Seasons of Life

Seasons of Life

Emeka Butler

Seasons of Life
12:01 Spring 15

I remember the bright warm rising sun shining through the window of my father's green station
wagon. Mother nature's glowing golden rays would shine directly into my eyes, blinding me because I
was too short for the visor. Pops, (My father), would still stretch his long arm across the car, and make
sure that it was in the down position for me. I would smile to show him that I knew what he was doing,
and still appreciated him for trying. He would smile back and rub my head. The old green station

wagon was only one of the cars that Pop owned; however, it was my favorite of all time. We used it
when taking the family to the drive-in theater. We loved it!

Mom would pour hard kernels of corn into a frying pan, and it made a sound like little ice
pellets tapping on a tin roof. She would put a lid over the hot frying pan, tell me to stand back and
watch, as the lid would magically rise and fill the room with the aroma of buttery goodness. She would
then hurry and dump the fluffy white popped corn inside of a large brown paper grocery sack and
sprinkle a hint of salt on the top. This always meant that we were headed to see a movie, outside in the
Michigan wilderness, in a larger than life. “Drive in movie screen!”

As we pass massive old trees, taller than some buildings in the city the falling sun would flash
across my eyes, like Pop's strobe light in our basement. I never knew how Pop always found that
perfect spot just before darkness settled in; but somehow, we were always close enough to get me to
the restroom when I felt the, “Tinkle Tingle.” That's the feeling that makes me do the pee pee dance.
We would make it there just in the nick of time for me to unzip my favorite red superman pajamas all
the way from my neck, down to my ankle.

Rows of small hills slightly larger than speed bumps filled the gravel rock parking lot. It
reminds me of the town where Fred Flintstone works, “Bedrock.” Grey metal poles stuck out of the
hills, to hold small square speakers, with long black cords attached to them. This marked the spot for
each car to pull in. Pop would pull the box inside his window and press a few buttons or turn a knob or
two then; “Walla!” The movie would begin!

Mom's popcorn and candy would get passed around along with drinks from Pops icy white
Styrofoam ice cooler. Although I never stayed up long enough to make it through both features; (Or the
ride home). The memories of our young family, and that old green station wagon, watching our drive-
in movies were awesome.

My brother, two older sisters, and I, grew up in Flint Michigan. My pop would often say to us,
“You get all four seasons up here.” I would ask him "Did you have the four seasons when you grew
up?" He explained, "The seasons are like the lessons of life that teach us love." You see in the spring
life begins, and that's when the seeds become life. In the summer life grows and glows. The fall is the
time for life to return to the source, and winter resets it all. Time is eternal and so is Love."
I could tell by the look in his eyes that what he just said went over my head, but his glare was the clue
that I will need to understand this. I bet he understood that I understood enough of his point by the
bewildered look on my face mixed with a little "Ah hah" excitement in my eyes.

"What was it like to grow up in the country?" I asked. He would always tell a story that seemed to start
the same way; “Son, back in my day. . ..”

Then somehow before he would get to his punchline, Mom would nudge him, and they would both
laugh, looking each other deep inside their eyes. I also laughed, not knowing exactly what they found
funny. Mostly laughed from the fact that they found whatever it was so amusing.

Pop told me once, “Growing up in the South was nothing like you have it now son. You, your
brother, and your sisters, got it made! . . .And yawl don't even know it!”

Usually that story was followed by how he and his 9 brothers and sisters would eat cereal with a fork!
Ewww I would quinge, and he would continue his sorry of how they would share the same bowl of
milk! He would tell the story over and over throughout the years and his face seemed to get more
hilarious each time he told it.
He explained about how they would use a fork so that the next person would have milk for their cereal.
They couldn't waste anything since they had only a very little bit to live on. I knew he was only
kidding because he would laugh so hard that would bring tears to his eyes, and say, “We were so broke
that we didn't even have enough to be, “POOR”, we were, “PO!” We were so “PO,” that we could not
afford the, “OR!” (Pop Laughing hysterically) We could not even; “PAY ATTENTION!” but you son,

(Smiling big, catching his breath)” You got it made!”
The spring energy was amazing, and time moved at a different pace back then. The spring is the
Awakening of life and the era is filled with radiant energy and curiosity. But just like the first fifteen
minutes of the clock, or the first fifteen years of life, each season must end for the next season to begin.

03:16 Summer 30

Each summer we all would load up and go on our weeklong vacation, down south to Brinkley

Arkansas. This is in the south where mom and pops were raised. We just called it the country. We
would pack up in the old green station wagon down with all our bags, and all types of snacks that mom
would bring.

We would, “Set sail in the mighty green pirate ship,” in the middle of the night, so that the 15-
hour drive was not done entirely in the hot summer sun. We would listen to his old 8 track music from
the, “Good old days.” Motown, Smokie Robinson, The Temptations, The Four Tops, The Spinners and
on and on. Pop really enjoyed music and had the record collection that he kept in milk crates in the
basement. Our basement was "The Spot," for the grown folks. My aunts and uncles would play pops
records and dance in front of the basement bar with the strobe light flashing away as the sounds of that
era's best music would rock the floor as my cousins had our own party upstairs. These were the sounds
that we heard as we would all sing along. The mighty green ship sailed swiftly down the highway
going over bumps like waves in the ocean. Going back to the roots, full of life and energy. Every so
often, we would find a cool truck stop, usually containing a sign, a person, or something that would
make us all laugh. Then all jump back aboard the mighty pirate ship and continue our voyage to the
country.

Grandma's entire house was only about the size of our combined living room, and kitchen area
of our house back in Michigan. Her home was always immaculately clean. Her sofa had that clear

thick sticky plastic on it that would stick to the back of our hot sweaty legs. The walls were decorated
with all sorts of fancy looking pictures in the front room with the tiny toy looking church member
figures. I got in trouble once for calling them "Niglets." I must have picked that term up from one of
my older cousins. The front room was the room where the grownups would sit together and talk loudly
and laugh as all my aunts and uncles would reunite with pops. We were not allowed to play in there
and had to be on our best behavior when passing through.

Just being the backyard there was a park just a few feet away that had a basketball court. This was
where all the cousins got to hang out and have fun. For some reason the, "Ya’ll betta be back up in
here 'fore dem streetlights come on," didn't apply anymore and we were free to roam around freely
down there.
In the west end of Brinkley Arkansas, the same court we used to breakdance, play basketball, and hang

out on, was the same one that pops got his nickname, "High Fire, or was it "Hy-fiya?" The country
dialect and laid-back southern sound was way more relaxed than the proper English that we spoke up
north. He got the name because when he drove in the lane and jumped for his layup, his legs would
move in the air making it look like he was walking on invisible stairs on his way up to the basket. His
"Hops" were out there. High Fire Hops, Or Hy-Fiya for short.

Pop is the oldest but was not a big trash talker. Pops was more of a “Eat your words,” type of
guy. I think I'm like that myself. I guess that I get it from him.

Every Summer we would visit "Lil-Ma," or like we would say, "Granny-nem." and Pops would
hang with the “West-Side Gang, “cook food, play cards, and listen to that, “Real music.”
One summer we had the infamous watermelon hull fight where we went all out war throwing hulls in
the streets at all of our cousins. I still taste that super sweet, red tropical punch Kool-Aid. I can feel
those big ice cubes clank in that empty Mason jar we used like a drinking glass. We couldn't, "Be going
in and out, and in and out!" Life felt just like home if you asked me. Mom would say, "Home is
where the heart rests," and read Psalm 23:2 He makes me lie down in green pastures...

09:31 Fall 45

Years passed, and the old green pirate ship with wood panel sides seemed to just sit out in the
yard, as if it had taken its final voyage. Years of sun, rain, snow, and fallen leaves made the old
battleship look seasoned and tired. I would tease my pop and tell him that he was getting old like that
station wagon. He had grown gray hairs over most of his head by this time. Pops boxed in the Army
and was also a good basketball player. He was always in tremendous shape and seemed to rarely ever
get sick.



He was just then starting to show the signs of aging. I never
remembered him catching a cold or feeling ill much. I blindly and hoped he was invincible like all of
the tiny plastic superheroes that were now packed down in the depths of my closet in boxes that had
been closed for a long time by then. In my mind, that season must have passed away, but the energy
and memories of me playing and exploring was still in me as strong as ever.

In front of our home was an oak tree that once was tiny and needed those ropes tied around it to
withstand the storms. It now stood tall and strong and would shed its vibrant colored leaves all over the
front yard. Leaves had fallen and covered the once plush green grass that Pops took pride in growing.
He taught me how to cut and trim it, and maintaining it was a chore for me. Growing a plush lawn was
something much more to Pop. The grass would be thick and soft as I would sometimes lay on my back
and stare into the night's sky at the twinkling stars, listening to all of the sounds of crickets chirping,
feeling the air, thinking of what's all out there.
A cool autumn breeze blew as I scraped the metal rake across the grass to gather and bag the leaves up.
“Hey Pop.” I said. “Yeah son,” he replied. “Why don't we ever drive the old green car anymore? We
had so many good times in it!” I said curiously.
“Well, it took us all back and forth for so many years. She still runs like a champ, just needs a few
things done but just as the seasons come and go, so will every-thing and all of us. Nothing lasts
forever… Only thing that lasts forever is true love. I'm going to give her to that family at church that
said that their car broke down.” he stated with confidence sort of like agreeing to himself and
confirming the decision all at once.

I thought about that family that he was referring to and remembered that they also had kids just
a few years younger than me. I asked if I could gather a few things for their kids too? Pop simply
smiled and said: “You can give away anything that you would like to see them have, just so long as it
comes from your heart, it will reach theirs.”

I ran upstairs to my room, and gathered all of my old favorite toys, and books. Before I knew it,
my once over cluttered closet was just about bare and well organized again. My mother walked by the
room and saw my piles of donations and asked if I needed any help getting it downstairs. I told her I
could handle it then piled a mound of books, toys, and clothes. The pile was so tall, that it filled my
arms, and covered my face.
I took them all at once one stair at a time, I stepped carefully. . .One by one. . .And, “KABOOM!” I

didn't exactly count the steps, so I did not realize that there was one last step left. With a big bang, the
living room floor is covered. I was on the floor with my ankle twisted, throbbing, and swelling.
Grimacing in pain and where I once would have cried, I was tougher and not the little boy they called
"Meckey" anymore.

Mom was like an emergency response team, ready to help fix my aching ankle. Fighting back my tears
and trying to sound like a big boy or more like a young man, I told her, “I will be alright momma. . .
Like you taught me, pain only lasts for a season.”

By then I was older and was taller than her now. My voice was lower, and a season of my life
was changing before my eyes. I was tired of being thought of as a kid. I needed my independence.
Mom over the years taught me several life lessons. She referred to them as the seeds of life, Over the
years she planted those seeds of truth inside me, and in an instance, they made more sense. She always
referred to me as, “The Baby,” being her youngest. I was still her youngest but could never be a baby

again.



Pops was born in 1944. I was his last child and I was born 30 years after him in 1974. Coincidence or
fate would have it as my last child born 30 years later in 2004. She asks me about my childhood with
the same curiosity that I had when I was her age asking pops about his childhood.

The fall of life sometimes brings us inevitable painful but necessary change for us to experience
growth. One can only change when they know enough that they want to or hurt enough that need to.

23:59 Winter 101

Michigan's winter would blanket everything in a thick fluffy white comforter of snow. The snow
would bring about a calm and tranquil peace, as it acted like a sound dampening agent in a recording
studio. The silence would whisper softly, as if father time himself was both the author and narrator,

telling the most prolific love story ever told.
By now pops had already retired from general motors and moved to Texas. I drove him to his

final doctor's appointment while soft music played the background as we talked. He rode in the
passenger seat of Ole’ Betsy and had a relaxed and calm look. He was not a big talker, so we quickly
skipped the game day sports talk we commonly enjoyed as I drove. The sun was falling, and the rays
were a beautiful golden tone. I reached over and lowered his visor to keep the light from blinding him.
He smiled and said, "Thank You Omar," I smiled back and before I could open my mouth to reply, the
song stairway to heaven started to play. He took a deep breath and as if the following words came
through him from a deeper place, he spoke the words.
Omar I'm a blessed man, life has been good to me and I feel blessed. I've lived and seen life, made
mistakes, and learned from them. Life has taught me that love takes time and our time here is not
forever. So, every day is a gift and should be filled with love, joy and peace.

We never know the day nor the hour, but one day will be our last.
Life's lessons of love are taught in seasons, and each season has its own era of time.
Time will reveal the truth.
Truth is the light and the way to understanding love.

Love resides in truth. Pops would always say, "There's not

anything in the entire universe more important than family!"

"A man in his 40's who views the world the same way he did when he was in his 20's has wasted half

of his life."
At his bedside we spoke about life and love and how our purpose in life is to love and evolve. The
average human body contains approximately 37.2 trillion cells of energy. The cells are like batteries
both forming and powering our bodies. Pop referred to the human body as his "Earth suit," and would
tell me that it belongs to mother nature.
His resounding voice of the last words spoke through the faint whisper of his final breath, "I love
you!"

Pop's old Chrysler served us both as a time capsule, as well as a means of transportation. I'm
convinced the energy of love stored in the memories made back then with the Chrysler, fueled his
passion as he took care of "Ole' Betsy," his Chevrolet Equinox.
Now I load my children in the belly of a larger than life metal bird as we fly across the world sharing
and creating memories together.

Pops loving energy lives strongly inside my heart. It powers the cells of energy that gives me the same
superpowers of love that he had, and I share.
Just like the memories of my superheroes boxed in my closet, Pop's smile will shine through me. From
his heart; through my heart, to your heart.

Sharing my seasons of life (father time) and love (mother nature) as I invest my time and love in
family, in our shared world.

I look in my children's eyes and watch them as they grow, learn and explore. Feeling Pops energy and
trying to get them to understand it all.

I tell my children as they attempt to show me how to upload a Tik Tok video on the insta-twitta-gram
iCloud thing. Seemingly always on their cell phones not knowing how they got it made! . . .And they
don't even know it!”

Dedicated in the loving memory of pops.
Robert Lee Butler
04/14/1944 Sunrise
03/19/2020 Sunset
https://drive.google.com/file/d/18c2c3PD-OtvBaNA6zKwHd7Naq0AdxWpr/view?usp=drivesdk