| CBF Newsletter |
October 2005
Volume I: Number 2
Many people ask why cinder block? It seems a unique name for a
foundation. The cinder block represented many symbols for my
father and I: strength, love, sacrifice, perseverance, and many more,
and not all of them positive.
When I think of this block as a symbol, I most often remember my
father's hands, particularly shaking hands with him when I was
younger. I recall how his right hand would engulf mine and how huge
it seemed. As I got older and bigger I no longer thought about how
big his right hand was but rather how weathered and course it
seemed. My father's hands were always dry, chalky, and almost
white, from the dust of the cinder blocks he carried at work. I often
thought that shaking hands with my father was like falling off my bike
in an asphalt parking lot. It was hard to tell which hurt more, the
weight of my body upon my wrists or the raking of my palms across
the asphalt.
Those asphalt handshakes are vivid, motivating images, because
although it may not have been clear to me then, it is CRYSTAL clear
to me now that my father carried blocks so that I might carry books.
I am not so disillusioned to believe that my father was perfect, he
wasn't, but the level of sacrifice and selflessness he showed me during
our seemingly limited time together in this realm has had an
incredibly profound affect on my life. All those years and all those
blocks-- certainly his sacrifice has given a true and memorable
meaning to the words, to whom much is given, much is expected.
Saquan update
--Progress reports are out and I hope to have an official update shortly.
--Saquan is a member of the Freshman football team and they are currently 2-0
--Stay tunned for an academic report on Saquan's classes and teachers next month.
foundation. The cinder block represented many symbols for my
father and I: strength, love, sacrifice, perseverance, and many more,
and not all of them positive.
When I think of this block as a symbol, I most often remember my
father's hands, particularly shaking hands with him when I was
younger. I recall how his right hand would engulf mine and how huge
it seemed. As I got older and bigger I no longer thought about how
big his right hand was but rather how weathered and course it
seemed. My father's hands were always dry, chalky, and almost
white, from the dust of the cinder blocks he carried at work. I often
thought that shaking hands with my father was like falling off my bike
in an asphalt parking lot. It was hard to tell which hurt more, the
weight of my body upon my wrists or the raking of my palms across
the asphalt.
Those asphalt handshakes are vivid, motivating images, because
although it may not have been clear to me then, it is CRYSTAL clear
to me now that my father carried blocks so that I might carry books.
I am not so disillusioned to believe that my father was perfect, he
wasn't, but the level of sacrifice and selflessness he showed me during
our seemingly limited time together in this realm has had an
incredibly profound affect on my life. All those years and all those
blocks-- certainly his sacrifice has given a true and memorable
meaning to the words, to whom much is given, much is expected.
Saquan update
--Progress reports are out and I hope to have an official update shortly.
--Saquan is a member of the Freshman football team and they are currently 2-0
--Stay tunned for an academic report on Saquan's classes and teachers next month.
The Symbol of the Cinder Block