Granddaddy's Love
Day Four of the Blackstack "Seven Days of Black Poetry" series feels like a return home to childhood reflecting on how much Black grandfathers shape Black children, just as much as Black grandmothers.
Before the vanilla scent that hits your nose when you step foot into my home, you see him on my wall as you take off your shoes. He’s the protector in our family, he’s been the only constant man in my life after my mama and daddy split. When no one else could, he made it his business to step up and do.
Granddaddy. My mama’s daddy.
It’s something so special about that particular one sometimes. Trinity Ibrena’s poem brought back memories, I had a Paw Paw growing up, and I think of him too as one of the calmest men I knew.
Paw Paw
Written by Trinity Ibrena
My grandfather, Jewell, is probably the calmest man I know.
There.
Back there in HIS chair, he would sit.
Chocolate complexion. Classic eyeglasses.
Just the right amount of black hair stashed above his lip
and resting on his head.
Slender, well built man since I met him.
My “Paw Paw…,”
or “Daddy,” as my mama calls him.
The man who cut my umbilical cord.
Good Ol’ Jewell.
Collective.
Calm.
Cool.
White button up. Colorful tie.
In that black, backroom chair watching all who walks by.
Man — what that man’s eye could spy!
What that man’s ears could hear.
“Quit all that actin,” he’d say
In a stearn, yet subtle way…
Evoked by just the right amount of fear.
“Helig Myers.”
“This Is It.”
“K’s Merchandise.”
…that man would sale WHATEVER item
Would pay the price,
For what began as a pre-dominantly white
Neighbordhood,
Our home
Sat in on that hill.
5pm CST we ALL knew it was “The Simpsons,”
Then “King of the Hill.”
Paw Paw you ARE our king on that hill.
King of Holiday Hills.
Hank on that lawn mower, damn sure not Bill!
Joy for the simple things in life —
Provide for your family.
Honor and protect your wife.
Drink a brew with your dudes
And listen to your tunes.
Little green pick-up truck,
When you would pick us up.
“Shooobie doo doo da bop,”
However you used to to sing them tunes.
We wanted 105.5,
You wanted 105.7.
You’d always win,
But even then —
I could see
Those moments
Were your subtle slice
Of heaven.
Raised me since
I was seven…
After raising four of your own…
A blessing!
Oh yea,
And three more of my siblings.
God — you are so giving!
One year opened your home to my paternal brother,
That there is unheard of.
Good Ol’ Jewell,
Man of few words.
Entire life, pure actions.
Started your own rim shop,
Who cares if it did not pan out
How you imagined.
Paw Paw, I love you forever and then some.
Big Red gum, on your tongue.
Four sticks left, “Paw Paw can I have some?”
Me and cousins
Rubbing
Vaseline on your corned feet…
And we thought it was fun.
Laundry room counter.
Iron and starch,
Aka the stuff
That kept Paw Paw sharp.
What did Pastor Leo used to say
About you and Carver Park?
“Cleanest brother in the projects wearing them suits!”
You told us them twins Jean and Jane
Wrote your name
On their shoes.
DAMN PAW PAW,
You was giving em the blues!
Damn Paw Paw,
It pains me to see you lose…
Your memories.
Your mobility.
But, never what you
Mean to me.
I KNOW YOU.
I REMEMBER.
Sitting in your black chair,
In the back room,
Placing logs in the wood burner in December.
Swatting flies in July.
Same chair.
Different vibe.
Cold, black skin
Blends
With the dark
In the night time.
All we see is
Glasses
And white eyes.
Ha Ha, Paw Paw,
That’s my guy!
They don’t make ‘em
Like you anymore.
Your legacy is deeper
Than any rim store.
JEWELL —your legacy is
YOU.
The way your quiet presence
Graces rooms.
Self-less character.
That made shit happen.
Jewell Roy Bankhead
A Rare Breed
A Man of Few Words
And Many Actions.
An Easter Sunday Special
Over the next seven days I will be publishing new poetry exclusively submitted to Blackstack by Black poets in the community. Y’all really don’t get enough love in the writing world, so I created the “Seven Days of Black Poetry” series for us.
A Return Home
There’s a lot of conversation now about our titles being used as verbs. Recently, the word ‘sisterhood’ has been introduced as a verb and that discourse triggered a thought about mothering and fathering as verbs.
My Skin My Logo
As Black people, there’s this weight that we carry. We joke about women carrying a lot of junk in the trunk, and niggas moving weight in the streets. But we never really acknowledge what we are carrying that creates that heaviness. The weight that men carry on their backs every time they walk through the door, and the world’s h…
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This brings back memories of me and my granddaddy. He was one of my favorite people and best friends. Thank you so much for sharing this! 🥹🥹🫶🏿🫶🏿💙💙
First few yrs of my life, my Grandpa was the only daddy I knew - also very calm & patient. I used to stay with them after pre-school, the only years I spent living close by. He passed when I was 7, but 20 years later my Gran couldn’t stop talkin bout how in love they were - talk about #RelationshipGoals! I wish I could take a peek into the timeline where he & my Mama was around as long as she was! 💙