For the last few days I've been on a bizarre high as a result of a DVD my brother Greg sent me from Cincinnati. The package arrived and I was like, Oh God, what is this man sending me. There was a small note pinned to the front of the package that read: Check this out. Let me know if there's any useful black history there. And of course my sometimes-snobby self thought: What could Greg know about Black History [when in fact he knows a lot. he's an avid History Channel fan. it's just the idea of my brother one-upping me on some history that had my high-brow twitching]. Anyway, I stuck the DVD into my desktop, and there in the enter block read KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS. [For those of you who don't know, KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS is a Catholic men's fraternal benefit society that was formed to render financial aid to members and their families.] My mother's dad was a Knight. So I played the DVD and lo and behold, my heart dropped TWO TIMES. The DVD was footage taken from 30 years ago during a Knights of Columbus ceremony honoring my Uncle Gordon's Drill Team [a group of young guys he gathered in the Catholic church and whipped into shape military-style]. Among the Drill Team members were both my brothers, Greg and Victor, my cousins Donny and Gordy, and my Uncle Roger, assistant in command. I couldn't believe it. A little thing you should know about my mother's family: folks got talent and tend to have a gift for the dramatic. My grandmother herself was lively, theatrical and saw every movie from the 30s, 40s and 50s. My grandfather, when he was not wearing his sombreros and dancing the Cha-Cha, he was listening to train albums—yes, albums that literally had recordings of trains going down tracks, loud and fast. Well, this flare for the theatrical spilled over into their children [and grandchildren], but more specifically to my Uncle Gordon, who after a stint in the Navy and landing a great engineering job for Avon, was carpenter, interior designer, movie buff, and ultimately Drill Team Commander. And to see this footage of him in that uniform, with samari sword on his side, thirteen young uniformed teens marching under his command, and then him saluting the Priest, was... wow! Grace, style and committment. John Wayne could have not held a foot up to my Uncle G. And that's fo' real.

But when I didn't think the footage could get any better, the camera panned out over the crowd and there was my grandmother, my uncles' wives, my grandfather [looking a bit out done by his son], more cousins, everyone excited, a few not seeming to give a damn. And then there was this interesting woman in a large fashionable white hat and big sun glasses sitting amidst the plainly-dressed Catholic folk. At first I didn't think much about the woman, until the camera got closer and it was my MOTHER—all independent and daring. I cried immediately. And there sitting next to her, was a seven year old me. I cried again. And there next to me was my mother's oldest brother Clyde, his first wife Eleanor and their young son, Clydie. I tell you, seeing all of this rocked me like I've never been rocked. A moment in time I don't remember. But we were all there, together, celebrating our own gift and understanding of the theatrical.

See, most of the people are dead now: my grandmother and grandfather, my Uncle Gordon and Uncle Clyde, his son Clydie, my mother. All before their time sort of speak. But to see them, us, together, Catholic and black and proud and theatrical... I was reminded what a special place I hailed from, of the blueprint that being demonstrated for me. Damn. It trips me out just writing this. If I had a hat I'd take it off.

Anway, before I could finish viewing the footage, my cell rang and it was my big brother Greg, excited, eager to know if I received the DVD. Eager to tell me how amazing my Uncle Gordon was for organizing the Drill Team, for putting all of his creative juices together and dumping them into my brother and the other teen members. His words: "I know Uncle Gordy did some crazy shit, but he put his heart into the Drill Team, Keith. He brought us together".

I don't know why I felt the need to blog this, but this week has been inundated with loss: Coretta Scott King, Wendy Wasstertein, a good friend's mom, a good friend's loving dog... I guess I'm wanting to give homage in a way, or maybe to ask others to do the same. Maybe I needed to strip away the guck and cringe of memory and zero in on what was clear: I ain't fall too far from the tree, and I like that!

Until next time,

Keith