Obama’s grandmother and my dad

Originally  published 11/3/08  
Barack Obama’s grandmother, whose personality and bearing shaped much of the life of the Democratic presidential contender, has died, Obama announced Monday, one day before the election. Madelyn Payne Dunham was 86. Obama announced the news from the campaign trail in Charlotte, N.C. “She’s gone home,” “And she died peacefully in her sleep with my sister at her side. And so there is great joy as well as tears. I’m not going to talk about it too long because it is hard for me to talk about.”

While I’m sitting in my office at 4:55 p.m. working myself into a flurry, I hear people talking outside of my office about the death of Obama’s grandmother. Even though I’m fighting timelines, I pause my work. Dazed, I pull up the news on-line, I read carefully as tears collect in my eyes. I look out of my window and give a moment to mourn with the Obama family. I fight to hold back tears because I’m at work and I don’t want anyone to walk into my office at this moment.

This hit me hard, it hit me deeply. My father was 57 years old when I was born. My mother was 28, a hot young red head with an attitude. Dad was the coolest cat this side of Central blvd, and a sugar daddy as he pulled a lot of weight for a Black man in those days. My parents divorced when I was 3. He told me after his passing (through prayer and meditation) that he wanted a son. Hence, my two older sisters, then me, then the divorce. Not that he left my mother after he had his son, but he let her go once he had me. He had little reason to fight her any longer.

Dad and I were close, given the fact that he was retired and financially secure when I was born he had all the time in the world for me. We spent countless hours on the golf course together, then to McDonalds. He’d run short on cash and we’d go back to the house so he could dip into the safe, then off we were again.

Born in 1913, my Dad was the quiet type. He was a track and field high jump and long jump star in high school until he dropped out to support his mother after his father passed away. He had already lost both his elder siblings in the flu epidemic of the 1920’s. My son is the last of the Harris bloodline.

I graduated college in the Spring of 1996. My dad was very ill with cancer, at the time and living in Oregon with my much older half sister. He barely had the strength but he flew back out one hot June day to see his boy graduate college. We were so proud of us that day. After my graduation, the family went back to my aunts house. My dad went to lay down in the bedroom, I followed. We spent hours just laying there. We didn’t say much, but the bond that we had required no words. He was the only man I ever feared. I never have had so much respect for another human being.

In July I was scheduled to take my stockbrokers licensing exams. The first one was the National test, it was tough. The second one was 3 weeks later, an easier California exam. One week after passing the national exam, I learned that my dad had passed away. I could not comprehend a sentence, let alone study or pass an exam. For two weeks I had many weak attempts of reading, but a could not read through the blurring tears. I don’t remember anything about the funeral except for my dad. It was like no one was there but me and his body. I remember shapes and I remember distant echos of voices.

I relied on the knowledge that I acquired studying for the first exam and I passed the second. My dad stayed alive to see me graduate. It was so important that I graduate for him, it was so important for him to witness that. Once that was done, he could not fight any longer. He had accomplished all that he needed to. On July 14th, 1996 my father left for home. Even though I fought the tears earlier, my face is drenched as I write these words. Some tears are for my father, some tears are for Madelyn Payne Dunham.

Plant the seeds and watch them grow, then you may pass with a content heart