Street home, but this girl had another agenda. She needed to make a stop at 5th. The lump of a thousand years rose in my throat as the Stop sign came into view through the now-heavy canopy of maples. First glance was one of relief; the hewn cement blocks that were its entire structure were no longer the speak-easy red in which theyd been suffocated since the sale of 2005; somebody had restored them to their un-assuming grey. A standard Pepsi dispensing machine, however, stood outside and, a good-sized African-American woman sat beside it on a lawn chair. On impulse, I turned the corner and stopped the car. Smiling at the woman, I walked toward her. Most white people think black people are unapproachable, but a lifetime of knowing otherwise motivated me forward. Its the black folks you can actually talk to, for heavens sake. Nobodys a stranger to them. Introducing myself, I began to tell her about the building she newly called home - Tonys Barber Shop for nearly 45 years. As I continued, her daughters slowly came to the door, sweet and quiet, like lovely cats who appear with silent interest. Mom, Shirley, I think, and youngest daughter Shaquona, who attended McKinley, and older sister Felicia, whod attended just about every school in town and who introduced a younger brother and a father, I presumed, whose face I never actually saw....they listened with respectful attention as I prattled on about the old shop picture windows and the Tv and the barber pole and Petermans Market across the street and how old Dad was when he died and how much I loved him, because the tears were already rolling and why should they stop. I made my visit brief, telling them how glad I was to have met them and how nice it was that they were living there, how thankful I was and how much Dad would think so, too. Getting in the car, I looked back once more, laughing through them and apologizing for the tears, and they smiled with acceptance. Thats okay! Shirley called out. The two men bending into the car window at the corner may or may not have been connected to their family, but none of us paid them any mind. Sitting in the drivers seat for a bit, letting the cry come all the way out, and then coasting west on 5th, I told Dad how much I missed him for the umpteenth time in three years of months. This short distance, from the curb of the corner of 5th & Wallace to Parade, and then left, Id traveled a thousand times......but always from the back seat of Dads old De Soto. This was only the second time Id driven it alone, and the first time since his departure. The neighborhood reached for me, from all directions, and I wanted to take it home. Car comin, Daddy.
Posted on: Wed, 06 Aug 2014 01:33:09 +0000
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