Herbert Louis Singleton Jr.

I can't even begin to explain to you what kind of man Herbert L. Singleton Jr. was, or the relationship we shared. But I can try.
My father and I were closer, attached to the hip, because he would have it no other way. As I was growing up, I thought that he loved have me around him because he had a person to bomard with all of his ideas about life. And he had plenty.
The definition of opinionated and passionate, radical and revolutionary, and with all of those concepts running rampant inside of him, he had to let someone know. As a younger man, he put himself smack dab in the middle of the crisis that faced the marginalized masses that lived in this country. He spoke, sometimes yelled, fought for a change back when fighting for what was right was as nessisary as breathing. Sit-in, protests, rallies, it was rumored that when Angela Davis came to Baltimore, he hid her out. Interviews for Russian Televison stations, it was also rumored that he was a communist. Attended Morgan State, then Catholic University for law school, he had chosen his route to affect change. Worked for Legal Aid in Baltimore, as was being groomed to be its next Director, but he decided that he should move into private practice. Singleton, Robinson and Dashiell. Did alot of pro bono (free) legal work. My moms says the only thing he would turn down was his collar. An all Black law firm. How beautiful is that. And for a while it was. Eventually, it succumbed to the human condition. Which condition? All of them. Got sick for awhile, around the time I was 1 or 2. So he stayed home with me. Taught me to read through phonetics flash cards. Way before Hooked on Phonics. Taught me the states, countries, and the plight of Blacks in America. I'm 3 years old. So please people, bear with me when I go on my rants about the world. He still fought. Fought to keep cigarette and booze billboards out of my neighborhood, when surprisingly enough, he never saw them in Towson. Fought to keep my block clean. He loved McCulloh St. Fought to keep me and my friends away from the lures of the street and safe from its perils. Fought to keep my cousins love when their biological fathers weren't around. He was a fighter to say the least. He worked at Soujourner-Douglass College as a teacher and the special assistant to the President. He helped students realize the value of learning. He made sure all of the students got enough grants and scholarships to cover the cost of all aspects of their education. He taught outside of the classroom. All while being an asshole. Oh yes, my pops was an asshole. Ignorant and ornery, he said what we felt like saying when he felt like saying it. Filthy mouth. Also a sap. I mean super sappy. He cried. He cried when I left for college, when I came back, when he came to visit, when my niece was born, the first time I got drunk, when North Carolina lost, I mean, sappy. Never said he was perfect, just that he was my Father. Then he died.
That's not the whole story but enough background. This isn't a biography.
I always thought that when my father died, it would be like the movies. Somber yet inspirational music would play softly in the background, a sense of anguish would come over me, and a dream sequence would kick in. I would remember one interaction with him that would stand out above all others, remembered that he loved me, and then one tear would come out of my left eye. Nothing is ever like we see in the movies. It one of those unwritten laws of nature, like yawning is, and forever will be, contagious. No music, no dream sequence, no scene. And definately just not one tear of one eye. But one concept did rise above everything.
My father was the definiton of love for me. Unconditional love. Thats why I know what it means, because God gave him the gift, and he showed it to me. When he died, I realized that he gave it to me. He fought so hard, because he loved so hard. He told me all of his theories and ideas because he loved me. He gave his life to the world even when he didn't want to becuase he loved it so much.
He took the burdens of his family, and his people, and the people they knew, and his own and strapped in on his shoulders. My pastor at my father's funeral said that he walked around with his shoulders slouched not because he had bad posture, or that he lacked confidence, but because he carried the weight of the world with him. This is true. He sacrificed. I know what that word really means because of him. I cannot claim ignorance about anything really because before he died, he showed me the world, unplugged me from the matrix.
I miss him dearly. I wish everyone I knew got to meet him, be around him, be engulfed in his presence. But if have met me, then you have kind of met him. Because so much of him is in me. A part of me thinks that is how he planned it. That's all I have for you.