My Dad used to say, “You just keep on living…”
He always did what he had to do, but that quip was sarcastically uttered any time he rejected what he thought was a ridiculous suggestion that called upon his time, attention, intellect, memory, or stamina.
Any time he was pressed to do what he didn’t feel like doing, or want to do, he’d smirk and say it— like, “Umm hmmm. Just wait. You gonna get old one of these days. You’ll see”.
Dad knew his limitations, and knew that one day, all of the whippersnappers around him would, “God willing”, reach his age and stage in life, and understand exactly how he felt. He’d lived a full, exciting life. He said God had blessed him to go everywhere he wanted to go, and do everything he wanted to do—and some.
“Travel”, he’d advise. “See the world. Live your life. You only get one”.
Dad always read the newspaper’s obituary column.
Once, I asked him why, and he said he was hoping he didn’t see anybody he knew. It wasn’t until his later years that he explained he was looking for the aged—those who were of his generation—and he deeply lamented the passing of young people. (“Young” was, of course, relative.)
“They just got here!”, he’d say, shaking his head. “Look-a here! Twenty-three, 35, 42! Where are the people like me? People ain’t supposed to bury their children. It just don’t seem right.”
Then he’d cut out the crossword puzzle, refold the paper, get up from the kitchen chair, grab his walker, and hum or whistle “Hold To God’s Unchanging Hand”, or “I Know Who Holds Tomorrow”, on his way to his recliner.
“Im’a go out here and put my feet up.”
I thought about my Dad’s words this morning, as I learned of the passing of Aaron Preston Spears.
I saw the cryptic, respectful posts as I scrolled social media, and was hoping the sadness and disbelief wasn’t directed at anyone I knew. Someone posted a picture, and then I saw the post on his page.
Aaron was a young man. Only days ago, I’d posted birthday greetings.
He was a father, husband, son, friend, mentor, teacher, corporate representative, and drum hero to many; a phenomenal musician, who has made the DMV music community so proud as he crisscrossed the globe, and dominated stages, and television screens, keeping the beat for some of the greatest artists of our time. He was an exceptional young man. He lived. He wasted no time utilizing and sharing his phenomenal gift, and always with a grateful heart, and deference to those upon whose shoulders he stood.
I paused, cried, and remembered an humble, well-mannered, bright-eyed little kid, wearing the best, most infectious smile, who, because of the consummate, anointed musicians in his family and church community, couldn’t help but become great. The old folks were right. “He got it honest”.
I remembered how proud I felt, as I watched The Tonight Show, during the height of the pandemic. He was in the shadows, but that skill and joy was unmistakable.
My Dad had a point. There are some people whose passing doesn’t seem right or fair. You want to cry “foul!”.
You really do want to know: Why them?
With so many crotchety, white-haired, warmongers and scoundrels afoot; with so much hatred, bigotry, greed, mediocrity, rejection of integrity, and pitiful leadership on so many fronts, you wonder why the young, the honest, the kindhearted, the unproblematic —those making positive contributions—why do they have to leave us all behind?
Why are the out-of-pocket imps shown such grace?
No matter what our connection, whether friends, fans, acquaintances or co-workers, we’ll never know the depth of sorrow of those who loved and knew him best.
My sincere condolences to, and prayers for the wonderfully gifted Spears family.
Rest in peace, “Urn”. (It’s a DMV thing.) It was an honor to know you.
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