Faster than a speeding bullet! More powerful than a locomotive! Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound! Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Superman! And apparently he's high on crack cocaine?
As a child growing up in the mean streets of Philadelphia it was fairly difficult to encourage a healthy development. From playing basketball around broken crack pipes, to seeing police chasing dealers on foot down my alleyway. To me, simply put, this was normal. And while this may sound like a frightening upbringing, majority of my friends from around the country have similar experiences. We've faced them, managed to harness our misfortune, and out of it create a life where possibility fell within arms reach.
My home was the typical American home. There was my beautiful Mother, my annoying siblings, our pet dog Titus (may God rest his soul), and my Dad or as I refer to him as.... Superman! All of whom I hold in extremely high regard and love more than anything in this world, but none more than my Father. Whenever I would fall he was there to tell me "You'll be ok". Or that one time he let me beat him in a foot race down the middle of the street. Only to tell me, "You're still the fastest person in the world!" These seemingly minuscule events to you are oh so prevalent in my personal memory log. There's no question that I absolutely adored him. Hung on every single promise and marveled at every little gesture. Life as far as I knew was perfect! So what possibly could my mom have to argue about every night with the most interesting man in the world? Yes, my television was no longer in my room. But he assured me that he took it to the "TV shop" to get it fixed. The living room furniture was gone because it needed to be "checked for fleas", and who cares that he was gone throughout the entire night! He was, most likely umm "working". Or at least this is what I told myself. Unknowingly creating this false reality, where I still managed to find innocence in the midst of the chaos. His everyday battle with these demons were masked by this notion that I forced upon him.
As the seasons changed, minds developed and maturation inevitably grew. So naturally I lost my affinity for all things 'cartoony'. (Besides, when I discovered a lot of girls my age started to like me, I couldn't lead off with "Do you like Marvel or DC?") The adoration for my dad was no different. It was gone! Particularly after piecing together a life long puzzle and seeing the image for what it truly was. One where questions loomed and enigma thrived. Stepping out of a puerile disposition, fastening to a more factual approach. I discovered that not only was my upbringing 'not normal', it was kind of horrifying. And how psychotic was I as a child to see with my physical eyes a man literally dying in front of me, but somehow create a mentor out of him? (Seriously, if there is a psychological term for this I'd like to know). And how incredibly strong was my mother to plaster a smile over a mouth that undoubtedly wanted to scream? These are the questions I've asked myself. These are the questions that birthed resentment inside of me and put an end to trust as I knew it.
If I may quote the great Langston Hughes, “Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair”. I’ve had my nightmares! Learned the hard way that monsters are in fact real, and I decided that I wanted to face them head on. Finding courage from deep within that I didn’t even know I possessed. Telling myself that maybe, just maybe I could become the man my dad was so eagerly trying to avoid becoming. And look, I’m not trying to throw a pity party at my expense. “Poor Cam! How could he survive such a terrorizing childhood?” That’s not my aim. My aim is to simply show you that you are not alone. To show you that coming from an existence where statistics were surely stacked against me to a place of triumph is a very real possibility. Besides, as we all know in every epic Superhero story the hero always prevails. I could tell you about how my dad is now remarried to a wonderful woman. Or how he runs a center that helps men and women in Philadelphia who struggle with addiction find hope. Or even how he went back to school, received his Masters degree and is now the Senior Pastor of a church. But that’s His testimony. What I’m more interested in discussing is love.
I'm thoroughly convinced that what kept me so sane was this very simple novelty. Regardless of how incredibly cliche' that may sound, I can't offer up any alternative explanation. Accepting my father at the time for what he was and loving him for who he was destined to be. Maybe there's someone in your life that simply needs an unfiltered display of your love. Some encouragement; A reminder that they're not alone in whatever they may be struggling with. Perhaps it's not as devastating as drug addiction, but a vice is a vice and always seems to weigh a ton to whomever may be carrying it. Just be patient. Better yet, be that psychotic little kid that I was who saw something special in a person that refused to see it in himself.
Believe me when I say that Love is the very force that encouraged my Dad to do away with disguises and accept who he really was. And I watched, with that same child-like adoration, as he stepped outside of the booth. Look, it's a bird! It's a plane! It's..... You know the rest.
As a child growing up in the mean streets of Philadelphia it was fairly difficult to encourage a healthy development. From playing basketball around broken crack pipes, to seeing police chasing dealers on foot down my alleyway. To me, simply put, this was normal. And while this may sound like a frightening upbringing, majority of my friends from around the country have similar experiences. We've faced them, managed to harness our misfortune, and out of it create a life where possibility fell within arms reach.
My home was the typical American home. There was my beautiful Mother, my annoying siblings, our pet dog Titus (may God rest his soul), and my Dad or as I refer to him as.... Superman! All of whom I hold in extremely high regard and love more than anything in this world, but none more than my Father. Whenever I would fall he was there to tell me "You'll be ok". Or that one time he let me beat him in a foot race down the middle of the street. Only to tell me, "You're still the fastest person in the world!" These seemingly minuscule events to you are oh so prevalent in my personal memory log. There's no question that I absolutely adored him. Hung on every single promise and marveled at every little gesture. Life as far as I knew was perfect! So what possibly could my mom have to argue about every night with the most interesting man in the world? Yes, my television was no longer in my room. But he assured me that he took it to the "TV shop" to get it fixed. The living room furniture was gone because it needed to be "checked for fleas", and who cares that he was gone throughout the entire night! He was, most likely umm "working". Or at least this is what I told myself. Unknowingly creating this false reality, where I still managed to find innocence in the midst of the chaos. His everyday battle with these demons were masked by this notion that I forced upon him.
As the seasons changed, minds developed and maturation inevitably grew. So naturally I lost my affinity for all things 'cartoony'. (Besides, when I discovered a lot of girls my age started to like me, I couldn't lead off with "Do you like Marvel or DC?") The adoration for my dad was no different. It was gone! Particularly after piecing together a life long puzzle and seeing the image for what it truly was. One where questions loomed and enigma thrived. Stepping out of a puerile disposition, fastening to a more factual approach. I discovered that not only was my upbringing 'not normal', it was kind of horrifying. And how psychotic was I as a child to see with my physical eyes a man literally dying in front of me, but somehow create a mentor out of him? (Seriously, if there is a psychological term for this I'd like to know). And how incredibly strong was my mother to plaster a smile over a mouth that undoubtedly wanted to scream? These are the questions I've asked myself. These are the questions that birthed resentment inside of me and put an end to trust as I knew it.
If I may quote the great Langston Hughes, “Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair”. I’ve had my nightmares! Learned the hard way that monsters are in fact real, and I decided that I wanted to face them head on. Finding courage from deep within that I didn’t even know I possessed. Telling myself that maybe, just maybe I could become the man my dad was so eagerly trying to avoid becoming. And look, I’m not trying to throw a pity party at my expense. “Poor Cam! How could he survive such a terrorizing childhood?” That’s not my aim. My aim is to simply show you that you are not alone. To show you that coming from an existence where statistics were surely stacked against me to a place of triumph is a very real possibility. Besides, as we all know in every epic Superhero story the hero always prevails. I could tell you about how my dad is now remarried to a wonderful woman. Or how he runs a center that helps men and women in Philadelphia who struggle with addiction find hope. Or even how he went back to school, received his Masters degree and is now the Senior Pastor of a church. But that’s His testimony. What I’m more interested in discussing is love.
I'm thoroughly convinced that what kept me so sane was this very simple novelty. Regardless of how incredibly cliche' that may sound, I can't offer up any alternative explanation. Accepting my father at the time for what he was and loving him for who he was destined to be. Maybe there's someone in your life that simply needs an unfiltered display of your love. Some encouragement; A reminder that they're not alone in whatever they may be struggling with. Perhaps it's not as devastating as drug addiction, but a vice is a vice and always seems to weigh a ton to whomever may be carrying it. Just be patient. Better yet, be that psychotic little kid that I was who saw something special in a person that refused to see it in himself.
Believe me when I say that Love is the very force that encouraged my Dad to do away with disguises and accept who he really was. And I watched, with that same child-like adoration, as he stepped outside of the booth. Look, it's a bird! It's a plane! It's..... You know the rest.