Latest news with #UncleMorgan
Yahoo
a day ago
- General
- Yahoo
On Father's Day, I'm thankful for a special uncle and making amends with my Dad
Father's Day always brings back bittersweet memories for me. My dad had been abusive to Mom, and they separated when I was 5, and my brother Adam was 2. The next time I saw him I was 15 and my brother was 12. Although our mom did her best to give us a stable and secure family life, there was always something, or someone, missing. Our dad. I felt for my brother because he was never to have special father-son moments like some of his friends had with their dads. Even so, Mom did her best to make that little apartment in the Liberty Square Housing Project a place where a 'real' family lived, even if there was no dad there. Although Dad wasn't in our life until we were adults, we were never short of having good men to serve as surrogate dads to us. Our first surrogate dad was Uncle Morgan, the husband of Mom's older sister, Thelma. Their home in rural East Palatka in North Florida was where we were welcomed as Mom planned her escape from our dad. Uncle Morgan's warm and comforting words, 'Bring the children to us, Ida. They will be safe here until you get settled in Miami.' It didn't matter that they already had five children of their own, ages 6 to 1. To him and Aunt Thelma, two more children wouldn't matter. So, my brother and I went to live with Uncle Morgan and Aunt Thelma for the next six months. It was early 1944, during World War II, and times were tough, especially for Blacks. But somehow, Uncle Morgan made us feel safe and secure. A soft-spoken gentle man, he often hummed a tune while he worked. And he seemed to be able to do everything. When the roof leaked, he fixed it. When we were ill, he cooked up some kind of bush medicine or home remedy that made us well again. Uncle Morgan worked on the farm of some neighboring whites, and at slaughtering time, he brought home fresh meat, which he smoked in an outside smokehouse. He also brought home some of the animal fat or tallow (I think that's what it's called), which Aunt Thelma mixed with potash to make soap. That soap was used for everything from scrubbing the wood floors to washing the family's laundry to bathing us children in a big tin tub in the kitchen. Mornings at our new home bustled with activity. Aunt Thelma packed Uncle's lunch in a clean lard bucket and sent him off to work while the three older children — including me and my cousin Bernice, who was a year younger, got ready for school. Then she packed our lunches, usually a warm biscuit smeared generously with homemade apple butter (still one of my favorite snacks). We loved Aunt Thelma. She was sweet and funny. But it was when Uncle Morgan came home from work that the house really came alive. I loved to watch him putter around the house, or sitting on the front porch sharpening his razor on a leather strap. He wasn't a big man, but there was a quiet strength about him. Soon, it was time for Mom to come for us. It was just before Easter and Mom brought gifts for all of us children. For Bernice and me, it was identical blue-and-white dresses that we would wear to church on Easter Sunday. All too soon, it was time to move on to our new home in the big city of Miami. Uncle Morgan got one of his friends to drive us to the Greyhound bus station. I don't remember crying as we left Palatka, but I did leave a piece of my heart there. It would be 26 years before I would see my dear uncle again. It was at the funeral of a family member, when I noticed a slightly built man smiling at me from across the room. He looked familiar. And then it hit me. 'Uncle Morgan,' I said as we reached out to hug each other. 'Do you remember me?' he asked. 'How could I ever forget you,' I said, thanking him for the time he had been dad to me and my brother when we so desperately needed a dad. The years hadn't treated him too well. But he still had that same kind manner and quick smile. He would die of cancer a few years later. By then, my brother and I had developed a relationship with our own dad. Reaching out to him was awkward at first. We didn't know how our mom would feel about us trying to get to know our dad after so many years. But Mom gave us her blessings. She had forgiven Dad a long time ago for the pain he had caused her. My brother and I took our children to see Dad on what was to be our last Father's Day together. At dinner, Dad kept his head bowed most of the time. I didn't know until later that he didn't want us to see the tears in his eyes. Dad was crying tears of joy mixed with regret. Today as we honor our fathers, I am happy that I made the effort to get to know the man responsible for my being here. He wasn't perfect. He made mistakes, big mistakes, that he wished he could undo. But the most important thing is, we forgave him. And we showed him love. So, on this Father's Day, I have no regrets. Happy Father's Day, Dad. Warm congratulations to Oliver L. Gross, who on June 7 was the only non-lawyer among five honorees recognized at the Wilkie D. Ferguson Jr. Bar Association and Foundation's 44th installation and scholarship gala. The event was at Florida International University's Roz and Cal Kovens Center at the Biscayne Bay campus in North Miami. Gross, president and CEO of New Urban Development LLC, an affiliate of the Urban League of Greater Miami, was honored with the Community Service Champion Award for overseeing the acquisition, development, financing, and property management of over 1,300 affordable housing units, which represents more than $300 million in investment, primarily in Miami-Dade County. Gross and his wife Janis have been married for 27 years and live in the Turnberry area. Also honored: Alexis Hammond, the Rising Star Award; Carlos J. Martinez, the Commitment to Justice Award; Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison, the Trailblazer Award; and U.S. Circuit Court Judge Embry Kidd, the Richard E. S Toomey Legal Legacy Award.
Miami Herald
a day ago
- General
- Miami Herald
On Father's Day, I'm thankful for a special uncle and making amends with my Dad
Father's Day always brings back bittersweet memories for me. My dad had been abusive to Mom, and they separated when I was 5, and my brother Adam was 2. The next time I saw him I was 15 and my brother was 12. Although our mom did her best to give us a stable and secure family life, there was always something, or someone, missing. Our dad. I felt for my brother because he was never to have special father-son moments like some of his friends had with their dads. Even so, Mom did her best to make that little apartment in the Liberty Square Housing Project a place where a 'real' family lived, even if there was no dad there. Although Dad wasn't in our life until we were adults, we were never short of having good men to serve as surrogate dads to us. Our first surrogate dad was Uncle Morgan, the husband of Mom's older sister, Thelma. Their home in rural East Palatka in North Florida was where we were welcomed as Mom planned her escape from our dad. Uncle Morgan's warm and comforting words, 'Bring the children to us, Ida. They will be safe here until you get settled in Miami.' It didn't matter that they already had five children of their own, ages 6 to 1. To him and Aunt Thelma, two more children wouldn't matter. So, my brother and I went to live with Uncle Morgan and Aunt Thelma for the next six months. It was early 1944, during World War II, and times were tough, especially for Blacks. But somehow, Uncle Morgan made us feel safe and secure. A soft-spoken gentle man, he often hummed a tune while he worked. And he seemed to be able to do everything. When the roof leaked, he fixed it. When we were ill, he cooked up some kind of bush medicine or home remedy that made us well again. Uncle Morgan worked on the farm of some neighboring whites, and at slaughtering time, he brought home fresh meat, which he smoked in an outside smokehouse. He also brought home some of the animal fat or tallow (I think that's what it's called), which Aunt Thelma mixed with potash to make soap. That soap was used for everything from scrubbing the wood floors to washing the family's laundry to bathing us children in a big tin tub in the kitchen. Mornings at our new home bustled with activity. Aunt Thelma packed Uncle's lunch in a clean lard bucket and sent him off to work while the three older children — including me and my cousin Bernice, who was a year younger, got ready for school. Then she packed our lunches, usually a warm biscuit smeared generously with homemade apple butter (still one of my favorite snacks). We loved Aunt Thelma. She was sweet and funny. But it was when Uncle Morgan came home from work that the house really came alive. I loved to watch him putter around the house, or sitting on the front porch sharpening his razor on a leather strap. He wasn't a big man, but there was a quiet strength about him. Soon, it was time for Mom to come for us. It was just before Easter and Mom brought gifts for all of us children. For Bernice and me, it was identical blue-and-white dresses that we would wear to church on Easter Sunday. All too soon, it was time to move on to our new home in the big city of Miami. Uncle Morgan got one of his friends to drive us to the Greyhound bus station. I don't remember crying as we left Palatka, but I did leave a piece of my heart there. It would be 26 years before I would see my dear uncle again. It was at the funeral of a family member, when I noticed a slightly built man smiling at me from across the room. He looked familiar. And then it hit me. 'Uncle Morgan,' I said as we reached out to hug each other. 'Do you remember me?' he asked. 'How could I ever forget you,' I said, thanking him for the time he had been dad to me and my brother when we so desperately needed a dad. The years hadn't treated him too well. But he still had that same kind manner and quick smile. He would die of cancer a few years later. By then, my brother and I had developed a relationship with our own dad. Reaching out to him was awkward at first. We didn't know how our mom would feel about us trying to get to know our dad after so many years. But Mom gave us her blessings. She had forgiven Dad a long time ago for the pain he had caused her. My brother and I took our children to see Dad on what was to be our last Father's Day together. At dinner, Dad kept his head bowed most of the time. I didn't know until later that he didn't want us to see the tears in his eyes. Dad was crying tears of joy mixed with regret. Today as we honor our fathers, I am happy that I made the effort to get to know the man responsible for my being here. He wasn't perfect. He made mistakes, big mistakes, that he wished he could undo. But the most important thing is, we forgave him. And we showed him love. So, on this Father's Day, I have no regrets. Happy Father's Day, Dad. Wilkie Ferguson honorees Warm congratulations to Oliver L. Gross, who on June 7 was the only non-lawyer among five honorees recognized at the Wilkie D. Ferguson Jr. Bar Association and Foundation's 44th installation and scholarship gala. The event was at Florida International University's Roz and Cal Kovens Center at the Biscayne Bay campus in North Miami. Gross, president and CEO of New Urban Development LLC, an affiliate of the Urban League of Greater Miami, was honored with the Community Service Champion Award for overseeing the acquisition, development, financing, and property management of over 1,300 affordable housing units, which represents more than $300 million in investment, primarily in Miami-Dade County. Gross and his wife Janis have been married for 27 years and live in the Turnberry area. Also honored: Alexis Hammond, the Rising Star Award; Carlos J. Martinez, the Commitment to Justice Award; Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison, the Trailblazer Award; and U.S. Circuit Court Judge Embry Kidd, the Richard E. S Toomey Legal Legacy Award.
