Don Tate
Hey there, Donny Tate! I’m sorry to interrupt while you paint. I know how focused you are in art mode, but we need to talk. I am you, thirty years later. My hair is grayer, my face is fuller, my pants are a few sizes larger. But I’m still here—we’re still here—alive and kicking in 2012. We’re lucky, though, ‘cause you almost messed it up for the both of us.
You sit there at seventeen-years-old in your high school art class. All decked out in your Playboy shirt, Levi’s jeans, penny loafer shoes. We dressed to impress. But something’s wrong with this picture, and you and I both know it. You stole those jeans (…and the shirt…and the shoes). And you smell like an ashtray after cutting gym class to smoke cigarettes in the parking lot with your boys.
I’m not trying to out you, but if I’m going to help you get on the right track, I need to be real.
I’m writing this letter to give you a piece of advice—something you and I will learn the hard way, after many years of bad decisions: You don’t need to prove anything to anyone but God and yourself.
Don’t worry, I’m not getting all church-boy on you, so wipe the attitude off your face. (You’re just like your daughter—the one you’ve already conceived at seventeen and don’t even know about yet.) Listen, you spend way too much time trying to impress others. For example, that stuff you stole—you didn’t need it. You have two jobs. You stole to impress your friends. And they were impressed. So much so, they pressed you to steal stuff for them, too. Clothes, electronics, hair care products. Whatever they wanted, you got it for them. But where were those “friends” when the police showed up and you got fined for shoplifting?
Please know I’m not judging you. High school is tough, and your home life is too. Especially after mom and dad got divorced. You want to be liked by your peers. You want to be looked up to, held in high esteem. But the most important man in your life—our dad!—dragged your self-esteem through the mud. He didn’t accept you as the artist you were. He wanted a sports star. He didn’t like your brown skin. He wanted a light-skinned kid with straight hair. He drank a lot and said a lot of really mean things. I get that. I understand.
But there’s something else you need to understand : Your mom, she loves you. Your grandma and grandpa do, too. Your three little brothers all look up to you and love you. In fact—and you’ll find this hard to believe—your dad, he loves you too. He just doesn’t know how to show it, because he didn’t have a very good dad himself.
Being a man is not about how many pairs of jeans you can steal. It’s not about whether or not you can blow smoke rings. And it’s not about making babies either. (Any dog, cat, or snake can do that.)
Prove greatness through what you are truly good at: creating art. Not machismo. Take advantage of what’s already within you: raw, freaking, God-given talent. That’s how to be a big man.
Don Tate has illustrated numerous critically acclaimed books for children including Ron’s Big Mission (2009), She Loved Baseball (2010), and Duke Ellington’s Nutcracker Suite (2011). Don is also the author of the book It Jes’ Happened: When Bill Traylor Started to Draw (2012). His illustrations appear regularly in newspapers and magazines, and on products for children such as wallpaper, textiles, calendars, apparel, and paper products. He lives in Austin, Texas, with his wife and son.