Dad died on June 9. I miss him. Ninety years and eight months is a long time to live, but I only fully experienced his existence for the last 50+ of them. Selfishly, I wanted him to stay around much longer, but God had other plans. Dad was a retired history professor; he’d taught history for fifty years. Through my dad’s life, I felt like history came alive. He was like a walking Artificial Intelligence (AI). You’d ask a historical question of him, and he’d give an answer complete with an opening paragraph, sub bullets, and a conclusion. This was a man who encouraged his kids to read the dictionary as a way to learn words!
Regularly, he’d launch into humorous stories of people in the past and lead with “Did you know that…?” Then he’d proceed to share some obscure but interesting facts using gestures and voice to add emphasis. You were drawn to listen by his tone, but also by his warm smile and the twinkle in his eyes. He was always connecting with other people around him and had diverse friends from academia and beyond, of many nationalities and backgrounds. I think years of innate curiosity and training made him like that. Knowledge tends to puff people up, but that wasn’t true of Dad. His weakness was also his greatest strength; he often seemed to question things and himself. Yet despite seeming self-doubt, he knew beyond a doubt what mattered most: family, faith in God, service to mankind. These were the strongest through lines in his life. His brilliance wasn’t in his book knowledge but in how he applied it steadily, consistently to make change everywhere he went.
Curiously, although he loved music and culture he wasn’t bound by tradition. For a Yoruba man of his generation, that was unusual. He would be the first to do away with burdensome practices like the formalities of dressing a particular way for events or organizing his space just so, to meet some standard, but he valued tradition when it mattered most. He was, like his forefathers, spiritually and emotionally sensitive but also courageously committed to taking on the mantle of leadership. Unlike his peers in the “Silent Generation,” Dad was not silent. He spoke and wrote freely and frequently about what he felt were the good, bad, and ugly of society and his experiences. For that, I’m grateful. If he hadn’t shared his life openly, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with genealogy and history. The dogged determination to research and interpret people and the past and connect with them, I got that from him.
Together with mom, there was a 58-year-long partnership. As a child, I recall waking early in the mornings to lively but muffled conversations coming through the walls. The two of them together would solve the world’s problems and dream big from the comfort of their bed. My dad allowed my mom to be a strong force, to shine, but she always counted on him to have her back. They pushed each other forward to act where they were each the strongest, but you could never underestimate them. If you thought you could take advantage of one without the other knowing and defending them, then you’d be wrong. They were protective of one another and of us as a family. Toward the end, I believe the burden of managing the school and health struggles chipped away at some of this, but the core of their faith, belief in family, and in serving humanity remained strong, unwavering.
Dad was a Methodist through and through because of his strong faith upbringing. He fully relied on those networks for his entire education, from scholarships to training, to work-study, summer jobs, to his faith walk. In his autobiography American Boy, this is very clear. In preparing to write this tribute, I did some digging — surprise! I found out that both schools that bookended his education had powerful Methodist mottos. Methodist Boys High School had Non Sibi Sed Aliis. Not for us but for others. But Northwestern University also had Methodist Episcopal roots, and its seal refers to Greek scripture from John 1:14 (NIV): “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.” Those are the key words — GRACE and TRUTH. The school’s motto also states in Latin: Quaecumque Sunt Vera. “Whatsoever things are true,” taken from Philippians 4:8 (NIV) which reads in full: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” I was stunned to learn the happy coincidence of these facts and how they connect with and defined my dad. Not only was Dad’s heart to serve others, but he was also a curious truth seeker who lived what he believed with integrity.
Dad was human and humane, innately empathetic. I recall once when I’d broken up with a boyfriend and bawled my eyes out, he comforted me, saying, “Boys are like buses, there’s always going to be another one coming along.” When I was severely asthmatic as a child, coming close to dying several times, he was the one who’d put his ear to my chest to see if I had the tell-tale signs, sounds of wheezing. He rode with me in the ambulance to the hospital and/or the doctor’s home. He schooled me and my sister on Yoruba customs, language, and culture. He helped me pick out my first car. He suggested vitamin supplements, and both he and Mom always jogged or exercised daily. Dad touted the benefits of exercise: “Just keep moving; you don’t have to do a lot as long as you do some sort of movement every day,” he’d say. He laughed with us and cried with us; he warned us sternly and also hugged us warmly. He had an occasional temper, and you didn’t want to get on his bad side, but he was just who he was, and I loved Dad for that.
Dad, I could go on and on, but I want most to say well done. I picture God welcoming you home after a long jog. You pushed boundaries and pioneered your way in life to the end. You served your purpose to your generation, helping open up new worlds to the Soremekuns and many others. Now it’s our turn. You laid a firm foundation; now we simply need to build on it with truthfulness, grace, and integrity. God is our Helper. Quaecumque Sunt Vera. Non Sibi Sed Aliis.
Source: Elevating Good Pod Substack