Chapter: Son Rise
"I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection."
~Sigmund Freud
July 2, 2000
“Dominic Jeremiah Timms!” Mom yelled as she swung the door to my room open for the fifth time in twenty minutes. “Just for one day, one Sabbath, could you not give me a hard time?”
“Why do I have to go? Service is five hours for no reason,” I whined and rolled over, careful not to disturb Zelly as she slept.
“Because she said so, Junior,” Dad interjected. No way was I getting out of church with both of them against me.
“He’s your son today, Dominic. Have him ready in thirty minutes,” she grumbled, kissing him quickly before she left.
“Do I have to go?” I asked, sitting up on the mattress. “Mom ain’t even Christian. Why does she care?”
“She’s a Messianic Jew,” he reminded me with a chuckle. “What’s going on? Why are you so tired?”
“Zelly moves all night. And she sweats like crazy,” I complained. I only let her sleep here to keep her from crying to them.
“You’re a good brother, DJ. Get dressed.”
“Come on, Pop! One Sunday, please?”
“Let me tell you like my old man told me.”
Dad took five long strides across our carpeted floor, each one with the same authority he always carried. I longed to feel that much power in my body. Everyone respected him, even those who didn’t have to. When he spoke, we listened. I’d seen him at work enough to know exactly how his platoon stood at fearful attention of him until commanded otherwise. No one knew how chill he was with us, always ready to play with the girls or dance in the kitchen with Mom. The way he described it, no one should. At work, he was Lieutenant Colonel Dominic Timms Sr., the formidable man. At home, he was father and husband, my best friend. But that authority was never dismissed from his being. I wanted that.
“Six days a week, God gives you breath to do what you’ve got to do. At work, at school, with your teachers and friends. You’ve got six days to take care of all your other business. On that seventh day, when He wakes you up with the breath to give one morning of thanks to Him, the only business you got is to make sure you give it all back to Him. If you can’t give God one day, why should He give you six more?”
“Yes sir,” I mumbled in understanding.
“Don’t question your Mama anymore, DJ.”
“Yes sir.”
“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”
“Yes sir.”
“Am I fully understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Without further instruction, I rolled out of bed and immediately began to dress myself in the button-down shirt Mom laid out the night before. While I did that, Dad scooped Zelly from where she still slept on my bed. I knew what he meant was I should be dressed and ready to go before he was, or my privileges were sure to be taken. It was his challenging me to become a better man. Aamir was good about getting up and out on Sundays, something he learned the hard way. Now, it was my turn. Dad would expect I garner wisdom from experience. And if I wanted to keep the things I loved most, namely my freedom, that’s exactly what I would do.
___
“Don’t you dare put another scoop of anything on that plate until you finish your salad, DJ,” Mom scolded with a mean pinch to my arm as we went through the line for seconds.
Dad’s church was having an early Fourth of July cookout after service let out, the same as every year. Except for the nasty ass fruitcake nobody wanted to touch, the food was all good. The only thing better than the mac-n-cheese was a pot roast, more perfect than even Mom’s. It was so good even Aamir, who was anti-meat at the time, ate some. I remembered the year before was too rainy and we had to stay inside, in the fellowship hall. This, being outside, was better. I could sit with my friends, far enough from the adults that our conversations remained private.
“DJ, I want more noodles!” Raizel insisted, tugging at my shirt for more pasta salad. “Moooooooooooore, DJ!”
“I heard you, Zel. Give me a second.” Defying my mom’s orders, I dumped a spoonful of pasta salad, a piece of pot roast, and another hot dog on the plate to share with my baby sister.
“Junior!” Dad called from a few yards away, by the grills they had set up.
“Yes, sir?” I answered when I approached him and the couple he was standing with. The man looked familiar enough but I didn’t recognize the woman at all.
“I want you to meet some people. This is Mr. Kennard and Ms. Geraldine,” he introduced, explaining their presence. “This is my son, Dominic and my baby girl, Raizel.”
“You named afta ya papa, young one?” Mr. Kennard asked in a real thick accent, Caribbean or something.
“Yes, sir, I am.” I was ready to eat and so was Zel, but Dad would’ve beat my ass if I didn’t stay to talk with his peers for a few minutes.
“Ya got some big shoes tuh fill!” he said with a genuine chuckle. I knew my dad was an amazing man already, so being his namesake was a gift.
“I wish our Mackenzie was here so you could meet her,” the lady said.
“Ah! Kenzo wasn’t feeling it today?” Dad joked, obviously knowing more about them than I assumed.
“She claims she caught a little cold again.” The way she rolled her eyes said more than her words would. Being sick must’ve been her way to get out of church.
“Sounds like her to me. She’s going to eighth grade this year, right?” he asked, making me perk up a bit. If she was my age, that was more interesting.
“Does she go to Kettering too? Maybe I know her,” I suggested. I knew everyone in my class.
“She will this year, but she’s been homeschooling so far,” she informed me.
“Oh,” I mumbled, feeding Zelly a forkful of pasta salad to calm her down a little bit.
“You know what, though?” I couldn’t even begin to imagine. “Her birthday is this week and we’re having a party on Saturday. Would you all like to come?”
“Yeah!” Dad exclaimed. “What time?”
“Ahh, about three,” Mr. Kennard said. Black people parties started when they wanted, not on schedules.
“Does she want anything specific?” Dad asked for more detail.
“The limit taken off her library card.” She was a reader. No wonder I’d never even heard of her. She was more Aamir’s type of person. “She’ll be grateful for anything.”
“She’s a good kid.”
The conversation drifted off to a place I didn’t care to follow. Meeting other people was exciting for me, but that didn’t mean I needed to stick around to hear all the boring details adults in parenthood shared. I took Zelly back to sit with Aamir and Kel. Mama must’ve taken Chava to the bathroom again, or maybe they were socializing with someone else. Whatever the case, she wasn’t there to hound me about eating my vegetables first.
“Dad got us invited to a party,” I told Aamir as I sat down.
“Great,” he rolled his eyes, focused more on playing catch with himself and a balled-up napkin. “Do you know who?”
“Mackenzie, I think. I’ve never met her.”
“Mackenzie Nichols?” Kel cut in.
“Are those her parents?” I pointed back to where Dad was still talking to Mr. Kennard and his wife.
“Yeah, Miss G and Mr. K,” Kel affirmed. “They’re good people. She’s always cooking and shit. She taught my mama how to make this pot roast.”
“She made this?” If that were the case, I’d be at her house every day.
“Kel said a bad word, DJ,” Zelly complained loudly. I’d forgotten she was there, honestly.
“My bad, Zelly,” he apologized. Being the youngest meant he never had to censor himself for baby ears.
“What’s she like?” I kept going.
“Who, Mackenzie? She’s quiet, don’t really talk to nobody. I don’t see her much, except at the pool. Mr. K’s got her in lessons all year. Sometimes they run together on the weekend. If you see her out, she’s with him.” Kel not knowing much about her meant either she was secretive, or there really wasn’t much to know. “She’s nice though.”
Nice would be a change of pace we could use around here.
___
“Hey, you made it! Welcome!” Mr. Kennard greeted right after swinging the door open.
We were immediately ushered into the neutral toned house that they’d decorated in gold everything. Gold ribbon, gold balloons, gold streamers. The only assumption to make was that Mackenzie loved gold. Without the decorations, I imagined their home would be cozy and simple, much like their first impression. Family photos and solo shots of Mackenzie were hung along the walls, as well as a non-American flag. Whichever country it represented must’ve been where Mr. Kennard was from. Aamir would know better than I. Their foyer opened to a hallway, right across being the entrance to the kitchen and dining room. As we walked through, I got glimpses of more pictures hung on the fridge. In each one, Mackenzie clung to Mr. Kennard. She was close to him, that was for sure. Maybe we’d have something in common through that.
“There she is! Come say hi, Mackie,” he spoke again, breaking my thoughts to introduce the birthday girl. “She bein shy, meh dunno why.”
“Kenzo!” Dad exclaimed when she finally sauntered over to us. “Happy birthday, baby girl!”
“Thank you, Mr. Timms,” she accepted softly. “Thank you for coming.”
Well that sounded rehearsed…
“Of course, sweetheart,” Mom cooed, taking the opportunity to hug her first. “You know we wouldn’t miss your birthday.”
It didn’t miss me that they greeted her with a familiarity. We knew everyone they knew, especially the families with kids. I didn’t think they were new to town. I’d walked by this house all the time and the same cars were always there. And Mr. Kennard looked familiar, probably from church. It wouldn’t make sense for them to hide a friendship from us.
“I know you don’t want to talk to boring adults all day,” Dad chuckled. “These are my kids. This is Aamir, DJ, Chava, and Raizel. DJ just turned thirteen too, so he’ll be in your class at Kettering in the fall.”
“Hi, I’m Raizel! This is for you!” Zelly shouted, letting go of my hand long enough to run up to Mackenzie with her gift bag.
Mackenzie dropped to eye level, carefully pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose and received both the gift and a hug from my baby sister. “That’s a very pretty name.”
“Thanks, it’s Yiddish!” No one loved their name as much as Zelly. “Open your present! Aamir and Daddy picked it out just for you.”
Following directions, Mackenzie reached in the bag to pull out three books: Things Fall Apart, Fahrenheit 451, and The Great Gatsby. All week, Aamir and Dad had been arguing over what books to give her. Aamir thought Native Son was a good idea, but Dad forbid it due to it’s “adult content”. Dad thought Flowers for Algernon would be appropriate, Aamir said no little Black girl would relate to that. These titles appeased them both, even though Gatsby was a tough sell for Mir. After examining the back of each cover, Mackenzie wrapped Zelly in a second hug before standing up completely.
“This is perfect. Thank you, Mr. Timms. Thank you, Ms. Yael,” she spoke softly again. “These are all on my book list.”
“What else is on there?” Aamir suddenly became interested. Talking about books brought him fully out of his shell.
“I’m reading Lord of the Flies right now. I finished The Giver last week, that one was okay. Mama found a copy of Out of the Dust, by Karen Hesse. I really want Their Eyes Were Watching God, but she said not until I’m older.”
“Do you like James Baldwin?”
With that, I wandered off to where I saw Kel sitting with his sisters. He said they’d be here, fortunately enough for me. From the looks of it, mostly adults had been invited. There were a few kids here, not many that I recognized.
“Wassup, bruh?” Kel greeted me casually, his mouth full of something.
“Hey, Keri. Hi, Kennedy,” I greeted his sisters first.
“Hi, DJ,” they said in unison, returning quickly to their own conversation.
“You said she was quiet, not weird,” I mumbled. “Does she smile?”
“No,” he laughed. “She’s polite and she’s really nice, but she doesn’t smile if it’s not Mr. K.”
“Well Mir’s got her talking about books. When did y’all get here?”
“Not that long ago. They said we can use the trampoline if we want, and there’s plenty of food. How you feelin?”
“I’m chill, can’t complain. You still coming over today?” Every Saturday, Kel was allowed to come over so we could play video games. Dad had the consoles locked up in his office during the week, even over the summer.
“Yeah, my mom said I can leave with y’all.”
“DJ!” Mom shouted from the patio. “Come get some food!”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” I told Kel before running back over to the buffet line.
“Kel is here?” Mom asked when I reached her.
“Yes ma’am.”
“I want you to do me something,” she requested. Dumping green beans on my plate wasn’t going to open me to her needs, but she did it anyway. “Be sweet to Kenzie, please. She’s shy and I know how… overbearing you can be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re you, and that’s beautiful. But I need you to be understanding today. She’s a sweet girl, her life has just been a bit different than yours. Cool?” No sense arguing with her. “And if Zelly asks for your pasta, tell her no. She had two bowls of couscous after breakfast.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Go be with your friends, baby.” Mom kissed my cheek before dismissing me with a wave. The plate was calling me name, especially whatever chicken this was.
“What’d your Mama say?” Kel got nosey. Me getting in trouble was funny to him, especially when it was Mom.
“Nothing.”
It did strike me that she noted Mackenzie’s life being different than mine. From what I could see, she had it just like me. She was an only child, but she had both parents who were willing to do even this much. Her face was all over their house, telling tales of their love for her. Sure, she wasn’t outgoing, maybe because she didn’t have siblings. She liked her books, and from the looks of it, my parents. Mackenzie was kind to the young children spread through the yard. I looked on as she helped them get on and off the trampoline. There was a softness to her that no one could deny, even if it didn’t extend outwardly to me. I would do as Mom asked and be “sweet”, whatever that really meant.
___
“Everyone! Could we get y’all to come inside to sing happy birthday?” Ms. Geraldine called across the yard.
Since arriving, Mackenzie had effectively ignored me on five separate occasions. I wasn’t trying to force an interaction, but when she came to the table and spoke to everyone except me, I knew it wasn’t shyness. She actually came across as snobby. I didn’t get the feeling she was a bully-type, just that she thought herself better than others. Like interacting with us was charity work. I knew girls like her already. Kel still defended her, citing his experiences differently than mine. In his eyes, she was shy. There was no faulting any behavior, only utilizing descriptors to make her seem less of what she was.
“You coming, DJ?” Kel asked as everyone began to head for the house. “Come on, the cake is always good.”
“Not like she’d notice…” I gritted, choosing to follow him anyway.
Back inside, everyone crowded around the kitchen table, with Mackenzie at the head. Traditional birthday party rules applied. We were all to wait until the last guest was in place, no matter how much I wanted this to be over with. I didn’t even have the comfort of Zelly’s nagging to distract me since she ditched me for Mom. Apparently, not sharing my pasta was criminal and she wanted nothing to do with me, even though Mom was the one who said no. I was ready for this to be over.
“You alright, Junior?” Dad snuck up behind me. “You’re quiet.”
“I’m cool,” I lied. I was ready to go.
“Did you get a chance to talk?” The implied person was Mackenzie.
“Not really. She didn’t want to.”
“That’s alright. Thank you for trying, son.”
“Is everyone ready?” Ms. Geraldine spoke over us all. “On three. One… two… three!”
And as everyone sung her congratulations, I couldn’t help but notice her eyes staring beyond the crowd. Mackenzie wasn’t listening to us singing. She was focused on someone else. Curiously, I turned back to see a man leaning against the threshold. He was tall enough, probably about six-foot, light skinned like me, and hair cut in the cleanest fade I’d seen off base. And his eyes, glued to Mackenzie. When the singing ended and she blew out the candles, he smiled and mouthed a simple “I love you”.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming today. It means a lot to me,” Mackenzie spoke up.
After whispering to her mom for a second, Mackenzie sped clear passed all of her guests, followed closely by the man in the hallway. I actually thought about following them, right up until Dad gave my shoulder a tight “mind your business” squeeze. The only way I’d figure out who he was, would be if Mackenzie herself told me. I’d just settle for a slice of cake instead.
__
“Aamir, Junior,” Mom called, stepping lightly into our room.
Kel left about an hour before, after Dad said I needed to clean my side of the bedroom. That meant he was sick of hearing us yelling over who beat who on Super Smash Bros. It’d be another week before we saw our consoles again. Without them, I was forced outside all day with my sisters. Aamir got away by reading off his teachers’ booklists all summer. I wished I liked reading more. The way he stared at the pages all day made it seem almost exciting.
“Yes ma’am?” we answered in unison.
“We need to speak with you for a minute, as soon as your father finishes putting the girls down. Did you finish vacuuming?” Her question, for once, was directed to Aamir.
“Yes ma’am.” He didn’t bother to look up from his newest acquisition, Moses, Man of the Mountain. “Are we going to church tomorrow?”
“Would you rather go to temple?” Her alternative was his least favorite option. We didn’t find too many Black Jews around here, not that he’d be encouraged to go either way.
“I don’t know, that sounds decent.”
Both of our heads snapped in his direction when we heard that. Mom paced quickly over to Mir’s bed, placing her palm to his forehead. If he wanted to go to temple, he was sick for sure. Even if he didn’t know it yet, he had to be sick.
“What’s going on in here?” Dad asked confusedly when he walked in to see Mom cradling Mir against her chest. “Baby, why are you smothering him?”
“He said he wants to go to temple tomorrow, Dominic.” It took nothing for Dad to mimic her response exactly. “Do you feel nauseous? Junior, can you run and get my stethoscope? And the thermometer?”
“Mom, you’re exaggerating,” Mir chuckled, pushing her away. “I like temple.”
“Son, do you want to go to the ER?” Dad interjected.
“I am half-Jewish,” he reminded them. “If Mom can be the only White girl in a Black Baptists church, I can deal with being the only Black kid there. Besides, I have questions for the rabbi.”
“Like?”
“The Ethiopian Jewish migration and racism in Israel…”
“Never mind, he’s fine,” Mom scoffed. If he was on one of his quests for outing racism across the globe, Mir was in perfect health. “The girls are sleep?”
“Zelly is… Chava demanded to finish Junie B. Jones.”
“Oh, I wonder where she got that from…” Again, Aamir. “Anyway, we need to talk to you about the fall.”
“Are we moving?” I asked before she even started. “Everyone other family from base has moved except us. Please say it’s somewhere good at least. Italy or something, please.”
“We’re not moving, Junior,” Dad laughed at me. “You can get a jumbo slice in Adams-Morgan if you’re craving pizza that bad.”
“I’m being deployed this August, for three months,” Dad revealed. I immediately saw Aamir’s face drop, the same feeling I had in my stomach. “I’m going to be on a ship this time, I can’t tell you where right now. Phone service will be limited, so I’ll probably be writing more than I’ll call. We’re scheduled back just before Thanksgiving.”
“Whatever,” Mir sucked his teeth. “Is that it?”
“Well, Aamir, I’m taking you to get your license before I leave, so you can help Mom out with the girls. She’s switching to day shifts at the hospital instead of nights. Junior, you’ll still be able to do basketball after school, and Mrs. Thompson said she’ll bring you home with Kel…”
“I can skip this season,” I offered. Mom would need extra help with the girls, and I didn’t want to leave everything on Aamir.
“We know how much it means to you, DJ,” Mom sympathized. “Aamir will still have his extracurriculars too. I want this to be as normal as possible, okay?”
“There’s nothing normal about deployment,” Aamir gritted. “How much longer do we have to keep doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“Putting up with your army shit!”
Mom tensed up when Aamir cursed, quickly grabbing his hand into her own. If there was nothing in life to fear, the correction coming for cursing at Dad was sure to make a wise man out of a fool. We cussed with our friends, even with each other in secret. We were allowed to outwardly disagree with his job assignments, to express our anger with our words and have open dialogue as we were now. Maybe Aamir lost his will to live with the news of deployment season, because death was the only thing sure to follow that kind of language.
“I’m going to give you one chance to correct yourself,” Dad offered his mercies.
“I don’t need…” he began, followed quickly by Dad snatching him off the bed. If his grip didn’t leave a permanent impression, I’d be shocked.
“Correct yourself,” were the only words to leave Dad’s mouth.
Rather than watching them stand toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye, I diverted my attention to Mom. She sat staring intently at her folded hands, fidgeting with her wedding band. Many crises could be averted through a mom override. She’d go to the moon and back, fight a pack of lions, and protect us from all… except Dad’s discipline. The trust between them stated that she knew he’d never harm us. And her best sense recognized there were some things only a father could teach. She wouldn’t undermine him, not ever. Dad was our alpha, especially Aamir’s.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Mir conceded, his eyes dropping to the floor.
“Head up.” Dad dropped him grip on Mir’s arm, using his hand instead to lift his son’s chin. “Leaving isn’t what I choose, but I have orders I have to follow too. Everybody answers to someone.”
“I know…”
“Don’t try that with your mama while I’m gone either. She’s punch you dead in the chest,” he lightened the mood some. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah,” Mir sighed. We all wished his love meant full-time presence.
“Junior?”
“I know, Dad.”
“Good. Get in bed, we have an early start tomorrow,” he instructed.
“Good night,” Aamir and I said in unison, waiting until they shut the lights out to lay down fully.
Three months wasn’t the longest he’d been gone before, but this just felt wrong. I wanted him home with us more than ever now. My last year of middle school was about to begin. Aamir was entering his senior year of high school. We needed him more than the army ever would. Still, I would have to share him for as long as his job required.