Her Grandfather

Her Grandfather

Her grandfather called to say he wanted to discuss his granddaughter’s case and I tried to get rid of him. He couldn’t help me and I didn’t have time.

“You know I can’t talk about a client’s case with anyone without my client’s permission,” I said.

“Well, I’ll just talk to you,” he replied.

“Okay, but can’t we do that over the phone,” I asked.

“No, this is something I want to do in person, Mr. Benjamin. Please, sir, this is my granddaughter whose life is in your hands. I want to see you.”

So, of course, I said yes, and here he was, one of these old guys who evoke warm feelings in me the minute I see them. It’s something in their deep mellifluous soft voices, the grip of their hands, the way they look you in the eye, the years and years of history, dignity, and determination etched into their faces. Does every older man remind me of my father? You know in that first moment of appraisal and recognition you are in the presence of beauty and grace borne of long years on the planet and it evokes your immediate respect. You sit back in your chair. You feel your breathing change. There is time to talk after all.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Treadaway,” you say. “Please, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. How can I be of help to you?”

“Well, Mr. Todd, I don’t know as you can be of any help to me, unless it’s my granddaughter you are aiming to help. You see, Yvonne is my youngest girl’s youngest child and I’ve always been partial to both her mother and herself. Her mother, that’s my Ernestine, I loved her dearly, but she died soon after Yvonne was born and Ms. Treadaway and myself we raised Yvonne from when she was little. Sweet child she was, I tell you that. Used to climb up onto my lap in that huge old chair we kept in the kitchen and just stoke my face and pet me like I was her big old doll. Poke around at my face. Pull it. Push my nose this way and that. Pull the curls of my nappy hair right out till they was long. Flip my ears back and forth. Look me right in the eye. Put her nose right next to my nose so I could smell that sweet milky dew on her breath. God, she was a wonderful child. You understand don’t you? You have children of your own, Mr. Benjamin?”

“Yes, I do understand Mr. Treadaway.”

“I’ve lived in these so called united states of America all my life, Mr. Benjamin. What can I tell you? As an adult I was free to leave and I clearly did not, notwithstanding the temptation and the pain of life here. I’m an American, Mr. Benjamin, and I am as proud of that fact as I am to be Black. I served in what white historians call World War II. And I served proudly. It’s funny how those who shape our language also shape people’s sense of reality. You’ve noticed that I take it. You understand what I mean? I mean sixty million African people, men, women, and children, were ripped from their homes and families and forced to live in the most horrific and degrading conditions for centuries, treated worse than dogs, an entire continent raped and enslaved for centuries, and it is called a “peculiar institution.” Lord god that hurts and makes me crazy. And then when fifty thousand American young men, mostly white boys all, get killed between 1941 and 1945 it is called ‘the Great War, the war to end all wars.’ I ask you.”

I notice his hair and his face as he talks. I notice his long fingers. His eyes never leave me and mine never leave his. It is a deep, comfortable moment, a reminder of rich earth and fertile humus.

“But how can I be of assistance to you today?” I ask.

“You represent my granddaughter, Mr. Benjamin. That’s right isn’t it? Her family loves her. I love her. I want to be sure you know that. I wanted to see the man who has my baby’s fate in his hands. I wanted to remind you that I care very much what happens to Yvonne, that I stand here watching you and praying for you. I want you to know I am beholden to no man, Mr. Benjamin, but that I stand deeply in your debt. We are all somebody’s children, Mr. Benjamin, and deep as you care about your children, that’s how deeply I love and care about Yvonne.”