Tag Archives: Parenting

The Palmers Ep. 1- Lions, Tigers, Emails, and More Rehearsals We Could Bear; Oh My! – Ava’s Big Moment in the Land of Oz

February 5, 2026 By in The Palmers Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

 

I quietly, patiently sat on a bench inside the school’s main office waiting for my daughter. I was there for early school pick-up, as my daughter was expected to be at play rehearsal at approximately 4:30 pm. And thus, this was daily life as we rocketed with nervous excitement toward the Wizard of Oz showtime that weekend. This was the final week for rehearsals. School dismissal is at 3:30 pm, so I needed to secure my daughter before a log jam of vehicles impeded both entry and exit to the school. I could not help but silently chuckle as I overheard another parent lamenting the same hectic, accelerated time schedule for her child.

Time management was extremely critical. And thankfully some of my mother’s customs are stubbornly engrained in me – time management being one of them. Trying to pass that skill along to your child is a story on its own. Rehearsals needed to move like clockwork. Therefore, I picked my daughter up from school, got her home to plate her dinner, her mother would feverishly apply her makeup shortly thereafter, and then I would whisk her off to a nearby high school (where the play would be ultimately performed) for rehearsal.

During previous weeks, rehearsals ranged from 5:30 pm to 7:45 pm, and at least they were not every day. In between drop-off and pick-up in the evening, I would try to squeeze in a workout at Planet Fitness. If I wanted to treat myself, I took a power nap in my car for much-needed revitalization. It was then off for pickup so I could get her home for a shower and bedtime. It was not unusual to observe my daughter walking with a slight limp from rehearsal. Aside from a speaking role, she was also cast in multiple choreographed dance sequences. To be sure, it was intense. Now, apologies to the audience, I am getting slightly ahead of myself.

Allow me to take a few much-needed steps back in time. This fantastic voyage to the stage begins back in the winter of 2024. Now, my child is a product of Disney Junior programming. Dating as far back as Doc McStuffins to current favorite Bluey; my daughter’s preferred (and parental approved) channel of choice has always been Disney. Woven within the animated fabric of general television series were fantasy musicals released on the channel. Fantasy musicals such as Descendants and Zombies were a healthy contributor to my daughter’s flair for the theatrical. And since Disney Junior were not above shamelessly broadcasting reruns ad nauseam, my daughter would eagerly capture every scripted line and nuance of her favorite characters. Her memorization was amazing. 

Fortuitously, an opportunity arose for her to utilize those theatrical superpowers for other than jitterbugging on her parents’ next to last nerve. That opportunity arrived in the form of a stage play being produced at her school. The opportunity flew under the radar until urgent e-mails were dispatched from the school to elicit student interest. The Disney Junior acting chops received the chance as Ava was cast in an ensemble role as a Lady-in-Waiting for the play Once Upon a Mattress.

The play is a musical comedy that reimagines the fairy tale “The Princess and the Pea”. Although my daughter did not have any speaking roles, she projected detailed facial expressions and mannerisms that gave life to her ensemble part. A robotic, lifeless ensemble cast can make for a dull experience; it is all the more I was proud of my girl performing. Once Upon a Mattress was a three-day affair, and every performance I sat front row to clap and cheer. A host of family and friends came out to support her. We were so very proud.

The next opportunity was a 2025 summer program offered by the Detroit Opera. My wife enrolled our daughter in the performing arts program Create & Perform. The program allows participants to write their own script, compose songs, and then act in their own original creation. Participants had approximately one week to write and compose their work, followed by one week of rehearsal. The result: The Magical Fishes and Their Frivolous Wishes.

This time my star had a speaking role; she played a magical fish in the ocean that granted wishes. Her performance did not disappoint. With a booming voice and tons of magical sassiness, she danced and sang across the stage waving her colorful sash to and fro. And armed with a magical bubble gun, she frolicked amongst the audience and stage granting wishes with reckless abandon. A woman sitting next to probably noticed my exuberance for this one particular performer. She leaned over and whispered, “Is that your daughter?” Brimming with internal pride, I replied, “Yes.” “She’s really good”, the lady replied. The edges of my mouth curled into a smile.

Fast-forward to fall/winter 2025 and the casting call for The Wizard of Oz was dispatched near and far to all the parents. The children had an opportunity to select two characters of choice for their audition. My daughter decided to read for the roles of Glinda the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch of the West. Now, allow me to tell you about this audition timeline. An e-mail was distributed on October 26th (Sunday). An e-mail was then distributed October 31st (Friday) for signup.

Auditions were then held November 3 (Monday) with callbacks on November 5th (Wednesday). Talk about a, ahem, wicked timeframe. Both sessions were approximately 2.5-3 hours – after school! Even for an adult, that is an extremely long day. We had no idea we were just getting started with the marathon. And so, we spent the weekend reading lines and watching the Wizard of Oz. I pulled up tutorials on cackling like a witch. Who knew there was such a thing?

Monday auditions went well; my daughter was confident she had nailed either role. Her memory is so sharp, as we were practicing, she had memorized the dialogue of both characters and would seamlessly transition between the two. My hopes were high. After the audition, she told me she received applause from the other students. My hopes rose even higher. I anxiously waited for the e-mail regarding a callback. Finally, she got the callback for Wednesday evening. I arrived at the school for parent orientation as the final audition took place down the hallway in the cafeteria.

Play fees, attendance policy, rehearsal schedules, and volunteer expectations were discussed – however – my mind was nervously drifting intently down the hallway. So, upon dismissal, I immediately Usain Bolted straight toward the cafeteria. The children were slowly filing out. My eyes erratically scanned the crowd searching for my daughter. Finally, she emerged through the double doors. Her face projected indifference. She was not chosen for either role. My tense heart hopelessly sank like an anchor; fatherly anger began to flame broil my insides.

Nevertheless, outwardly, I needed to project an aura of calm and extend unyielding support. As a father, you thoughtfully search for linings composed of silver to communicate hope. All was not lost. She was indeed selected for a speaking role. After receiving the deflating news, I curiously asked, “Well, what role did you get?” And with a slightly confused tone, my daughter replied, “Zeke.” I cannot lie; I did not know who Zeke was either. After a brief consultation with my trusted source, Google, I was duly informed that Zeke was the human counterpart to the Cowardly Lion who worked as a farmhand. So, during the drive back home, I explained that despite the fleeting disappointment, this was an excellent opportunity to have a speaking role, albeit a minor one. We would later learn that Ava would be tasked with 4 ensemble roles in addition to Zeke. The next 2 1/2 months were going to be exciting and challenging.

That following weekend, we proceeded to rehearse lines and watch more Wizard of Oz clips on YouTube. Of course, we intently focused on the farmhand Zeke to glean inspiration for Ava’s interpretation. Now, bless her little growing thespian heart, my child is truly suburban, and teaching her to speak with a farm belt accent was agonizingly hilarious. She would start with a farm-flavored twang of the tongue before hopelessly falling back into her normal, proper diction. Eventually, that plan of action was abandoned, and simply memorizing lines became the first priority. The school rehearsals were intense. The evening rehearsals ranged from 2-3 times a week and lasted 2 hours or more. And outside of school rehearsals, students were expected to practice daily for a minimum of 15-20 minutes at home. The results: abbreviated nights of sleep, sore feet, and aching ankles. Soon, however, the hard work would be well worth the effort.

Now, for the past few years, winters have been extremely mild here in Michigan. The requirement of snow removal had become almost nonexistent. So, I feel we were perhaps owed a past-due balance of blustery temperatures and copious amounts of snow. The inevitable school cancellations led to rehearsals being rescheduled with extended practices. Commutes became a little more adventurous, as Michigan drivers will blow a stop sign on icy pavement and won’t even blink. Still, the time was drawing near. And then, Polar Vortex 2026 was forecast to hit us on Friday. And what followed was yet another school cancellation, which coincidentally occurred on the same day as opening night. A furious flurry of e-mails and text messages started flying. A pivot was incoming.

The Friday evening show was cancelled and moved to Saturday. Wait, but there was already a Saturday show scheduled. Well, that only meant a morning show AND an afternoon show were to be performed. As I picked Ava up from the final rehearsal, I could hear the student grumblings in the chilled air. A very, very long day awaited the performers. A double performance. An entire day of acting, dancing, and singing. It would be a musical marathon of Munchkin madness. The night before, Ava attempted to secure a good night of rest. Nonetheless, I could hear her tossing and turning throughout the night in the adjacent bedroom. Heck, I was restless as well. The morning soon arrived. I served up wheat toast with sunflower seed butter, sausage links, and sliced apples for a power breakfast. After breakfast, she vaulted upstairs for her makeup session with my wife. I gathered snacks and loaded her performance gear in the car, and off into the Polar Vortex we went.

I dropped off the girl and then drove home to pick up the rest of the family. Arriving at the high school again, we filed into the auditorium and found our seats – second row, right in front of the stage. We spotted family and friends dispersed throughout the crowd. Many friends and family braved the frigid cold and snow to show support. Grandparents, aunts, great-aunts, Godmother, cousins, neighbors, and sorority sisters (Alpha Kappa Alpha) of my wife came out to show love. Soon it was showtime. A live, slow instrumental to Over the Rainbow began to permeate the auditorium. In the darkened auditorium, the student portraying Dorothy soon was spotlighted alongside the aisle as she walked slowly toward the stage. My nerves began to heighten.

The opening scene was underway. I nervously waited for my daughter to make her dramatic (at least dramatic in my head) appearance. It was not long until she emerged onstage in her farmer’s attire, pushing a wheelbarrow. Injecting her own flavor into the role of Zeke, she delivered her lines with confidence and dramatic style. My eyes began to mildly water, but I retained my composure and soldiered through the first act with a dry, if not proud, face. Scenes transitioned, choreographed dances lit up the stage, and melodic songs echoed throughout the auditorium. And then it was over. First performance in the books, one more to go. Energized by lunch from Chicken Shack and a brief 2-hour intermission, it was time for the second performance. With possibly nerves and anxiety settled down, the second performance was better than the first. More energy. More nuance. More presence.

In the aftermath, Ava indicated that this was by far her favorite play to participate in at school. She was able to make new friends and learn exciting dances. She loved that each performer had the other’s back. When a fellow performer forgot a line, my daughter was able to think quickly on her feet and deftly improvise dialogue, so the scene did not awkwardly stall. Ava was tasked with 5 roles: Zeke, a Munchkin teacher, an Ozian, a Winkie, and Jitterbug. So, as expected, the costume changes between scenes were fast and furious. Nevertheless, Ava was able to seamlessly transition to her scenes without missing a step. And speaking of steps, the Jitterbug was her favorite dance sequence. A deleted scene from the movie, it is a swing-style dance number that has the Wicked Witch sending little bugs to infect our heroes with an insatiable urge to dance until exhausted. I must have been infected as well, because that song hung inside my head at least a few days after the musical was over.

The end of the second performance was bittersweet. It was a memorable journey, but this guy was tired. During the first few months of rehearsals, my son’s basketball league ran concurrently during the week. The tandem of play rehearsals, basketball practice, and basketball games made for a very hectic collection of months. I will be writing about that adventure as well. My son has become a basketball addict. So, I asked Ava if she had any advice for fellow students who were thinking about participating in a play. Here are some amateur tips below. Thanks for reading. I’ll see you all next time, somewhere over the rainbow, enjoying warmer weather.

Advice from Ava

  • A performer should watch videos with a focus on acting. Watching a lot of musicals would be beneficial as well.
  • It is helpful to study and memorize lines that do not belong to your character.
  • Practice your dance moves.
  • Vocal warm-ups and singing
  • Build up your courage.

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Daddy Diary – Giving Them the Best That I Got – My Shortcomings as a Father & the Hopes They Do a Little Better Than Me

June 15, 2025 By in Daddy Diary Tags: , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Today, numerous posts regarding Father’s Day will reflect upon the magnificent triumphs of fatherhood, or the profound gratitude expressed for the sacred opportunity to raise a child. I wanted to write something slightly different. Sure, a thoughtful inspection of a gentleman’s social media content would project a portrait of nobility, compassion, strength, and dutiful sacrifice – mine included. However, no one is above imperfection, and that includes me. Yes, I am quiet and mild-mannered, but my temper can flare terribly given certain circumstances. And, as my years on Earth have grown longer, conversely my patience is seriously shorter. So, when my annoyance and irritation has reached critical mass, I silently retreat within myself and shutdown. And I can elevate my voice to intimidating, frightening decibels.

I am, nevertheless, human. I make the common error of bottling my emotions. So, when stress and anxiety build, my emotions detonate. Still, I tend to believe there are more than enough rewarding attributes I encompass than the negative ones. I add meaningful value to the lives of people around me. And it is my hope that the best of me is what is most impactful in my children’s lives. There are a multitude of parenting books on the market, but parenthood is really on the job training. And on occasion, when even functioning as the most well-meaning father, we sometimes come up short. We just need to keep striving; we need to show up as the best version of ourselves for our kids. Today, I wanted to share my shortcomings, how I am improving, and examples of areas where I do feel accomplished as a dad.

I was born in the inner city of Detroit, Michigan – single mother household with two younger brothers. Our family did not have much; government assistance and grandparents aided us. We probably lived below or at the poverty level, but we never wanted for anything. You cannot want what you never had, nor want what you never heard of. Life was simple. Life was relatively happy. So, with that frame of mind, it has been difficult for me to view current times through my children’s eyes. Life is much different for them. Juxtaposed with my generation, I am challenged to adapt to their world. Let us talk the basics of life for them: two working-parent home, a house in a safe neighborhood, great schools, food on tap in the refrigerator, clothing in the closet, healthcare, etc. And now the extras: vacations, special school programs, electronic gadgets, fine dining, etc.

Now, I know that may even be basic to many of you, but again with my upbringing, a trip to Boblo Island and dinner from McDonald’s was a TREAT! In my early childhood, we had: one black & white TV (special shout out to those who needed pliers to turn the channel because the TV knob was stripped), received food from Focus: Hope, wore knockoff clothing (shout out to Pro Wings sneakers and Goodfellows), received food stamps & Medicaid, and lived in residences with pest issues. So, when my kids pout, express a negative attitude, or display poor behavior (especially in school); I cannot wrap my brain around it. Their life with all the bells and whistles should equal gratitude – at least in my mind. You must understand how my upbringing molded my thinking. So, when a parent’s efforts and sacrifice to provide more than their own childhood is seemingly not appreciated, well, we have reached critical mass. In addition, if you consider my work-life balance is not truly balanced; a day of absorbing the shenanigans of coworkers has me on edge. At the end of the workday, my mental and emotional tank is empty. I lose my cool. I get angry. I yell. I have popped a bottom or two.

Now, growing up in a household with only brothers, little emotion was expressed. Our mother loved us, but our mother was stern. She was no nonsense. She handed down discipline the old-fashioned way. I do not believe that “gentle parenting” was even a thing back in the eighties. However, raising three boys in Detroit, I can understand why she tended to be tough on us. Life in Detroit at that time was unforgiving. My mother did her absolute best to keep us safe, healthy, well-mannered, and educated. All three of us grew up as successful, productive African American males with good jobs, families of our own, never in trouble with the law, no drug use, etc. You can say all three of us are conservative gentlemen. Shout out to my brothers Michael and Raymond.

However, growing up in that stern environment shaped my personality today. There is not much fluff with me. I can deal with emotions, but sometimes I cannot relate to them. I am an introvert, so I do not talk much unless I am comfortable around you. People have told me I am hard to read. People have said I am anti-social. I am stoic. And so, I tend to be the disciplinarian in our household. I am the hammer in the parental tool bag when discipline and order need to be driven home. As a parent, I know my kids fear me to a certain degree. If they are disobeying my wife, and they hear my footsteps, a hasty scurry ensues as they course correct and retreat to what they should be doing. If they are being chastised, they peer over her shoulder and look in my direction. Sometimes, I need to be order to the chaos, and deep down I hate it. It is mentally exhausting as you either mete out punishment or deliver an unfavorable decision. I fear my kids will harbor resentment toward me. It absolutely crushes my spirit when a scolding is required. It is a delicate balancing act – deliver enough discipline to correct behavior, but not so much where they hold disdain and shut you out.

Fatherhood is a heavy weight to shoulder. I want to do what is best for my children, but sometimes you second-guess your parental decisions. No generation is perfect. So, you try not to pass down any trauma from your upbringing and unknowingly instill it within them. I have no ill will toward my father. But I must believe that I am doing a little better than him. I am a working father fully present in my children’s lives. Alcoholism and domestic abuse did not carry over into the man I am today. I iron school clothes. I fix breakfast. I pack school snacks. I decorate the house for Halloween and Christmas. I attend every school event possible. I help with homework. I do school projects. I volunteer at the school. Packed into a week and a half: I dropped off & picked up my daughter for play rehearsal, decorated the house for my son’s birthday, attended all three nights of my daughter’s play sitting front row, and chaperoned at her school dance. I have to believe I am doing a little better than my father before me, and maybe even my paternal grandfather I never met.

However, I recount the times I had to speak to my son’s teacher nearly every day due to his behavior in the classroom. Grades were never an issue; it was following classroom rules that was a problem. I dreaded picking him up from school because the likelihood of speaking to his teacher was high. A conduct chart was posted near the classroom door. And as I slowly, anxiously walked down the hallway with that chart coming into view, I could see he was at the bottom, in the red region – again. Lord. The motivational, inspirational pep talks I conjured up every morning on the car ride to school would seemingly fall on deaf ears- for nearly three years. It was mentally and emotionally taxing. And so, I yelled. I took toys. I popped a bottom. And then more pep talks. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Thankfully, he is much better today. However, for whatever reason, my daughter started slacking in her schoolwork. Lord – now this. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. I am just trying to get this fatherhood thing right. I am trying not to react with anger. I am trying to talk quietly, yet firmly. I do not pop bottoms anymore. Instead, I take away allowance, take away electronic devices, or ask for push-ups. I am trying to be a better father. How so? What am I doing?

For Your Kids

  • Keep showing up and be fully present for your kids. Go to those school events. Volunteer and represent for them.
  • Be hands-on when you have availability. Help them with homework. Read to them. Read with them. Watch educational programming and discuss the content. Teach them something. Take them to a museum, a zoo, or local event.
  • Communicate. Communicate. Communicate. I will call the kids down into my home office just to talk about what is going on in their life and life topics in general. I do not sugarcoat anything. We have had discussions about drugs, bad influences, racism, adults that prey on children, adult content online, the dangers of social media – you name it, we talk about it. I recently had a conversation about boys and crushes with my daughter. Lord, please grant me strength.
  • To be sure, you will need to reprimand your kids. Nevertheless, do not forget to express love to them, and express your pride in them.
  • And when they mess up, sometimes it is okay to give them a pass. Like a police officer catching you speeding but happened to be in a kind mood that day; you can let your kids off with a warning. Hopefully, that goodwill builds trust over time.

For Yourself

  • Therapy. Yes. I have a coach to hold me accountable for my health. I have a therapist to keep me grounded and structured in my well-being. A gentleman’s selfcare and mental health is important.
  • I go for long walks. I go for short walks. Regardless of either, I walk. It is good for your health, both physically and mentally. It is a time I quiet my mind, brainstorm, and just think about life in general.
  • You need to go to the gym and lift something heavy. And by heavy, I mean heavy relative to your strength. No? Well, knock out some push-ups, free squats, sit-ups, jumping jacks, I do not really care. Just get moving and get active! It clears the mind, reduces stress, and provides a sense of accomplishment.
  • Sometimes you cannot call your therapist in the middle of the night. You need to get yourself a trusted confidant. And no, not the friend that will just spew the toxic nonsense you read online. You need someone trustworthy that will listen intently and offer wise counsel.
  • Offer yourself grace. You are human and you are going to mess up. You will not be perfect all the time. Failure is not failure in and of itself, failure is abandoning the pursuit of success. So, do not get down on yourself, continue to pursue greatness for yourself and your family. And hopefully, your kids will be a little better than you.

Salute to all the fathers out there just trying to do right by their family. Happy Father’s Day.

Valentine’s Day project. Stayed up past midnight. And packed candy bags. Oh yeah, ya man has skills.

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Daddy Diary – Oh, What, Wow – He’s the Greatest Dancer (That Never Got the Chance to Dance)

June 11, 2025 By in Daddy Diary Tags: , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

So, it is safe to classify the following circumstances as a forgivable miss by good old Dad here. The evening event was advertised as a school dance. It was simple enough. Now, perhaps, I did not carefully read the information contained in the school e-mail as required. Perhaps, I was too excited to embarrass my child on the dance floor with the old man cutting a rug. Nonetheless, I obviously overlooked the fine print regarding the dress code for the evening event. And nowadays, I admittedly embrace the opportunity to slide into stylish threads given the years spent hiding in oversized clothing.

And so, about a month prior to the dance, lessons commenced in the family room to correct my daughter’s two left feet. I carefully curated songs from the 80s and 90s to serve up the appropriate vibe. Once we mastered the simple two step as our foundation, we were good to go. Next, I accepted the mission of procuring outfits for us both with hues of pink and purple as our core colors. I found a cute dress for my daughter at Von Maur. I procured accompanying stockings and shoes from Target. With the school dance one month away, we were ready to show up and show out. Imagine my shock as we pulled into the parking lot; kids were dressed to impress in tee shirts, shorts, and jogging pants.

With exasperation, Ava sighed, “We were supposed to be dressed for a neon lights party.” In other words, this was not the glitzy, formal affair that I envisioned in my bald cranium. Nevertheless, I reassured Ava that without any doubt, we would be the best dressed tandem at the dance. She could still accessorize her outfit with neon paraphernalia and still embody the central theme for the night. We walked past a few parents I recognized, as they chuckled at my newcomer mistake, and they confirmed that this was a dance truly for the kids. However, that irony was not lost on me because this was anything but a dance. 

To utilize the word dance to describe the event would be to use the word dance loosely. Rather, it was much more like a mosh pit of flailing limbs with all the coordination of a baby giraffe learning to walk – stuck on repeat. Amongst the arrhythmic chaos, small groups of boys decided that the auditorium was an indoor playground. They chased each other around, tossed party favors at one another, and wrestled around on the floor. I had to break up two scuffles. As a chaperon, Dad was recruited to guard the stage because hard-headed kids kept bum-rushing the stage and accosting the DJ with requests. Eventually they destroyed the neon lights party sign. 

Through it all, I did not even get a chance to dance with my daughter. Honestly, I do not believe I would have been granted the opportunity because the music was warm dumpster juice on a hot, muggy afternoon. Now, I am not blaming the DJ, but the music these kids listen to nowadays (yes, I am going grumpy old man here) is atrocious. No beat. No cadence. Nonsensical lyrics. I am sorry, Travis Scott is NOT an artist that has music worth hitting the dancefloor. As FE!N blared over the speakers, and I watched rhythmic challenged suburban kids bounce around like drunk kangaroos having a seizure, I frantically checked my watch praying the lights would come up. Overall, I represented for my daughter, and we looked good together. She had fun with her friends, so that is all that counts. However, next year, I am definitely dialing back the stylish threads.

Daddy Diary – Black Dads Matter, So With All Due Respect, I Am Not Your Average Stereotype

December 13, 2019 By in Daddy Diary Tags: , , , ,

It is my solemn promise, as a self-professed introvert, I truly attempt to mind my own business. For instance, I don’t actively participate in idle conversation with total, complete strangers. It’s just not within my comfort level. Furthermore, I certainly don’t overshare aspects of my personal life with said total, complete strangers. Nevertheless, those self-imposed unofficial rules do not discourage random individuals from volunteering their preconceptions and presumptions regarding yours truly. The stereotypes that accompany the role of a black male in society – notably here in the United States – are numerous to list, but for the purpose of this particular post, I will document a few scenarios when my fatherhood was defined by an old, tired trope regarding black marital status and parenting. It is irritating. It is maddening. It is ridiculous.

  • Scenario 1: Now, this particular situation is perhaps open to interpretation – I suppose. Maybe my experiences as a black male have left me rightly guarded and defensive. Nevertheless, during a normal shopping trip at Von Maur, I was searching for some outfits for my children. A salesperson offered some assistance, so I explained I was shopping for my daughter and son. I found some cute outfits and proceeded to the sales counter. I requested separate boxes so I could have each one gift wrapped so identification would be simple. The salesperson asked if I needed 2 gift receipts. The request struck me as odd, so I asked why would I require 2 gift receipts. Her answer: A gift receipt for each mother. I informed the salesperson that only 1 gift receipt was required as my wife was the mother of both my children. I guess one can’t purchase multiple gifts for children without the assumption that multiple women are involved.
  • Scenario 2: Walking through the office, I spotted a work friend, so I stopped briefly to say hello. He was involved in a conversation with a lady I did not know; I stated my pleasantries and attempted to keep it moving. He jokingly asked if I could pick him up some dinner after work. I informed him that I was on my way to pick up my kids from school. Out of nowhere, the lady offered that if I opted to secure his dinner instead of getting my kids, there would be some baby momma drama for me. Once again, I had to correct the record. My wife was out of town, so I had to tend to my children. Undeterred, she hit me with another label and called me Mr. Mom. At that point, I excused myself and walked away. Why can’t I be a normal, married black man picking his kids up from school? Is it that far out of the realm of possibility?

I am fully aware that black fatherhood – at least in America – is stereotypically synonymous with absenteeism, toxicity, and overall just being a bum – devoid of responsibility, accountability, and love. However, perception doesn’t perfectly correlate to reality. Now, it is true that nearly 70 percent of births by black women are to unwed mothers. That statistic, unfortunately, and incorrectly translates to the aforementioned narrative I outlined at the beginning of this paragraph. According to a 2013 study by the Center for Disease Control & Prevention, their findings belie the notion that black fatherhood is baby momma drama and fleeing from Friend of the Court. Surveying parental involvement of Hispanic, black, and white fathers; it appeared that black fathers performed their parental duties the best. The percentage of black fathers (aged 15-44 years) living with their children (aged 5 years and less) was higher than their Hispanic and white counterparts performing the following parental duties:

  • feeding or eating meals with their children
  • bathing, diapering, helping use the toilet and dressing their children
  • playing with their children
  • reading to their children

Now, I won’t pretend bad actors don’t exist. There is a sizable population of black men out there that do not represent the best of us. And to be sure, the fact that approximately 70 percent of births by black women are outside of marriage can be problematic. Nevertheless, as the study indicates, when the black male lives in the household, he is just as involved if not more than other fathers in different ethnic groups. I understand that film, television, music, news, and social media outlets are likely to continue the perpetuation of negative stereotypes. Black male brokenness appears to be more marketable than black male excellence. My daily rituals as a black father confound and surprise many individuals because I don’t adhere to historical, negative stereotypes. The data supports the reality – black fathers put in work. We have to change the narrative and fervently champion the virtues of being dedicated fathers to our children. We can no longer allow the unsavory sects of society to define our character and encourage us as black men to rise to low expectations. We have to set and maintain a standard of virtuous fatherhood by leading by example. I really would like this article to become a living post, as fathers chime in with advice and testimony, as you are living your best life as a black father and smashing age-old stereotypes. I hope to hear from you.

Daddy Diary – Not All Superheroes Wear Capes – Sometimes It’s Just Mismatched Pajamas & Crew Socks From Target

November 30, 2019 By in Daddy Diary Tags: , , , , , , ,

Nervously, I sat silently at the breakfast nook table awaiting an answer from my daughter. Ava was the Star Student of the Week, and the theme for this month was being a superhero. She was supplied with a poster with various blank sections that required fun, personal information about herself. There were sections that required a list of fun hobbies, an imaginary superpower, and the names of people in her super team (family members). There was also a section reserved for the identity of who was a superhero to her. I sat with her filling out each section. Finally, we arrived at the section that required the identity of her own superhero. And so, I asked the question and anxiously sat on the edge of my seat waiting for an answer. In popular culture, the role of the father is sometimes boiled down to an unaware nincompoop that faints at the first sign of a soiled diaper, is inept at preparing a decent meal, and is devoid of emotional intelligence that is essential for raising children.

Fortunately, young children are not well-versed in popular culture. They won’t succumb to the whims of societal pressure. So as I waited for Ava’s answer, I was hoping for some unbiased truth that wouldn’t sting too bad. Her choices were plentiful: Moana, Doc McStuffins, or any member of the PJ Masks super squad. Selfishly, I was hoping I would make the cut. To my relief, Ava revealed that my wife and I were her superheroes. As a parent, especially being a father, one only wishes that the job you perform as a parent is recognized on some level. To be loved, respected, and appreciated by your children is the greatest reward anyone can dare to hope. Through her lens, we were granted superhero status, and I felt joyous inside. So, I began to ponder what superpowers did I inherit after becoming a parent. I was able to readily identify five super-parent abilities. If you are a parent, you are probably familiar with the list below very well.

Super-parent Abilities

Intuition

  • I knew that my daughter wanted to be Moana for Halloween before she ever told me. So when I inquired about her preferred costume for Halloween, she confirmed that my assumption was indeed correct. Fully equipped and tailored with the Heart of Te Fiti pendant, Hei Hei the chicken, her magical oar, a Moana wig, and an authentic dress from Motunui (well, Target that is); she won the best overall costume for her age group. Parental “spidey senses” are quite useful when your entire world revolves around anticipating your kid’s wants and needs. And it is especially helpful when identifying potential danger around every corner. Case in point: Miles loves to be the “line leader” when entering school. However, he isn’t tall enough to be seen through the glass window by anyone on the opposite side of the door. On this particular day, he dashed to the door before me, and seconds later I spotted another gentleman about to open the door from the other side. Instinctively, I outstretched my arm (36/37 dress sleeve’s worth) to prevent the door from swinging open, thus “saving” Miles as noted by Ava on the poster above. Funny, without coaxing an answer from her, she was able to remember this incident from months ago.

The Power of Persuasion

  • When I first became a supervisor, one of my directors called me into her office to perform an exercise that I believe would provide insight regarding my character and thought process. She asked what would my superpower be if I was a superhero. Inspired by a series I was watching at the time – Jessica Jones season 1 – I believe I surprised her by referencing a little known villain by the name of Zebediah Killgrave. Killgrave’s mutant abilities included but were not limited to mind control and master manipulation. I admit this was a curious selection on my behalf, and my director’s facial response said as much. Why would I choose a villain with seemingly evil superpowers? Because, when utilized with principled and honest intent, the power of persuasion can be a valuable tool when interacting with a toddler. My communication skills are best described as thoughtfully measured, honest, reassuring, and transparent. In my profession, these traits are quite useful when speaking with colleagues, hospital staff, sales representatives, and vendors. Oh – and toddlers. Whether extracting splinters, administering breathing treatments for the first time with a scary mask, or persuading a child to trust you with a hairdryer as you quick-dry nail polish; establishing comfort and trust is essential as a parent.

Reflexes & Speed

    • I am blessed and thankful that neither of my children has experienced some kind of severe calamity in their early childhood. Nonetheless, that is not to say that I’ve been immune to close calls. As I mentioned before, especially with children, there is potential danger around every corner. And while it is always good to anticipate unforeseen peril; properly reacting to said peril is paramount. Now, one doesn’t need to be exposed to gamma rays or bitten by a radioactive spider to be endowed with uncanny strength, speed, or reflexes. Fear and adrenaline will work wonders. One such time involved a mental lapse on my behalf. One afternoon, I was taking Ava for a walk through the neighborhood. As I turned to close the garage door, I failed to engage the brake on the stroller. When I refocused my attention to the stroller, it had begun its descent down the driveway. Now, I may not possess superhuman speed like Quicksilver or Flash, but this big guy performed his best Usain Bolt impression and raced down the driveway to safely secure the runaway stroller. Calamity averted.

Hearing

  • As a parent, trust me, your ears will become perfectly synchronized with your child’s sound, both frequency and decibel level. You will also be able to detect the absence of sound. Sometimes it can be too, too quiet. How sharp will your hearing become? One night after putting the children down for bedtime, I retired to the family room to enjoy a few television shows. Faintly, over the volume of the television, I could hear my son crying out. With super-parent speed, I vaulted up the stairs to my son’s bedroom and discovered he was having a nightmare. I retrieved him from his bed, draped him over my shoulder, and soothed him back to sleep. Another circumstance found me pulling into my driveway after a day at work. As I exited my car to grab some groceries from my trunk, the sound of a distraught little girl caught my attention. Instantly, my brain began to decipher whether the child was mine and what direction the wails were being emitted from. Grocery bags and all, I ran to the backyard and found my little girl in distress over the presence of a bumblebee. We had to move dinner inside.

Invulnerability (not really)

  • After my wife and I closed on our house, we soon discovered a beehive inside a basement wall. My mother-in-law lived a few blocks away, so Stephanie was at her house tending to a newborn Ava. As I was at the house attempting to pinpoint where and how bees were filtering into our basement, I was summarily stung in the face. As I staggered to my mother-in-law’s house to put some ice on my cheek, I found Stephanie with an inconsolable child that she was unable to lay down for sleep. Swollen, burning cheek and all, I took possession of Ava, turned on Kenny G’s Greatest Hits, and cradled her to sleep on a nearby couch. No, my skin is not impenetrable, but I suppose it heals rapidly and is somewhat pain resistant – that bee sting hurt!

For more of my adventures, check out entries from my Daddy Diary for your reading enjoyment.

Daddy Diary – Beyond Dirty Diapers: 5 Things Every New Parent Will Loathe That They Were Never Warned About

November 23, 2019 By in Daddy Diary Tags: , , , , ,

Now, before I bear the entire brunt of the Internet parenting community, I wholeheartedly agree that becoming a parent can be a wondrous joy. Nevertheless, I would not be honest if I did not admit some aspects of being a parent that is quite a pain. Sure, you are bound to encounter that one parent that extols the sheer happiness and bliss of having children. And don’t get me wrong, in many situations, this is absolutely correct. However, as new parents will soon realize, there are some facets to parenthood that we unconditionally detest. Dislike. Hate. Loathe. Now, for the purpose of this post, I am going to exclude the usual suspects: changing diapers, lack of sleep, etc. Because, being a parent or not, who would love cleaning up feces 8 times per day on 4 hours of sleep? And Lord, for our first child, my wife wanted to use cloth diapers. That novelty was jettisoned out the window by the time our second child arrived. Soaking, scrubbing, and washing cloth diapers with OxiClean and a toothbrush did not lead to a happy disposition. I confess this particular pain point was self-inflicted insanity. However, parents-to-be, I am warning you. There are certain situations that you may not be able to avoid, and you may be caught with your guard down. I am here to provide a heads-up.

Daycare/School Tuition

  • My 5-year-old daughter can explain how a bat uses echolocation for flight navigation. My 3-year-old son knows his vowels and understands what doleful means. My daughter and son both can name all of the continents. There are science projects. There are spelling tests. Therefore, I cannot complain too much about my children’s schooling. Nevertheless, the cost of quality education can be financially debilitating for many parents. It is not unusual for one parent to take a temporary hiatus from work, stay home with the little ones, and forego the need for daycare or early education programs entirely. Seriously, the cost of daycare might as well be a second mortgage and car note. And if a school is closed for any reason, you may find yourself scrambling for child coverage, or you may have to forego work for the day. So you may miss a day’s pay and still have to pay for that day of schooling – double whammy! Trust, investing in your children’s future by providing quality education is one of the biggest responsibilities that a parent will undertake. Nonetheless, be forewarned, it is going to hurt.

Parental Title

    • Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Hey Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Hey Daddy. Hey Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Hey Daddy. When your child is an infant, you eagerly await to hear those magic words that indicate a verbal form of parental recognition. Hearing mommy or daddy for the first time is a milestone that every parent anxiously anticipates. However, when your child starts to seriously form thoughts and sentences, brace yourself for a torrent of inquisitive inquiries and miscellaneous proclamations – all prefaced with mommy or daddy. Let me tell you, forget waterboarding as an enhanced interrogation technique, play a voice recording of a kid repeating daddy or mommy on a continuous loop, and watch your subject snitch out the entire organization and identify intended targets. You can add sleep deprivation for good measure. We hate that too remember.

Car Seats

  • Trust me, the installation will never be as easy as the instructions or video will illustrate. Simply put, properly installing a car seat will be a pain in your back. Squeezing into a backseat to engage in a life and death struggle to safely install a car seat is no fun. Ask any parent, once that car seat is properly installed, you never want to remove it again. EVER. However, you will not be so lucky. One night, my wife came home late with one of the kids and I was greeted with the task of cleaning up vomit from the car seat. So late into the night, I had to remove the entire car seat, remove the upholstery, wash it, dry it, put the upholstery back on, and then reinstall that bad boy. Keep that instruction manual close – you are going to need it.

Be a Referee

  • My children can have the same color bowl with the exact amount of popcorn in each, and they will still find a way to bicker over who gets what bowl. If you have more than one child, prepare for the incessant arguing and bickering over the most meaningless subjects. Lord have mercy.

Daylight Saving Time

  • Every autumn, you perhaps eagerly anticipate the time when you get to enjoy an extra hour of sleep. If your state observes Daylight Saving Time, you know what I am referring to. But guess what? If you have a little one, your child’s body has no idea the time has shifted back an hour, or the time has shifted forward in the spring for that matter. So if your child’s wake up time is 7 a.m., be prepared to be stirred from your slumber at 6 a.m. And conversely, if you’ve jumped forward an hour, prepare to drag your kid out of their bed from a dead sleep. The solution for “falling back”: adjust your child’s bedtime 15 minutes later each progressive week (up to an hour) leading up to Daylight Saving. The reverse should be done in the spring and adjust bedtime 15 minutes earlier. I was lucky with my second child, as Daylight Saving does not appear (3+ years and counting) to have affected his sleep schedule.

The Standard #51

October 31, 2019 By in Standard Tags: , , , , Leave a comment

To be sure, the thoughtful gentleman understands that every moment of significance carries meaning. Moments matter. This is especially true for the gentleman that has embarked upon the journey of fatherhood. Understandably, the journey is an arduous one, replete with important occasions that beg the focused attention and participation of a father. This is non-negotiable. Hopefully, this active role fosters an intimate relationship between father and child grounded in an appreciation and love exclusive to both involved parties. For example, approximately three years ago, my daughter was experiencing respiratory distress that prompted an expeditious visit to the emergency room. My wife needed to be home with our newborn son since, ironically, a hospital isn’t the best spot for a newborn outside of the initial birth. So I stayed with my daughter through a series of evaluations and treatments until she was discharged.

During the entirety of the event, I provided a calming and reassuring presence for her, as you can expect the circumstances would be quite frightening to a two-year-old. Now, some may think it odd, but I took pictures and videos during our stay in the hospital. I wanted to capture this moment in time; this moment that further strengthened our bond as father and daughter.  To her, I was her protector – a source of depended comfort and safety. To me, she was my ward – simply my little baby girl. I had to be there for her. And every now and again – three years later – I still look at pictures and videos from those days we shared together. And upon viewing them, the emotions from that day come flooding back – in a positive way. Despite the circumstances, I cherish that time we shared together.

Now, I don’t assert that a father and child need to experience an extreme event to form a healthy, caring connection. However, I am asserting that a father should never shy away from moments with his kid(s), no matter how large or small. And he should embrace opportunity fully and make the most of it. Sure, a gentleman probably won’t engage in every waking event, but an honest effort is definitely demanded. There possibly can be a myriad of chances at a gentleman’s disposal: attending a recital, helping with homework, attending children’s school events, etc. Do not be mistaken, inaction is actually a conscious action. Gentlemen, as fathers, ensure the present-day with your kids isn’t a missed opportunity that becomes a distant past that you regret in the future. Make the most of your moments now!

Daddy Diary – How Fatherhood Challenged My Masculinity While Restoring My Manhood

April 12, 2019 By in Daddy Diary Tags: , , , , , , , , , 4 Comments

Regarding the everyday activities of life, more specifically fatherhood, I am rather matter of fact with my observations and narratives. I am always open and honest about fatherhood with respect to its profound impact over the last 5 years. My role and responsibilities are painfully simple: do what is right and do what is necessary. Sometimes, I am able to experience success, and other times, unfortunately, I fail. Nevertheless, I am frank about my fatherly adventures when queried. During one of these conversations, a work colleague remarked that I was a “different” type of man. At least different from the men from her generation. You understand, as a woman of a certain age, men from her generation did not carry out the parental duties that I routinely performed. Or at least that is what I was told. I always wanted to be a father actively involved in the growth and development of his children, so duties as a devoted dad didn’t seem all too odd.

Now, those parental duties include, but are not limited to: ironing school clothes, laying the kids down for sleep, packing school lunches, taking the kids to school, etc. These are not the occasional chores I discover myself immersed in, rather, these responsibilities are integral components of my daily life – normal life. Sure, balancing work and parental responsibilities is an exhaustive exercise that strains a gentleman’s resolve both mentally and physically. Nevertheless, one does what is right and what is necessary. That is what I had convinced myself to believe. Now, in some respects, I never devoted too much time & thought to gender roles of old within the family unit. That being the man is the provider and protector. Meanwhile, the woman takes care of home and the children. Nonetheless, I am not wholly immune to the societal conditioning that subconsciously molds one’s psyche and behavior regarding the subject matter in a negative.

As my coworker observed, I did not behave like the typical man. I cleaned. I cooked. I changed diapers. I ironed onesies. I gave baths. Truthfully, our society definitely has an opinion – offered by both men and women – about how a man should conduct himself as a man. And generally, those opinions lean heavily on the view that the male should – by the sweat upon his brow – toil the Earth as a sole provider. For women, a man is a man if he lives to a standard of XYZ. For men, a man is the man if he lives to the standard of XYX. We are reduced to a little more than a workhorse; with judgement rendered upon performance in the boardroom & bedroom. And whether implicitly or explicitly, people’s personal views are always on display. I remember my wife and I attended a sleep training class for Ava when she was a newborn. The instructor advocated that we lay our daughter down to sleep by at least 7:30 p.m. Given my late work schedule, I would not arrive home to around that time. That left me virtually no time to spend with my newborn daughter. I asked if it was feasible to extend bedtime later into the evening so I could spend more time with Ava. The instructor’s response: I did not work the weekend, so I could make up time with Ava Saturday & Sunday. In that moment, I felt totally dismissed, as if my time with my daughter was not valuable. Was I that inconsequential? Side-note: I didn’t follow the instructors guidelines. I sleep trained both my children and they are doing just fine.

Allow me to offer another example. My schedule starts late, so I am on a.m. duty with the kids. As in this case, sometimes differing parental schedules produce varying duties. One particular morning I stopped in our cafeteria for breakfast; the cashier observed I was not rushing through the cafe as I can only assume is my normal routine. I noted that I may look to be in a rush constantly, but that is because my typical morning routine almost demands it. Casually, I told her about a typical morning: making sure the kids use the toilet or in the case of Miles – clean up his soiled pull-up, get them showered & dressed, get breakfast on the table, pack their lunch, and drop them off at school. And somewhere in the mix, I get myself together with a shower and clean clothes because arriving at cubicle smelling funky is not an option. I then drive as fast as I can – without getting a ticket – to work. Puzzled, she asked if I was a single father. I assured her I was not a single father – just an involved one.

These were not isolated incidents, and over time, it started to become tiresome. More often than not, I discovered myself an outlier to the prototypical male. I did not fit the standard definition of the “alpha male”. I looked around me, and some of my peers were not putting in the work as a father that I was performing on a daily basis. I would take notice of men and their antiquated worldviews regarding gender roles. Conversely, I would hear women and their relationship horror stories regarding my contemporaries behaving badly. It didn’t seem fair. And I wish I could assert that it did not bother me, but it frustrated me beyond words. I never let it affect how I fathered my children; my duties as a father was non-negotiable. Nevertheless, I began to struggle with my confidence and self-esteem. As a man, I felt weak. I felt like a sucker. I had stopped working out. I had stopped writing. I had stopped mentoring. I cannot categorically claim that I was depressed, but I wasn’t the best me I could offer outside of being a father. What was the best me? First, allow me to offer some personal history for perspective.

For much of my early schooling and better part of college, I did not have an identity. I was a soft-spoken, overweight, slew-footed gentleman that walked with a gait similar to a penguin. I began to form an identity when I joined an organization in college – The Society of African-American Men. Making men out of boys was one of our battle cries. These men became my brothers from another mother. I learned a great deal through our shared organizational kinship. In the end, I didn’t earn my degree, but I departed Michigan Technological University with a wealth of knowledge for life. I had began to formulate an image, an identity. A non-athlete, I found solace in the gym with heavy weights that satiated the more primal side of soft-spoken Glen. I found a voice through this blog, as I found total strangers actually interested in my musings. I became active in the community to the under-served and marginalized, more specifically young black men. I had discovered my purpose.

Fatherhood changed everything and I was ill-equipped to cope. I was sleep-deprived and stressed from work; becoming a father was draining my virility as a man. I would look at the children’s outfits I sorted and ironed, thinking to myself – why? I would wonder if other fathers were out there changing cloth diapers, shoveling Michigan snow, and still putting in a 40+ hour week. I felt less-than and inadequate with no outlet to express what was going on inside me. Because, as years of programing had subconsciously taught me, showing emotion and vulnerability wasn’t something a man did. Any day of the week I could feel angry, despondent, or defeated. I was struggling emotionally and mentally within my own solitude, but I pressed forward.

I don’t have any vices to retreat to; I don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs. So most times I was just devoid of emotion. People would say happy Friday and become so elated about the impending weekend. Inside, I burned with irritation and disdain. There weren’t any days off in my world. And when Sunday arrived, I was angry about the forthcoming Monday. Sure, my kids brought me joy, but a majority of my days were consumed with work in some form or another. I never spoke about my feelings and I never let people see me break down. Some colleagues on my team nicknamed me Eeyore. They decorated my cubicle with stuffed animals and balloons with happy faces to try and make me smile. It didn’t work.

“But they don’t know about your stress filled day, baby on the way, mad bills to pay”, rapped the late Biggie Smalls. Everyday Struggle has always been one of my favorite Biggie songs; albeit my life did not mirror his early drug dealer escapades, I could relate to the pain of the everyday grind and hustle. I remember when Stephanie told me she was pregnant with our second child Miles. While I was surely excited inside, my face told a different story. Immediately, my mind began to calculate the cost of another child on my salary. As a man, it was ultimately my responsibility to ensure we were fine. I’ve always been a hard worker, and I had steadily moved up within my company. Nevertheless, with a second child, I had to make a big move.

A position in a department I had been eyeing opened up. I prepped for the interview for about a month. I performed well in the interview and was considered an excellent candidate, but I came up short. I received my rejection notification via e-mail (I can’t make this up) on my birthday while I was on vacation. I sat on my couch and cried. I felt absolutely hopeless. Like a scene from Soul Food, Stephanie tried to give support, but I felt like a failure nonetheless. I simply did not know what was going to happen next. A few days later, I was back on the grind. Miles Jackson Palmer was on the way, and tears don’t move bill collectors. By His grace, I secured a management position months later. My supervisor had convinced me to apply even though I had severe reservations about my chances.

Still, in the present day, my work-life balance was challenging to say the least. Sure, I was able to secure some stability on the financial front, but emotionally and mentally I was struggling. And with two children, the stress roared down like an avalanche. I was trying to fulfill my duties as a professional at work while also going above and beyond as a father. I was cracking. I had long stopped attending church. Truthfully and selfishly, I tried to use the weekends to recharge – I didn’t want to go anywhere! However, at the behest of my wife, I attended a men’s group that met 1 Saturday per month as an exercise of fellowship and ministering to one another. During a group conversation – I cannot be ashamed to admit – I broke down into tears. I shared my testimony with the group. My feelings of inadequacy, powerlessness, fear, and frustration. And then an older gentleman told me something that flipped my thinking on its head: Never let someone make you feel ashamed for being a father to your children.

Damn. It was that simple, but the surrounding noise in my life made me susceptible to self-destructive thinking. I was trying to live up to a misguided image that society conditioned me to be, and not what my children needed me to be. I was depreciating my self-worth because I was conditioned to think responsibilities aligned with the matriarch secondary to those of the patriarch. That is foolishness, as both are equally important to promote a strong, healthy household. The church elder told me I was uniquely equipped with both paternal and maternal instincts. And I should not feel less than a man because of it. Those words, as straightforward as they were, struck deep inside my core. That day began to change everything for me.

Recently, Ava had a minor accident when she fell off her scooter. My daughter tends to be emotional and has a flair for the dramatic – that’s just her personality. A couple of family members attempted to console her, but the tears were flowing with no stoppage in sight. So, I intervened, scooped all 3+ feet of her lanky frame into my arms, whispered into her ear to relax and promised I’d sit next to her at bedtime while we listened to Kenny G. One minute later, no more tears, and all was good. Do not be mistaken, children are very observant. So, I have to believe all those nights I spent training her to sleep through the night as a baby (even keeping a log), administering her daily breathing treatments, getting her washed and clothed in the morning for school before dashing her off to school, and everything else that arrives with fatherhood – it created that father/daughter bond that is magical. And I never stopped being her protector; I still honor requests to sleep on the floor beside Ava’s bed until a thunderstorm passes. Or pop up at 2:32 a.m. to sooth Miles because he is having a bad dream. Never let someone make you feel ashamed for being a father to your children. And never let yourself feel ashamed for being a father to your children. The other day, Ava wrapped her arms around me and said, “I love you Daddy.” The sound of her voice was so genuine, innocent and pure – I wanted to cry.

Back in the recesses of my mind, the concept of being masculine; fatherhood has torn down all that nonsense and reinforced what being a man should be. It is okay to feel sad. It is okay to feel vulnerable and express emotion. It is okay to cry. Far too often, men hold on to hurt, fear, and anger until it erupts in a negative fashion. We’re human and these feelings are natural. There isn’t any shame in that. If you are in the struggle, seek out other men that share, have shared, or have knowledge regarding your struggle – sharing your testimony can be seriously therapeutic. I also meditate to alleviate stress. Sometimes, I just disconnect from the world, sit in the dark, and listen to raindrops playing on my Google Mini. A work in progress, I am reintroducing the constructive activities that I love to do – writing this story is one of them. A man doesn’t necessarily possess the attributes of a father, but a father undoubtedly needs to be a man. Because whether a man is changing a diaper, helping with homework, or reading a bedtime story; a man does so without hesitation to facilitate the intellectual, emotional, and spiritual strength required for his children to succeed in a world when he is no longer here. And there is no shame in that.