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| Thomas Cassells with his grandchildren Amina and Asila, circa 1971 |
The significance of yesterday’s date, March 14, didn’t
register with me until mid-morning, when I wrote it on the sign-in sheet at the
writing workshop I’d be conducting at the Art & Spirituality Center in
Bakersfield.
Then it struck me: it was the 47th anniversary of
my father’s death. I stopped and drew in a breath, saw Dad’s face, and thanked
The Universe for having had him.
I haven’t written a lot about Dad. But that doesn’t mean I
don’t carry him with me every day. At certain times, I see him in the mirror. And
I know I hold many of his values and qualities in my behavior and in my heart,
like curiosity and reverence for knowledge.
Born in the early part of the 20th century, Dad’s
eighth-grade education was typical in rural Ohio. He often told us kids, “Your
mom is the educated one in the family. She finished high school.” But he educated
himself in adulthood. In the late 1950s, he came into Islam and studied the
Koran and Arabic. He read about the power of positive thinking, studied yoga, meditation,
and the healing properties of herbal remedies.
As youngsters, we three kids cringed over his vegetable juicing
and distasteful concoctions. One memory that stands out is of us, if we needed
to cough, burying our faces in the coats in the front hall closet so he wouldn’t
hear us and prescribe the cough medicine he’d made.
Dad’s interest in yoga led him to teach classes in the
evening recreation program at our local elementary school in Detroit. My brother Thomas
and I were out of the house by then, but Dad would practice at home and get my
sister Reenié, who was a young teen, to try the postures, too.
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| Circa 1945 |
Saturday nights, their kitchen filled with smells of Mama’s
lentil soup and the sounds of a group of young neighborhood men holding
profound conversations around our table. For several years, as they lapped up
Dad’s wisdom and mentoring along with Mama’s soup, these men became like brothers,
and we all felt a deep loss at Dad’s death.
He left us way, too soon—I wasn’t yet thirty when Dad died.
But he left us with lots of memories of him, his favorite phrases, and his
corny jokes. And, a legacy of love, honesty, pride, and determination—exactly
what we’d need to become successful adults.
~ xoA ~
What lovely memories, Annis. They often do leave us too soon. Still remembering my own who left nearly three years ago.
ReplyDeleteDear Annis, What a man your father was! What a remarkable gift he was to you and your family and also to others. I am sure he lives on through you.
DeleteHe was a remarkable man, and we're grateful that we now recognize that. Thanks for your kind words. xoA
DeletePam, I recall how sharp the pain still was at the three-year mark. It does lessen, but I can't say it goes away. thanks for writing. Hugs,
DeletexoA
Dear Annis, You could almost have been writing about my father. Because of a cruel mother and step-father my father had to leave home and school after the 6th grade while my mother was proud to have been a high school graduate. My father also kept learning and was an inspiration to me with his sharp intellect and sense of humor. He left this Earth when I was only 18 but I remember him so well. Thank you for honoring your dear father who I would have liked to have met. I love you writing. Lurlyn
ReplyDeleteDear Lurlyn ~ Indeed, our dads share many similarities! It's a shame they had to leave us before we had enough sense to really look inside them and see them as human beings. Thank you for sharing your dad, too, and for your kind words. Big hugs, xoA
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