yesterday was my father's birthday; he would have been 67. i completely forgot & i just remembered. i'm glad i remembered, even if a day late... happy birthday mr. daddy, wherever you are!
i havent' wished him a happy birthday in 11 years, and now that he's gone, i'm back at it. strange how things turn out. last friday when i 1st attempted to write a blog, i decided to start writing about my parents before writing about me & my life. i wrote a bunch about my mother, whom i love dearly, and when i was done, i tried to start writing about my dad. i completely stalled. it hit me that i didn't have a single picture of him left. i barely remember what he looks like, yet he made such a powerful impression on my life. i still love him as well, in a way i will never love anyone else. that's when i had my last drink on my own. my last toast was to him & whatever memories i have left of the tumultuous life we shared together. he was tough, charismatic, dangerous. that was certainly worth downing a bottle of wine for! i guess i somehow did celebrate his birthday then, just a week early!
strange how things turn out in life...
some of his many weaknesses still fascinate me: money, the black market, corruption, and most of all women from morocco & zaire (congo) to brazil, their music & their moves...
here's some zairian soukous (congolese salsa if u will):
my mom actually is "african," born in cape town but spent the 1st 15 years of her life in zaire, when it was still called the belgian congo... that's another story for another time.
back in the 70s when i was really young, living in the south of france, we had several giant scary wooden masks hanging along the walls. my father was in zaire, morocco, cameroun, nigeria, liberia, zimbabwe on business 1/2 the time. so we had african shit all over the place, from gold, ivory, diamonds my mom would wear with class, to an elephant's horn carved in the shape of a crocodile to a chess board made of ivory & malachite (one side's pieces were carved in malachite; the other player's pieces were carved in ivory), to pots made of copper, ashtrays made of huge malachite rocks, moroccan tapestries, pillows & potteries, zebra skins or fur or whatever u call it laid down as carpets, giant beetles carved in malachite with long copper legs, statues of lush naked african dancers (yep, i grew up with tits & asses all around), monkeys carved in who knows what. and the list goes on.
i remember my father telling me that the masks were possessed by spirits, and if i should ever touch or lean against the walls a mask would come down & eat me up alive. when i was left alone, i'd defy the masks, stick a finger or two on a wall, look up straight into the scary eyes carved into the wood of these masks, or into their mouths... and i swear i'd see them come down towards me & i'd run away as fast as i could, as if i had barely escaped from death. i couldn't tell my parents or anyone cuz i was afraid i'd get in trouble for touching the white wall against my father's wishes. it was pretty strange living among walls guarded by big scary masks looking over you, with mysterious spirits from the dark jungles of africa, the land of tarzan or something, you know! i mean it's not like they were cartoonish; they were big, black, and scary. more along the lines of indiana jones & the temple of doom kinda shit. but then there was my radiant & coquette mom impeccably dressed & accesorized, make-up & high heels at all times, smiling as often as her facial muscles could stand it, protecting us from the hungry masks while leaving trails of her favorite scent of the time --if i remember well it was must de cartier (the jeweler's perfume!) but that seems a little too 80s, then again she was ahead of her time, and we didn't move back to brussels till late 1980. it's possible. anyhew, southern france being the center of the world of perfumes, my mother must have had several other favorites. the guerlain family who owns one of france's oldest perfume houses --their flagship scent being shalimar de guerlain, too strong for my mom i think were her thoughts on it-- was part of her extended group of friends at the time...
did i mention the ivory crocodile? if i didn't brush my teeth before going to bed, the white ivory croc would come alive, crawl into my room at night & bite me in my sleep!!! does that explain why i need so much therapy now?!
if anything, my father made me go to summer camp every summer to the uk or the us of a for my english. he told fantastic and often incredible stories from his travels, bringing africa into my world when i had yet to even set foot on the continent my mom came from. it's almost as if i grew up in africa without ever being there. i certainly grew up among impressionable african spirits & animals (skinned or carved or whatever) who haunted & threatened my life --or kept me in check depending on how you see it. these memories make me happy... cheers to that!
i never got a chance to say goodbye. so this is it. and i never got a chance to thank him for the good things he passed on to me, and the great experiences we shared in better times. by default or not, i still have a lot to learn from the time we had together. there are many more memories of my father i will chose to keep to myself... so i guess what i'm trying to do here with you --whoever reads this-- as my witness, is to thank him for the good in him i was lucky enough to be touched by... here you go:
i love you, thank you & goodbye. it's been a long time coming!
MAY YOU REST IN PEACE:)
i havent' wished him a happy birthday in 11 years, and now that he's gone, i'm back at it. strange how things turn out. last friday when i 1st attempted to write a blog, i decided to start writing about my parents before writing about me & my life. i wrote a bunch about my mother, whom i love dearly, and when i was done, i tried to start writing about my dad. i completely stalled. it hit me that i didn't have a single picture of him left. i barely remember what he looks like, yet he made such a powerful impression on my life. i still love him as well, in a way i will never love anyone else. that's when i had my last drink on my own. my last toast was to him & whatever memories i have left of the tumultuous life we shared together. he was tough, charismatic, dangerous. that was certainly worth downing a bottle of wine for! i guess i somehow did celebrate his birthday then, just a week early!
strange how things turn out in life...
some of his many weaknesses still fascinate me: money, the black market, corruption, and most of all women from morocco & zaire (congo) to brazil, their music & their moves...
here's some zairian soukous (congolese salsa if u will):
my mom actually is "african," born in cape town but spent the 1st 15 years of her life in zaire, when it was still called the belgian congo... that's another story for another time.
back in the 70s when i was really young, living in the south of france, we had several giant scary wooden masks hanging along the walls. my father was in zaire, morocco, cameroun, nigeria, liberia, zimbabwe on business 1/2 the time. so we had african shit all over the place, from gold, ivory, diamonds my mom would wear with class, to an elephant's horn carved in the shape of a crocodile to a chess board made of ivory & malachite (one side's pieces were carved in malachite; the other player's pieces were carved in ivory), to pots made of copper, ashtrays made of huge malachite rocks, moroccan tapestries, pillows & potteries, zebra skins or fur or whatever u call it laid down as carpets, giant beetles carved in malachite with long copper legs, statues of lush naked african dancers (yep, i grew up with tits & asses all around), monkeys carved in who knows what. and the list goes on.
i remember my father telling me that the masks were possessed by spirits, and if i should ever touch or lean against the walls a mask would come down & eat me up alive. when i was left alone, i'd defy the masks, stick a finger or two on a wall, look up straight into the scary eyes carved into the wood of these masks, or into their mouths... and i swear i'd see them come down towards me & i'd run away as fast as i could, as if i had barely escaped from death. i couldn't tell my parents or anyone cuz i was afraid i'd get in trouble for touching the white wall against my father's wishes. it was pretty strange living among walls guarded by big scary masks looking over you, with mysterious spirits from the dark jungles of africa, the land of tarzan or something, you know! i mean it's not like they were cartoonish; they were big, black, and scary. more along the lines of indiana jones & the temple of doom kinda shit. but then there was my radiant & coquette mom impeccably dressed & accesorized, make-up & high heels at all times, smiling as often as her facial muscles could stand it, protecting us from the hungry masks while leaving trails of her favorite scent of the time --if i remember well it was must de cartier (the jeweler's perfume!) but that seems a little too 80s, then again she was ahead of her time, and we didn't move back to brussels till late 1980. it's possible. anyhew, southern france being the center of the world of perfumes, my mother must have had several other favorites. the guerlain family who owns one of france's oldest perfume houses --their flagship scent being shalimar de guerlain, too strong for my mom i think were her thoughts on it-- was part of her extended group of friends at the time...
did i mention the ivory crocodile? if i didn't brush my teeth before going to bed, the white ivory croc would come alive, crawl into my room at night & bite me in my sleep!!! does that explain why i need so much therapy now?!
if anything, my father made me go to summer camp every summer to the uk or the us of a for my english. he told fantastic and often incredible stories from his travels, bringing africa into my world when i had yet to even set foot on the continent my mom came from. it's almost as if i grew up in africa without ever being there. i certainly grew up among impressionable african spirits & animals (skinned or carved or whatever) who haunted & threatened my life --or kept me in check depending on how you see it. these memories make me happy... cheers to that!
i never got a chance to say goodbye. so this is it. and i never got a chance to thank him for the good things he passed on to me, and the great experiences we shared in better times. by default or not, i still have a lot to learn from the time we had together. there are many more memories of my father i will chose to keep to myself... so i guess what i'm trying to do here with you --whoever reads this-- as my witness, is to thank him for the good in him i was lucky enough to be touched by... here you go:
i love you, thank you & goodbye. it's been a long time coming!
MAY YOU REST IN PEACE:)
