Listen-and-Read-Along MY HERO Stories - for ESL

Ronald V. Dellums

by Piper Dellums from Idyllwild

Ronald V. Dellums
Ronald V. Dellums

Let me introduce you to the sower of the seed which is the deeply earthed root of the tree of my the man who shares my heart, my eyes, my smile, and almost by birthday...My Precious Daddy, Ronald V Dellums. My hero is the platinum-haired angel, standing often alone, on majestic rocky mountain ranges and in the center of fires raging across nations and through communities...he is the David wielding the double-edged sword, and holding in his perfect palms the necessary stones to slay great Goliath s. He has been tempered in the acidic belly juices of many great whales that attempted, in vein, to swallow up peace, freedom, hope and justice, and as has lay down beside the most ferocious and the most eloquently throne d lions in the kingdom of men, he offered himself as a sacrifice...a sacrificial lamb that continues to walk unscathed by the fiery darts of his enemies and the deeply cleaved wounds of his foe. My daddy is phoenix on the rise, and eagles strength in flight...he is the hum of the winter breaking, and the fury of a volcano as it erupts...he is sinner and he is saint-humanity at its greatest- and humanity at its most humbled.

My father has been crucified before those he loved, those he had yet to meet, those he feared and those that feared him- 6 inch nails securing his golden flesh to the crosses of the human imagination... crucified and whipped by those he aided, gave life to and life for. And when his very flesh was ripped from his strong frame, by murderous tongue, accusations, bigotry, greed, fear and betrayal, he persevered... he rose again...he heralded the call for change, for love, for peace, for dignity. My daddy has spilled abundant tears into salted seas, uproarious oceans, simple Sunday morning puddles, and in dense shadows against the echoes of his own despair.

My daddy has celebrated in black tie, and black- panther beret- He has swayed in orchestrated dance and victory after the falsely accused, falsely imprisoned, and myriad battered of our worlds' construct have been set free. He has boogeyed, jived, ham-boned and waltzed after football games, after meals on-the-go, after our weddings, the birth of our children, the manifestation of our dreams, the rise from our falls, great rich bottles of wine, holidays and "just becauses" My father has sung the songs of freedom, and belted the songs of the blues after midnight. in tune... to his own drummer, and perfectly, and symbiotically off key. My father has run political, social and natural races when the winding course set before him was riddled in rough and toxic domain, and yet crossed every finish line, though exhausted, burdened, hungry, scraped, bloodied and almost broken in the perfect time of the champion he was called to be.

My father is my hero and the hero of the invisible, the oppressed, depressed, lost, shattered, despised, abused, faceless and nameless all over the world- from the addicted to the incarcerated, from the healed to the crippled, the activist to the veteran, the wealthy to the homeless, the peace monger, the Eve's and Esther's, to those longing for freedom and human dignities in every race, gender, sexual orientation and faith painted in distinction on the great canvas of the human condition. He is shattered glass hand- made into stunning mosaic, from the inner city of Oakland to the halls of Congress, the African velds, the Central American Rain Forests, the Walls of Russia and wailing walls of Israel. the tears of the Middle East, antiquated dignity of Asia, the ideologies of the educated, the feared, the fearless, the homeless, the bastard the brilliant, the king.

My dad stepped out of obscurity into his international and God- driven mission with integrity, distinction, honor, courage, style and brilliance. My father, Ron Dellums, is the sweet fragrance that permeates souls, elevates spirits, absorbs barren earth and stimulates great harvests of body, mind, spirit, soul, and essential promise after a heavy rain. His name has rolled off of tongue of great leaders, great presidents, the greatest of the Beatles-John Lennon, film stars, rock stars, priests, rabbis, monks, athletes, scientists, doctors, survivors, judges, lovers, wives, children, grandchildren, friends, neighbors, soldiers, slaves. Kings and drag queens...all reaping harvests of wisdom, promise, purpose, prayer and provision from the seed he's sown along the way. My dad is beauty in creation, humanity in both weakness and strength...he is resolve, resolution, resilience and respect...he is an American hero- an African American hero- an international hero and my hero.

Page created on 3/1/2015 2:24:59 PM

Last edited 12/30/2020 8:07:22 PM

The beliefs, viewpoints and opinions expressed in this hero submission on the website are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the beliefs, viewpoints and opinions of The MY HERO Project and its staff.

Related Links

ON THE ISSUES - Every Political Leader on Every Issue
THE HISTORY MAKERS - Largest African American oral history collection
THE GLOBETROTTER - Conversations with history

Extra Info

"Failure is not a crime. The crime is not trying."

"If you define "niggers" as someone whose lifestyle is defined by others, whose opportunities are defined by others, whose role in society are defined by others, then Good News! You don't have to be black to be a "nigger" in this society. Most of the people in America are "niggers". Ron Dellums




Author Info

I AM stepping into the vast ocean of wisdom each and every day-moment by moment- from the rise of the SUN/SON to the going down of the same. I am seeking the origin of my sacred wisdom-my purpose and promise-from teary midnight reflections to the shadows of yesterday's dawns.
Wisdom is a poem written on the spirit and flesh of life unfolding. I bleed like a virgin and a man in the killing fields. I know the metallic scent of the escaping of life very well. It perfumes my walk-as does expensive perfume and drying branches of sage. I love with abandon- freely, awkwardly-without boundary or distinction.
My love has given me the greatest pleasures and the deepest sorrows of this life...and yet I still believe in love. I laugh until it hurts and cry until it no longer does. It is a poem that will never be completed- a mosaic of the fragility and brilliance of the broken and mended pieces of our lives. I am just one temporary song of the ages-passing as quickly as thought and young love into nostalgia, into forever, into forgetfulness, into history. I transcend and grow with the ebb and flow of seasons; I am cleansed and made still in the fingers of rain storms; I am phoenix on the rise- pressing through the frozen barren earth of winters dread and winters beauty-
I am a survivor-
I am the promising and budding birth of spring awakening beneath the icy feet of trauma, illness, insanity, genius, compassion, love lost-love made-love given and love birthed .If you are truly listening, even in the silence and secrets of me, you will hear the composition of my very breath. I will give my last drop of life to my children, my community, a stranger, a nation, and GOD. I am a writer, a filmmaker, an activist, a survivor, a worshiper, a mother, and a scarred shattered masterpiece of distinction. I am clarity and hypocrisy-stunningly ugly and oh-so-beautiful. I am fame and fortune- poverty and elusiveness- desperation and contentment- seen but invisible- bigger than life, but smaller than atom/ADAM.
I am supported by the rock of ages and the rock of Idyllwild that both overwhelms and sustains me. I am women-I am scarred- I am an aging and wilting rose-I am ethnicity-
I am intimate expression and insecure flesh-
I am life-
LIFE IS EVERYTHING and never replicated-I fear life more than I fear depth-and yet, I have no fear. I am.....
and that has to be enough as the wisdom of me-the sponge soaking in all that exists-continues on the path set before me-and then, I will be no longer here...but there...where I belong.
Hold me down. like a ravenous lover, in this photographic moment-press me as a flower into the album of time that represents NOW.
See me in this light-for tomorrow who knows what the eye of the sky will create in me.
I AM...

I believe in rising- I believe in song and sacred dance- I believe in love, and pain, and tears, and earth, and children, and dreaming, and Dr. Seuss worlds. I believe in healing and forgiveness and expression of experience. I believe in silence-in season-in GOD. I believe that I am ever changing the depth and clarity of my beliefs. I believe in life. I believe in the call of the coyote and the rhythm of the eagles flight. I believe in the whispers of the lakes and the toes of the snow fall. I believe that making love creates the greatest art on the canvas of our existence. I believe in red wine. tear-filled midnight's before a raging fire. I believe in Andrea Bottelli and camp fire guitar strings. I believe that faith spawns strength and regret spawns death. I believe in yesterday, today and tomorrow. I believe in the roses fragrance as a bud and as fallen petal. I believe in my daughters and in their seeds of promise.

Click here to listen to the story.