So they have my car surrounded. They’re yelling, they may have even been screaming. The only thing I made out was “Driver, turn off your engine. Passenger, put your hands outside the window and open the door slowly.” The stranger, the mid 40 year old, drunk, black man riding shotgun looks at me and asks if I’m dirty.
“Of course I’m dirty! What do you think!?!”
The knockers roll up to the car, 4 or 5 deep and blast open both doors. They remove the guy I was riding around and sent him on his way. They pull me out, right on the side of the road. I’ve got a needle in my sleeve while they’re frisking me.
I am emotionless.
The only thought I had, I mean the absolute ONLY thing I was thinking about was how am I going to get out of this without getting arrested so I can finish what I started. No thoughts of my son. No thoughts of my parents. No thoughts of my wife. Nothing like that. Just one thing. The thing that held as much importance to me as the air I breathed.
The dope.
They finished searching me, roughed me up a little and threw my keys in the middle of the road. I was numb. Not angry. Not sad. Certainly no joy, hadn’t felt that in years. The best way I can describe it is…empty.
This afternoon I left Baltimore city and went home to pick up my son. He had an appointment at John’s Hopkins neurology department. I knew going in he was going to have to have blood taken. I also knew he was not a fan of that. We got in my truck and rolled back downtown. We listened to music and talked for a bit, then he fell asleep. When we got there I turned around and watched him. He looked like a little angel. I knew he was not about to enjoy what we were going to have to do.
He woke up and we went in. He asked if we could stop by the cafe, which we found out was closed. So we asked the security officer if there was another one. He gave us directions to the cafeteria.
“Go up two escalators, then make a right (as he pointed left) then make another right…wait, never mind. Two escalators, then a left, then a right and the cafeteria will be on your left.”
As we walked away I looked at Canaan. Didja get that? He said loudly “Yes” so the guard could hear him, then he looked straight ahead and said quietly “No, Daddy. I didn’t”
I laughed and we went over the directions again. He played with the words, saying a left then a right, right? I said “Right”. We ate some breadsticks with cheese and he drank a chocolate milk.
He made sure to split the last breadstick in half and offered it up. He is such a naturally good kid. I couldn’t ask for a better child.
We went upstairs and waited. Talking and cracking jokes. We made it fun. Then we got called back. He was checked out, then we waited for the phlebotomist. When we got in there everything changed. I tried to be honest with him, while still making less of the situation than it was.
The guy checked my son’s pipes and chose an arm. I knelt down on the floor between his legs. Holding one hand and his other wrist. The tears poured. He looked at me right in my eyes and begged me to “DON’T MAKE ME DO THIS DADDY! PLEASE!!!!”
It killed me.
I kept my composure, I concealed my feelings and calmly explained why we had to do this. I made him focus on me. I reminded him to breathe. He listened and the needle went in.
He cried harder.
He looked at it and I had to coach him back to my eyes, reminding him to breathe the whole time. It was working. He was calming down. Then the next tube filled up. And then the third. I was telling him what was happening to assure him everything was ok, so he would be less inclined to look. The needle came out and it hurt him again. He cried some more and I comforted him. I told him how proud I was and that he was a soldier.
We left, went to the pizza place where you can build your own slice. His first slice had ham and pineapple, his favorite. We played a game where you have to find the words that the other person sees outside. We had the best time. He laughed a lot. He got another slice then we went for milkshakes.
On the way home I had a Spiritual Experience.
I have been in a really tough place lately, shying away from what I know to work. I have been so caught up with life, that I haven’t been as tight with G-d.
Canaan changed that for me on the way home. He sang at the top of his lungs. It was so funny that it brought me to tears. And when that happened…
…I remembered what life was about.
It’s not about all the stress and hustle.
It’s not about anything of this world.
I can be happy no matter what provided I see G-d everywhere.
And today I saw Him in my son.
And today…I am grateful.