White Bases

Sixty-eight and sixty-four driving down from Tylertown Mississippi

To my home in New Orleans to walk to a Tulane baseball game

White pickup truck wants to get to the field

An hour early to watch batting practice

My father wears a still green t-shirt

From the 2001 college world series in Omaha we attended after I graduated seventeen years ago

Open door, greet his friend who says he likes my house

Pictures of Fats Domino and Nina Simone watch

Tells me how Jimi Hendrix blues are his jam, but

Stevie Ray Vaughn he could really play

Complains about how his wife makes him listen to satellite radio The Bridge

His buddy’s friends have a band that rocked some bar in Mandeville

I offer the facilities. He takes a piss.

Three of us walk. Sun on the edge.

He talks about his financial broker has a suite at the stadium.

My father buys three railbird seats. BP. Artificial turf.

Tulane versus the University of New Orleans

My undergraduate versus graduate school

My father says he wants me to drink so much he’ll have to carry me home

Different definitions of what it means to be a man

I go to concessions. Buddy tells me I can only buy two beers at a time.

Walk two Miller lights to father and his friend. Explain.

Father makes fun of me. Says go back and get two more for you.

I joke about how that makes no sense. I’ll just take one. The second will get hot.

I don’t need it now. Why would I take more than I need?

I go buy my single metal bottle of my father’s favorite brand.

Sip. National Anthem. Stand. Don’t keep full eye contact on flag.

Stare around the stadium at mouthing.

Father’s hand over heart, mine is not.

I look up at the sky instead. Panorama all the people.

Tulane takes a five to nothing lead.

Finance broker’s six-foot-six son is on the mound for Tulane

Scheduled freshman pitcher is relieved

New Orleans proceeds to load the white bases, ties it up

Fifth inning I call my best friend in Atlanta to see how he is doing

Sunday was the first Mother’s Day since his mother’s death.

I couldn’t call him because I was out at my parent’s place

In the woods of rural Mississippi where my phone doesn’t work

On the ride back to New Orleans, I see he had texted to wish my mom a happy Mother’s Day

Thought of a year ago him and me at Jazz Fest to see Stevie Wonder

His father’s favorite, I remember his mother talking to me about Fats Domino

In the car when she could not drive because of the chemo and I brought her to the bank

To sign some paperwork to help my best friend get his first mortgage in Georgia

My dad starts naming the late 1950’s Yankee’s starting line up

Told me his dad made him stand up and salute the television

When they played the national anthem growing up

Wind is blowing out. Seventh inning. Piss break

Three beers in for the group.

I buy some peanuts thinking my dad will like them.

Back at seat he says, “I can’t eat those anymore. They give me hemorrhoids.” 

Dad’s friend says, “Last game of the season.

Financial broker has to get rid of all the beer in his suite. Free.”

My dad, “Easy decision. Come on son let’s go.”

I grab my peanuts, view of home plate, and march up the steps

Behind security guards and doors with donor’s names

A black woman works to bring concessions

Finance broker is tall. Genetics. Says he’s an MBA grad

Suite is shitty carpet. Gray home depot cabinets.

A flat screen shows an MMA fight between McGregor and Santos

About eight people muddle. I can’t see the field well.

I brought my beer. Stocked fridge. I don’t sip.

Try to watch. Finance broker starts picking up.

Chucks a bottle of Bloody Mary mix in the trash can.

Offers dad’s friend pennants. He accepts.

He tries to grab my peanuts sitting on a table right in front of me thinking they were his

Tulane wins, “You have to come down and see the boys. My son can sign the pennant.”

Walk down. Dad’s friend talks about how much money this dude has made him in the market.

I tell him, “I worked as an auditor and CPA. You have to know what you are investing in, where your money comes from.” He rattles about returns.

Sasquatch signs dad’s friend’s pennant, “You did great Kenton.”

I ask the right hander what his major is, “Finance”

I tell him to make sure to take as many accounting courses as he can

The language of business, it’s a hard-skill,

Will always be useful to understand how the whole thing works

My dad shakes the pitcher’s hand. “Good job Shorty,” smiles

I say, “Y’all ready to go.”

Dad’s friend goes to thank Mr. Finance Broker

I liked the seats we had.

Walk the few blocks to my house

Dad’s friend starts talking politics

I use the word fuck in a sentence about healthcare.

He tells me to watch my language

I say, “This is my street. You are in the blue dot on the red plate now buddy.

The word is an intensifier. Fuck is not the scary word.”

Man keeps talking.

Unlock front door. Close door.

Two sixty-year-old’s on a sofa. Miller lights. Me standing.

Churn of America having the inside the white-family talk

Moving parts in an engine

Dad and friend say, “Climate change is not real. Adam and Eve. You have to be responsible for your actions. You should have thought about that before you had kids. Well you go out and get a third job. Letting all the immigrants in. Schools are better privatized. Indigent had hospitals to take care of them we don’t need government involved. Socialism means they take my land and get to decide what happens with it. Those people over there been fighting since 1500. Just want to kill each other. I have seen what man is. Do you know what happened in WWI? This country was founded on work.

Stop feeling guilty son your relatives did not own slaves they were Rodrig, Moors that invaded Spain who converted Catholic and sailed to Nova Scotia as Rodriguez, then dropped the z in Louisiana. You have nothing to feel bad about son. Lighten up. You are so passionate. I don’t disparage anyone working hard and having all that money, I just wish I knew how to do it too.” Friend asks me, “Do you know how America got great?”

I say, “America was founded on genocide of the indigenous then imported slaves as a free labor force in a second genocide amassing massive economic wealth. War. Opulent owners in an economy run by banks. WWI. Great Depression. New Deal. WWII fought on foreign soil from the continental. Technology created leveraged Marshall Plan Europe paid America to rebuild it. Insulated by oceans. 1950’s minimum wage was about half of the average wage.”

Dad chimes in, “I used to make a $1.15 delivering for the pharmacy in high school when my dad made about $3.40 working at Celetex. So I’ll agree with you on that.”

I say, “1960’s anti-war and civil rights protests got rid of the draft you feared more than anything in the world. Different generations, different challenges, you have to see people. No matter where you go people just want to love their family, see their kids grow up safe, share music, share food, the feeling of a hungry belly, every person is bigger on the inside than any of us can imagine. Banks want to start wars, control the Federal Reserve to keep government debt from toppling a system designed to keep most people desperate and enrich the few.”

Dad says, “Oh, I agree with that the World Bank controls everything. Everything is rigged. They decide it all. Why do you get so worked up son? You can’t make a difference. Have a beer.”

I say, “Do you think the World Bank stopped the draft? Do you think they would have picked Donald Trump or Bernie Sanders?”

Friend says, “Oh Bernie Sanders he’s a fucking idiot. That guy is so clueless. Never ran anything in his life. Socialism, do you know about Venezuela. I worked for Shell. Venezuela broke everything to rot and had Shell come in to fix it up to speed then took it back. That’s the democratic socialism you want? Do you know who owns it all now; Russia.”

I talk about, “WWI, WWII America and the Soviet Union always fought on the same side. Two different economic principles in communism and capitalism fighting for dominion on the earth, but both really run by oligarchs. Try to explain definitions of socialism, communism, and democratic socialism and what industries inside capitalism are not good fits for full free market and need government involvement, only in America that involvement benefits industrial agriculture, defense contractors, and Big Pharma instead of the people.”

Crickets. My father goes to take a piss when I mention supply and demand curves. 

I say, “Bankers and elites decided how natural resources are distributed, who profits, who gets exploited. Soviet war machine ran out of cash first. America huffed debt exploited foreign people for cheap goods. Republican/Democrat it’s a one-party system, but the Democrat’s social and economic policies are better. The solution is democratic socialism and a coordinated global tax on capital by all 194 nations to address climate change and women’s health to address population growth, wealth inequality, and the ultimate striation potable water.”

Friend says, “Obama only got elected because he is black.”

I say, “Are you telling me the World Bank would not have preferred Hillary Clinton over Obama? Obama got elected because he is extremely intelligent, but like Clinton he was willing to play ball with Wall Street. Clinton is super smart too, but her legacy is far more imbedded with the global banks going into 2008.

This is not about red or blue. Maybe to you and your Fox News bubble view you think that is what this is. (Pause, dad’s friend smirks as my father turns to commiserate the nod.) You need to get out the echo chamber and understand that is what both parties want you to do, to ignore facts, to not read, to bicker in ideology, and not critically think.”

Alternative facts. False equivalencies

I ask, “Do you know what genocide means?”

Friend says, “That is when they killed the Jews. Indigenous what’s that?”

I say, “Creek” He says, “You mean Indians; they were killing each other before we got here.”

I say, “Machine guns from railroads to mow down buffalo herds to starve people. I say yellow fever blankets. Andrew Jackson. Trail of Tears. Lakota way.”

Friend says, “You can say what things means all you want. What’s a definition? You are just like my nephew that just graduated. You and him are just alike. By the time you are sixty-eight sitting here then you’ll know.”

I say, “You don’t even know who you are dealing with sir. You won’t give a shit, because you’ll be dead, but when I’m sixty-eight I hope the water won’t be up over that sofa.”

Friend says, “Irish, indentured servitude.”

I say, “Barbarity, over fifty million people died in the Trans Atlantic Slave trade. Humans chained in drawers. Rape. Families sold apart. Torture.”

Dad says, “I want the government to stay out of everything. Stay off my land. Shouldn’t be handing out to people. Get jobs”

I ask him, “What about that CRP money the state pays you not to cut your trees or the seedling programming to help you replant?”

Back and forth going on an hour and fifteen

Father’s friend, “Asks me again genocide? Genocide? Please.”

My father tells me you know what I want on my tombstone

“When you think you know, you don’t know. When you know you don’t know, then you know.”

I say, “You worked your ass off in the attics of New Orleans to send me to get an education. I got a scholarship to go to the school on your shirt, but I did not quit learning when I left. I am a CPA that has worked inside the hemorrhoids of Wall Street. I am a poet. I’ve written two books. I have friends on the red right and the blue left. Both sides are full of people with big hearts and my life has been a lot of purple.

If you think this polarization bullshit is more important than facts and doing your homework and you do not trust your own son’s education when I stand here and tell you, knowing you haven’t read, you haven’t researched any of this stuff, you just think you know and watch Fox News in the evenings or an S.E.C. network baseball game…you used to be in the I.B.E.W. like the sign in the outfield tonight.

You know I am no longer a Christian, but I did keep the Jesus part about what you do to the least among us, the love your neighbor. I don’t see how Jesus is in any of the things you’ve been talking about. The epitaph you want. It’s bullshit dad. It’s a platitude. Some people do know things. Some people do empirical research. Go through peer review on scientific facts over ninety eight percent of global scientists agree on anthropogenic climate change. (Friend gives my father the same smirk-nod again.) Some people know economics, history, science, and sociology because they do their homework and write or read books based in facts.”

My father looks at me “You get so passionate. You don’t need to feel guilty or sorry for them son.” He turns to his friend and jokes, “They should have appreciated the free ride to America. They’re better off for it.” They both smile on my white sofa.

A hot well of tempered alcohol and rage fumes in my Rodrig blood

I see the picture of me and my best friend at Jazz Fest over my father’s right ear

I pull the picture off the wall

I hold it up to his startled face. I can see the glare in his eyeball.

I scream, “Look at it! Would you say that to his motherfucking face? If you wouldn’t say it to him, then sure as fuck don’t say it to me! Get the fuck out of my motherfucking house!”

The two turn. Say nothing. Get in a white pickup truck drive off.

I text ten minutes later.

“Dad, I love you. I told you at grandma’s table over a year ago, I have zero tolerance for racism in my presence. I know things got heated. I apologize for cursing at you to say what I said, but I do not apologize for the point. If you want to pick your father’s racism, go ahead keep the ignorance underneath its grip. Families fight. We disagree. I love you as a human, but belittling the education you worked so hard to give me crushes me inside, it’s like no matter how hard I work in my mind you would be more proud if I could throw a fastball. You seem more concerned with picking your ego than saying, “I did not know that son. Thanks for your work and talent to know the difference between facts and opinions, to be one of the people who gives a shit.”

I drink some water. Check the web.

Poet friend on Facebook, “P.T. Beauregard statue coming down tonight.”

Think of the march two weeks ago being at Lee Circle

My father, heritage. Midnight.

Read some pages from a Laura Kipnis book. Slept.

Morning dress, statue down

Pass an old black homeless-looking man holding a trumpet by the Shell station

Called my mother on my drive to work to let her know

She says, “Nobody’s perfect. He’s trying to reach out to you in his own way.

I call him out when he’s racist, he is wrong, but you reject him.”

I say, “I love him. I love you. There is no bridge burned even he thinks there is, but I have zero tolerance for racism. I know he was abused by his parents. I know who his father was and an idea of the world he grew up in, but I want him and you to know one of the reasons I am so adamant about this is because this shit ends here, my brothers and I in this generation. This family’s legacy of racism is dead. It dies with him.”