For Father's Day

The uphill battle to be a decent dad is largely what my debut novel is about.  And it's a prominent theme of my second one as well. If you're lucky enough to have a good father, or perhaps like myself are blessed to have a great one, I know he'll appreciate a bit of recognition on the third Sunday of June (or any other day of the year).  If you're trying to be the best father you can be, such as I am (photo of me and my little angel appears here), then you know it's hard work and the very best job there is.  I did my best to capture the majesty of fatherhood via pictures I found for this post.  Pretty sure I found one or two that will make some of you smile.

Everyday is Father's Day 🙏🏿 pic.twitter.com/0Hh6wq4zXs

— WS (@wesleysnipes) January 5, 2018

Stuck on what to get your dad for Father's Day?  He can always use more pairs of socks, but you can probably do better than that.  How about a good book?  Patches of Grey, perhaps?  Matters of Convenience, maybe. Or go nuts and double up!



Patches Of Grey by Roy L. Pickering Jr.
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

"Pickering's style is fluid and crisp. There's a certain clarity to the prose that's considered and well judged - just enough to paint the picture and more than enough to drive along the narrative." - Khome (UnheardWords.com)

Named a 2012 B.R.A.G. Medallion™ Honoree

Synopsis: Tony Johnson is a studious young man planning to soon graduate from much more than high school. Although his zip code places him in a Bronx tenement pre "rise of Obama", his sights are set far beyond the trappings of his humble upbringing. Collegiate dreams and falling in love with a white classmate put him strongly at odds with his father. His brother C.J.'s rebellious ways endanger his life on gang ruled streets and the chastity of their sister Tanya is clearly approaching its demise. But it is Tony who incurs the majority of Lionel Johnson's wrath for the sins of ambition, exhibiting color blind love by daring to be with Janet Mitchell, and refusing to bend to his father's will. Seeing unrealized goals reincarnated in the eyes of his eldest son harshly remind Lionel of what once could have been, and of what went wrong. His own childhood in a segregated southern town established a bitter, prejudiced outlook that is the only legacy he has to pass down to his children. When his job and role as primary breadwinner are lost, Lionel's authority quickly erodes and he drowns his disappointment one drink at a time. This affords Tony, who lacks the seemingly servile patience of his mother, an opportunity to assert independence rather than allowing his fate to be set by chance and circumstance. But throughout the course of Roy Pickering's engrossing debut novel, Tony comes to learn that the world is not as black and white as he and his father's opposing mindsets would suggest.

Available in print at Amazon: http://amzn.to/dAcK4j

And Kindle edition: http://tinyurl.com/ydoamc3

At Mahogany Books: http://bit.ly/fbUVcM

At Independent Author Index: http://indaindex.com/patches-of-grey-...

Or direct from the author, at a discount rate if multiple copies are being purchased for a book club, at http://www.roypickering.net


FaceBook page: http://on.fb.me/eJphth


Top Ten Quotes from Patches of Grey - http://www.quotationsdiary.com/indie-...


Review by RawSistaz Reviewers - http://ow.ly/15Umwx


Review at AlvahsBooks.com by Randall Radic - http://www.alvahsbooks.com/?p=417


Review by five bourough book review - http://fiveboroughbooks.blogspot.com/...

Review by Good Books and Wine - http://bit.ly/eOTF4Y


Review by John Paterson:

Patches of Grey is a story in the tradition of the “coming of age” literature (think SE Hinton, or Catcher in the Rye) in an urban African American setting. Roy Pickering captures the angst of boys becoming men with the added complexity of race permeating events and the environment.

The author does a remarkable job illustrating the internal dialogue and conflict all teenagers face as they struggle for identity, but from the perspective of a young black man. The gift is his ability to translate this conversation to a wider audience, to identify both common ground (girls, fathers, social strata) and also present differences that make one appreciate how race, culture, and familial relationships are perceived differently in different groups: e.g., the conflict between being “all you can be,” and being loyal to the group.

The domestic violence was jarring, as was the relativity. Things weren’t “good” or “bad,” but “better than” or “worse than.” Is having an abusive father/husband (who cares for his family) better than having no father around at all? At least he’s not as bad as . . .

It’s a world in which nothing is taken for granted, and nobody can really afford to be easy going. Seeming cool even carries a certain intense, deliberate and intentional quality. There is love, but very little is given – at home or to others -- freely, generously, or without conditions. It’s a lot of work, with a lot of stress hanging in the general atmosphere.

On the other hand, there is a core element of pride, strength, survival – and dare I say – hope and change to the story. Nobody is a naïve fool, or sucker. They are smart and strong characters who may not have started with a lot of advantages, but can take anything. There is “something” in them that will live on forever no matter what changes.

I agree with others who’ve said this should be on the Junior High/High School reading list. (May have to edit some parts?) I think it could be so meaningful, and even change lives, with young readers at that point.

In reading the book I found myself thinking that I really hope the author has son(s), coaches, mentors, and/or is in big brother program. It would be great for the world.
* * *

In addition to Patches of Grey, Roy Pickering is the author of the novella - Feeding the Squirrels
http://www.synergebooks.com/ebook_fee...

Currently Roy is at work on a second novel, Matters of Convenience, from which an excerpt can be found at his blog: http://lineaday.blogspot.com/2009/04/...

View all my reviews

Short Story Sunday IV

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

"My father, despite his many failings, was a man of his word."

Fish Dinner Short Story by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

Copyright by Roy L. Pickering Jr.

My wife beams with pride over her creation. Computer technology proved far more fascinating during her formative years than emulating Betty Crocker. Yet every so often Grace will don an apron, crack open a recipe book, and take to the kitchen.

Laid out on our dining table is a feast to behold. The main dish of this unexpected banquet is a grilled red snapper topped with tropical fruit salsa.

“Dig in, honey.” When Grace told me that she intended to take the day off from work, little did I know she would spend it in such a manner.

“Wow. What did I do to deserve this?”

“You showed up and swept me off my feet.”

I smile, then load up my plate as a surge of remembrance brings me back to the last time I was served red snapper. An astonishing count of sixteen years has passed between that meal and the one before me now. I suspect this dish has been avoided in the interim not by conscious choice, but rather, due to a mental connection made between the fish and that distant day.

“You haven’t touched your food yet,” Grace observes. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Just thinking about something.”

When I returned home after several hours spent with my friends, talking about those things that preoccupy the minds of fourteen year old boys, I was surprised to find a grilled red snapper soaked in lemon garlic sauce awaiting me for dinner. My mother rarely prepared fish for us, even though we both loved seafood, because my father adamantly did not. This had always struck me as odd since he was born in the West Indies, the grandson of fishermen on both sides of the family. But not everything is passed down the genealogical line by tradition and heredity. Some choices we make for ourselves in spite of who we are supposed to be. The preferences of my father, dietary and otherwise, were noted and accepted as the way of our world. My mother was an excellent cook and the meal she had prepared looked scrumptious, but it also seemed to be premeditated defiance. Why had she cooked what she knew my father would not eat?

“Is Dad home?” I asked, for he was nowhere in sight. Typically he would be seated on the sofa watching whatever ball game he could find on TV when I traipsed into our apartment shortly before the assigned dinnertime of 7:00. We were a family of routine, of well respected rituals, but on this day evidence pointed to a disturbance in the balance of our lives.

“Wash up for dinner, Jimmy. I need to talk to you. And no, your father won’t be joining us for dinner tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Please do as I say.”

Her voice was calm, yet clearly fragile, moments away from shattering unless events unfolded in the precise manner she had planned. I washed my face and hands, then returned to the dinner table. My mother and I silently said a prayer of gratitude for the food. The first bite taken of the red snapper was exquisite, and the second somehow surpassed its predecessor. Next I consumed a forkful of saffron rice followed by a sip of pineapple juice. As my fork headed back towards the fish, my mother spoke.

My food would grow cold and unsavory as her words tumbled out. I sat frozen while learning that my father had left us that morning and would not be returning. I did not doubt what he said to my mother in the note left behind as legacy. My father, despite his many failings, was a man of his word.

I did not hear from him again until I was twenty-four, a married man with far more debt than my meager paychecks could significantly dent, about to start a family of my own. Grace was three months pregnant. My father had somehow learned that he was going to become a grandfather, not that he expressed pleasure over this development. He did not bother to claim regret either. He had sent money to my mother and I sporadically, the envelopes always postmarked with a new location. These payoffs alleviated any guilt that might otherwise have disturbed his sleep. I did not mask my bitterness, but it was voiced without passion. Over time I had decided he was not worth the effort necessary to actively hate him. I simply maintained a passive state of disapproval. As for my mother, her second husband is a great guy who aided amnesia about the first.

Ten years after his departure, my father did not invite himself back into my life. Actually, there didn’t seem to be much reason for the call. We exchanged unpleasantries, hung up after a few tense minutes, and that was that.

There were complications with her pregnancy and Grace miscarried a month later. On top of the misery of losing our child, we learned that Grace would probably never be able to conceive again. But these were to be future concerns, as far more immediate matters needed to be dealt with. I came close to losing Grace as the surgeons toiled to keep her alive. My world nearly collapsed as the agonizing hours crawled by and I helplessly awaited fate’s verdict. But my wife is a strong woman and she pulled through. Her life was saved. Hers and mine.

I will not allow the red snapper to grow cold this time. The efforts of my wife, the impossibly beautiful woman whom I love beyond comprehension, will not be in vain. I place a tender morsel into my mouth. As expected, it is delicious.

“This is wonderful”, I say, referencing a great deal more than the food. I do not have all that I want, nor even all that I need. What I do have is the love of a good woman, and what could be a simpler or greater miracle than that?

“Jimmy.”

I raise the fork for another tantalizing bite of this fish whose journey has led to my appreciative stomach. I inherited my father’s wavy hair, wide feet, thick eyebrows, and the shape of his nose. But I do not share his distaste for seafood. I am a vastly different man than him. It is my life’s purpose to be so.

I stop eating long enough to say, “Yes, baby” to which Grace replies -

“I’m pregnant.”