A reader of this paper is also a friend on a social networking site. Recently, the reader commented on a video I had posted of me and my granddaughter, making pancakes. Imani used to love making that breakfast food with me, and I would play a song, “Pancakes,” as we worked in the kitchen. She never liked to eat the pancakes, just to make them, though she has grown to love cooking.
When my daughter Lisa told me that she was going to add to the gift she had previously granted me as my first “grandchild delivery device,” I wondered how my grandson Xavion was going to feel about having to share his parents with a sibling. Imani joined Lisa, Bing and brother Xavion, and walked tall from birth. Xavion had learned to ignore my camera, which was always turned on him, but when he saw me taking pictures of his baby sister, he invited himself to the photoshoot, posing his sister in the sunlight that fell onto the bed, and turning his own 4-year-old body to create interesting camera angles for his “Cool Papa.” Xavion and Imani’s maternal grandmother — my first bride — lives in New York City, close enough to Morristown, New Jersey for her to spend a lot of time with them. Xavion had become accustomed to my infrequent presence, but Imani was a tougher nut for Cool Papa to crack. When their parents tried to go on a cruise, I came to New Jersey to spend the week with my grandbeauties. Xavion was 7 years old, and Imani was three; Xavi helped his sister to believe in my presence, and I overheard her in the apartment complex, telling her friends something I had said to her: “Cool Papa’s in charge.” When another friend referred to me as her grandfather, Imani replied, “He’s not my grandfather. He’s my Cool Papa.” This is how we roll.
Imani is gregarious and inquisitive, always up for adventure. When I would visit her and Xavion during their school breaks — usually to stay with them while their parents worked — their parents always kept it a surprise that I was coming. Imani would greet me with a running slam into my arms, and as her dancing and gymnastics progressed, that slam would become a challenge to the old man’s frame. In addition to cooking, she likes to sing and especially, to write, and when I would get home from a visit to New Jersey, I would find concealed in my luggage or my messenger bag, notes from her: “Cool Papa I love you! Love, Imani,” or a drawing of some kind, with “To Cool Papa Love Imani.” (My messenger bag was stolen a few months ago, and my greatest loss was a note from my granddaughter.) I began to look for these “love bombs” when I got home, and Imani never failed me. She had a class exercise that I participated in; she sent me a drawing that represented her, and I photographed the figure in various locales throughout Indianapolis, including the statehouse and Dr. Martin Luther King Park. One letter to me is signed, “Imani AKH (sic) Darling Darling Baby.”
Imani has grown accustomed to my recordings of her life: “Imani and the Carolina Wrens” (July 4th, 2018); “The Hanover Hurricanes” (Dec. 6th, 2018); “Cooking With Imani” (January 8, 2020); “The Story of 7 Million Kids” (March 29, 2018); “The Reading is Fun Club’ (Jan. 4, 2018) and “It’s Me, Imani” (Oct. 8, 2015.)
She delights me, seeks birds with me and finds fawns in the woods with me. I love her.
Happy Birthday, Imani.
cjon3acd@att.net