365 Winter Sundays a Year

I'm going to try an not make this simply a stream of consciousness, but be forewarned if you notice I start to ramble.

Anyway, sometimes when I talk with one particular friend, another father struggling to meet all the criteria of virtue, we discuss the lack of appreciation for the things we do. Sometimes it seems that after giving all you got the only thing you receive is a hand outstretched not in aid but in asking for more and pointing in accusation. There is a poem by Robert Hayden called "Those Winter Sundays" that portrays the same sentiment. Here it is:

Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

The poem is a sonnet-a form so often used for love. A father's love is one of action, but it so often meets with criticism not just from society but from family and friends alike. Sometimes I take stock of my life and wonder why all my dreams and passion has been purposely poisoned. The promise says, "For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the LORD, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end." -Jeremiah 29:11 It seems as though god has a plan for our lives that should turn out well. Another promise says, "Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God, believe also in Me. In my Father's house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you, and if I go to prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you unto myself that where I am you will be also."- John 14:1-3 So often I think that the plans and the prosperity that God has for me is only in Heaven. Maybe it is the consequences of my actions that has stolen all the hope I have for this life. It's not simply a dream deferred, but a dream destroyed.

So I get out of bed every morning to honor responsibility and duty, because it's the right thing to do. Sometimes a job well done is reward enough. I've learned that many times it's the only reward to be expected. Anthony Davis and Jeffrey Jackson wrote a book, Yo, Little Brother...: Basic Rules of Survival for Young African American Males. One of the rules says,

• Don't wait for praise. Do you job. The reward for doing your job is that it's done. If you know you did a good job, that's all you need. Black men aren't always given credit for the good things that they do... We are constantly told that we are worthless. Our women are told we will leave them so they expect the worst from us... So learn to live without hearing praise. Praise yourself.

I usually tell my brother not to expect appreciation or thanks, and if he needs to hear it to give me a call.