My brother, sister and I each thought we were my Dad’s favorite, at least he made us feel that way. And he could do so easily because each of us had a defining part of him. I included the legacy he left each of us individually and collectively in the following poem titled Legacy:
For (From) Dad (Curtis Anderson Sr.)
A tribute to his life
December 5, 1937-May 15, 2005
We have fuel.
He gave it to us. Tied it in a box with a knot. A wonderful gift that can’t stay put, won’t stay put. It’s legacy.
Power igniting our lives, flowing through veins, embracing our pain, keeping us sane, giving us the ability to make decisions, to be ourselves.
We have fuel.
He gave it to us, to change the world, rock its course with radical wisdom to take care of business, to raise our voice, to do our part.
It runs through Curt, shaping his body and face, using them on the basketball court, the baseball field. Adorning his compassionate heart with endless love for others, giving him an inquisitive mind, a manhood like no other.
It streams through Rhonda, making her nonchalance normal, her nappy head natural, her lover of learning necessary and writing a must, and taste for ethnic culture cool.
Springing forth from Sharon in the power of her preaching, in her strong-willed demeanor, in her being a deep thinker, in her insistence in believing, in her need to touch lives no matter what the cost.
We have Curtis Anderson Sr. legacy. We have taste buds to remember his cooking, brilliant minds to continue his teaching, hearts for others to share his thinking, his love, and re-ignite hope in others. We will walk his legacy, wear his legacy, and talk his legacy with pride and joy.
He was a giant who walked softly in the garden of our lives. And we simply adored him.
By Rhonda J. Smith
Copyright May 19, 2005