I’ve been thinking a lot about fatherhood lately. What it must feel like to hold your own child. To nurture them. To love them. To guide them. I want to know that feeling of unconditional love. I want someone to look at me and know that I can instantly make any pain or whatever is bothering them go away. I want to wipe away tears and share laughs. I want to be a father. The best father in the world one day. I want to follow in the footsteps of others who dispel the myths and stereotypes of the Black Father. You know…what you hear in the media about black fathers not being present in their child’s lives. I know way to many great dads for this to be true…and I just wish it wasn’t such an accepted narrative that someone else created. We live in a cruel world where fairness, justices and simply what’s right is always clouded and often negotiated. One day I want to be able to have “THE” conversation with my child…not the birds and the bees one….the…what it means to grow up black in America one. I’m going to tell them that this world isn’t fair and you just have to better than everyone else. I’m going to them to always hold your head up high. I going to tell how great they are. I’m going to let them know that their future is boundless and we succeed regardless of circumstance.
Today, I admire that father sitting across from me. It’s after 9pm on a Saturday night. He’s taking his kids home. Everyone is exhausted after a long day and even longer life. In the tiny face of his little girl is a look of love and comfort. She is with her dad and it means the world.