Lutha. . .

Goodness gracious, what a great memory!! Let me tell you about something I thought about today:

On my way home from work, I put on Luther Vandross’ greatest hits album and turned to “Since I lost My Baby” on my iPod. The melody hit me like a ton of pastime; or perhaps bricks as the colloquialism goes. I closed my eyes with a smile on my face and at that moment I was sitting on my couch at Ditmas Ave. Brenda Adams brushed by my body on her way to the kitchen with her hands in the air dancing and singing to the song. As was customary, I found myself at the record player DJ’ing my mother’s favorite Sunday ‘dinner making’ songs. The smell of garlic and Lawry’s seasoning salt rose to the sky. Well maybe it was just the ceiling of our apartment, but I was so overwhelmed by the moment, it got me feeling like my place was the world; so overwhelmed with the feelings a son at that age has for his mother. She was God incarnate to me; or at least god-like. And nothing got the heavens singing halleluiah like Luther playing in the living room.

"The bad boy's singing!" What they singin’ about, Ma? I asked customarily. “Nothing you need to know about, Jara, now come cut up these vegetables!” That was her reply with that beautiful smile on her face. The one where she’s half smiling, half biting her lip. It was the most beautiful smile in the world to me. So enchanting. And most of all, I loved it so much, because it signified that whatever our problems were. . .whatever my mother’s problems were, was not so important at the time she smiled that smile. It was at that moment, you could call me a record player, because whenever she got in those moods, I took mental snapshots of all that was going on and I’d try and prolong the sound, the visual, the activity, the smell, the conversation for as long as I could hoping that continuously recreating this moment, I could permanently banish the problems right out of our lives; wishful thinking for a kid. However, those were happy times.

Now for those of you who don't know, there's no good time like a good time with someone you truly love. No video game, no vacation. No celebration, no nothin'. This is what I had; this is what imbibes my mental. A time real gentle to the memory. Gentle to me. It’s the type of memory that softens a hard pillow when you're trying to sleep at night. And you fall back on this memory to make you forget how terrible your day was. Back in it.

And nothing can disturb this feeling, not even the shame of having to go to the tenants next door to ask for a cup of sugar. I hated having to do that; extended pantries as I like to refer to them. Because there was very little interaction otherwise. . .at least between the parents. I was too young to understand this activity as anything else other than not having the money to get what we needed. I would later grow up to know differently, but back then, to ask for a “handout” was not the move.

"I wanna be loved. There's nothing better than that” . . .”Jara, go turn that up!”

I never really liked Gregory Hines. He always had this pompous, egotistical look on his face. Maybe it’s just the face of a tap dancer because I see the same look on Savion Glover’s face. Plus I hated the movie White Knights starring him with Baryshnikov. But there was something about this song that made me change my tune about him. Truth be told, I should have always respected him. He was hustlin’ Hollywood trying to tap his way in to money. . .in to mainstream. But from what I remember, he was always a supporting role.

My mom uses her butt to bump me out of the way as she pours the scalding hot water off the potatoes that will be used for making mashed potatoes.

I guess, no matter how much better than Fred Astaire he was, like Bojangles, he'd never be Fred Astaire, if you get my meaning.

“A chair is still a chair. Even when there's no one sitting there.”

If you grew up as a child with a parent who listened to Luther then I shouldn't have to explain to you that by FAR, this is the most profound love song ever recorded. If you grew up immediately after the era of Luther Vandross, then there's a strong probability he was present at your conception singing grown folk lullabies that had nothing to do with falling asleep while in bed.

By no stretch of the imagination could I say I had the model family growing up. But I’ll be damned if no matter where I was, if mom was there too, my apartment didn’t feel like a home. And that was my biggest take away from this song. Furniture doesn’t mean anything. Asking me everyday how my day went, meant everything. Asking me to see my spelling tests and graded papers meant everything. Giving me a curfew meant everything. I lived in a home because as Luther says, “I had someone there.” Brenda Adams. And though I know the context of the song is a bit off for a mother and a son, but as the only man in the home, there were plenty of days that I couldn’t wait to get home to find the one woman I knew loved me unconditionally.

My car jolts to a stop and I’m broken out of my trance. I turn my iPod off, but leave my smile turned on. For the past couple weeks, he has made his way back into heavy rotation.

I find it only appropriate that I end this blog with the following clips. Enjoy! Thanks, Noey, for sending this to me!

House is not a Home





Superstar