Regression To The MEAN

Dead Dad Wisdom Vol. 1

I had a ten speed bike once. Was a pretty big deal. Not the fact that I had the bike, the fact that I could ride it at all. In my 80’s youth, things like what age you could ride a ten speed still mattered. I was a man-child, so the only thing more impressive than learning to ride a bike, was learning to ride a bigger bike. My ten speed was a thing of beauty, red with white lettering, two handbrakes at the top with a little gearshift in middle. Might as well have been a corvette to me, I was all over Gardere Lane on that thing.

Wasn’t long before the wear and tear I put on the bike took it’s toll. I had some tire problems, some gear issues, but the most nagging thing by far was the brake. On a ten speed of that generation, the handbrakes were connected to the top of the handlebars by a little metal fixture that you screwed to tighten. Wasn’t long before one of those fixtures broke, meaning rather than my brake being fixed to the top of my handlebars, it was dangling alongside the bike hanging by the rubber air tube. I gave no fucks about this. I still had one good brake, and the fact that the other one dangled down when I rode didn’t move me. Until it did. I was riding one day in the parking lot of Broussard Plaza apartments when the world was all of the sudden upside down. The dangling brake from the front of my bike had gotten caught in the spokes of the front tire, halting it completely. The laws of physics meant I had to go for a ride over the top of the handlebars. I slammed HARD into the pavement, a childhood initiation into pain like none other.

As I’m looking around trying to figure out what happened, I hear keys jingling. I automatically know what that means. My eyes find the sound, its my father. I’m eight or nine years old so he’s moving towards me with purpose, but he’s not in a rush at all. As he gets toward me he bends down and says “You Alright? Daddy saw that. I told you about that raggedy bike.” I go to stand up, and Van Lathan Sr. shakes his head, “nah stay down there a second, catch your breath.” He’s checking me out, examining my head, neck, vital places and says “you alright.” Only I didn’s feel alright, there was blood everywhere. I didn’t skin my knee, I CUT it. The cut is leaking like Latino support for the Democrats. My father sees me staring at the blood and he jumps in -

“That ain’t nothing but some blood. It’s a blessing to bleed, at least you know something’s wrong.”

My father was from South Louisiana, like I am. It’s a land of killers, all kinds of things kill you. His point, was that you’re lucky if you’re killer makes some noise. Cancer might not, diabetes might not, heart disease might not, not until its too late anyway. But when you see your blood, your literal life force running out of your body, you get moving. If you have to be hurt, which we all do, it’s a blessing to bleed.

America bled last night. No doubt about it. The worst ideas peddled amongst us were voted into office in resounding fashion. Millions cast ballots for the deportation of their family, the subjugation of their daughters, the suppression of their neighbors, and the legacy of their slavers. It was a regression, clearly stated by the winning campaign’s slogan, to a time when everyone knew their place, and America’s greatness was defined by it’s ability to impose instead of include.

And so here we are. Burdened by reality, but blessed by clarity. And we decide. We decide whether to bleed out on the concrete wondering how this all happened. Or we make another decision. A decision to process, to heal, to build. You know now what you’ve always known, this America is an away game. If you want a home stadium here you have build it, and to do that you have to play through the pain.

I’m not giving you a pep talk, I promise you. Your tears are worth it, your fear is logical, your pain is valid. You lost, the Empire won. Bodie killed Wallace. Ricky got shot. G-Baby died. This part of the movie sucks. What I’m telling you is that it’s not over. You’re bleeding but you’re not dead. You’re like literally not dead, you’re reading this. Your life has power, your dreams have meaning, and your voice matters, elections be damned.

Far more educated people will have specific political remedies to this, which I don’t at 4:41 am PST. But I know what has to happen now, and that’s one word … Response.

- Yours in Sorrow Strength

Van Lathan Jr.