There’s BBQ at work today.
Yellow mounds of mac and cheese. Piles of chicken. Pork. Beef. And in the back, more BBQ sauce than any responsible person should have.
You shuffle in the line, grabbing a thin plate.
Your mind wanders.
Your father loved BBQ.
In fact, he was proud of BBQ. Maybe even a little racist about it, too.
Caucasian BBQ was a sin in his eyes, and he, being Black, took pride in the fact that his race did this better.
Or so he said.
Which is something you thought was stupid.
And racist.
Yet completely endearing.
You step forward.
It’s Caucasian BBQ today—the corporate kind. The kind your father would have an opinion about… if he were alive.
And yet, his opinion comes through clearer than ever.
“It’s Caucasian.”
You restrain a smile and load up your plate, not making eye contact.
It’s the first time you’ve had BBQ since he died.
The first time.
And no one can see you cry.
Please like, comment, share and tell me what you think. I‘m fine, by the way. I just think all good writing stems from being honest. And this is what I was honestly thinking. Back to comedy here soon.
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Such a poignant insight into how many different things can remind us of our loss. Sometimes, it’s things we would never have thought of, sometimes it’s the milestones we know are looming.
Thank you so much!
In my experience, mainly the small passing moments – which are everyday. But that’s probably a good thing
There are just some things our people will hold on to as being A1 at, and I won’t disagree.
This brought a few tears to my eyes.
“It’s the first time you’ve had BBQ since he died.
The first time.
And no one can see you cry.”
God, I really hope you enjoyed the BBQ and the memories, Tony. 🙏🏾🩵 *Big hugs*
I love the honesty in this post. And frankly, I grew up in such a homogenized Caucasian region that I had no idea there was a difference between a “real” BBQ and a Caucasian BBQ.
Grief and loss are weird. They show up at the most unexpected times and places. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think it’s a poignant way of slowly acclimating to our new situations where the loved one is less accessible to us. (But they’re still there, lurking in our memories.)
The first time I went to an auto parts store after my dad died I found myself bawling. My dad would always work on his car and would have to get this or that spare part. I would have to go along. Like you say, I tried to not make eye contact. I was a goner when I looked up and saw the different oil brands. Ugh!
MEMORIES ARE GOLDEN
So bittersweet, heartfelt and sudden. Sometimes grief comes in waves, sometimes it comes in disguise—sliding in unexpected.
Sorry for your loss, Tony. It’s incredible how small things can trigger those memories, which catch you unaware. All part of the grieving process, I guess, so we go with the flow until it doesn’t hurt anymore; and at some point it won’t. Take care. 🙂