Dear John for Valentines
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Valentine's Day is around the corner, and sweethearts prepare to shower their partners with tokens of affection. They plan dates, buy chocolates and discover creative ways to express their love. During this time it's important to remember that our love, when genuine, emanates from us and is expressed without words.
For example, John. Wait. Before I get to John, let me give you a bit of context.
In high school my two best friends were named Sebrina C. and Sybrina C. We called them Black Sebrina and White Sybrina for lack of creativity. Don't judge us. It was a different time.
Sebrina and I were cheerleaders, and when Sybrina joined the squad, the three of us became inseparable. We spent most afternoons chilling at Sybrina's house after school or after cheerleading practice. We rode with Sybrina to pick up her mom from work. As our friendship progressed, we spent more time together.
There were dance classes and recitals. There was flipping in the yard and roller-skating around scorching asphalt and bumpy cul-de-sacs. There was lingering around the lake for hours talking about nothing in particular. We drove down sketchy dirt roads into Carolina pine forests for parties or bonfires we weren't sure we'd return from. It wasn't Deliverance but almost as scary. Again, don't judge us. Different time.
We spent long, lazy summer days doing absolutely nothing, cackling and stirring up a little trouble. Most often we interacted with Freida, Sybrina's mom.
This brings us back to John. More often than not, John, Sybrina's dad, sat in his recliner watching t.v. or thumbing through a book, magazine or paperwork. Honestly, I don't recall him saying much to us as we thudded up and down the stairs howling with laughter. Occasionally, he'd make a joke and smile to himself. We'd laugh, because we didn't get it.
Though he didn't say much, John was always kind to me and Sebrina. He and Freida made us feel like their home was our home. They stocked the pantry so we could clean it out every week. They kept our favorite drinks on hand and bought snacks in bulk. They treated us like family. Sometimes, Freida blurted out "I love you girls" when she'd catch us goofing around in the kitchen or we (mostly Sebrina) said something completely ridiculous. John never spoke the words. He just beamed from a distance.
Sadly, John passed away recently. Sebrina flew from St. Louis to my house in the D.C. suburbs. We drove down to North Carolina to pay our respects and celebrate the life of a man we both cherished. Unfortunately, an impending snow storm caused us to cut our trip short and make the 5 hour trek back home on the same day.
We did not get the opportunity to tell Sybrina how much we loved her daddy. We did not get to laugh about the time we tip-toed up the stairs tipsy while he eyed us with his knowing smile and a head shake. We didn't get to reminisce about the first time he tossed the keys to his shiny, new, red Dodge Ram at Sybrina and told her to take us for a quick drive. We didn't get to appreciate how rare it was for a friend's dad to seem to brighten up when we plopped down in the living room interrupting his television program.
John did not say much to us as far back as I remember. However, I recall feeling comfortable and comforted in his presence. If we annoyed him, he hid it well. Outwardly, he radiated kindness, amusement and a fatherly joy at watching Sebrina and I form a life-long bond with his daughter.
This Valentine's Day I will remember John. Instead of finding the perfect gift for my sweethearts, I'll do my best to radiate my love for them with my entire being.
As teenagers we failed to appreciate that our parents were growing older as we were growing older. As an adult, I realize that John and Freida were about the ages we are now when we were in high school. Throughout my adult life, I have modeled them in the way I open my home to our children's friends. I only hope that thirty years from now my extra kiddos remember spending time in our home as fondly as I remember my super-silly, care-free days at John and Frieda's.
Dear John, thank you. I miss you. I love you.
Always.
