My Fatherhood... Lessons From a Black Father

 I am the father of two brown boys. Amongst the various responsibilities that come with leading a family, ensuring their safety is of high priority. To ensure their safety means that I must equip them to exist as black men in America. I was recently given a beautiful message from a friend. 

“From our family to yours, from a "white" family to a "black" family we are sorry that this is how you are attacked and how we are portrayed. I love you guys and your family. Raising our child to not pay attention to color, but love only, is a job that I've been grateful to pass down from my father. Although it does not change this world, please know that we see the problem and are doing everything in our ability to keep our children on the correct side of the ignorant fence this country has put up against other beautiful human beings. Black lives matter, big time, to this white family…all love. I salute you and stand behind you as a parent. You have to have certain conversations with your boys that I'll never have to have with mine. And there's a very big problem with that.”

 This message was real & transparent. However, it is possibly the first time I have heard this stated from the lips of someone not black. There are conversations that I will have to have with my children that my white friends will simply never have to have. 

 In one breathe, I tell them… you are strong, you are smart, with focus you can do anything that you set your mind to. In the same breathe, I have an obligation to inform them that certain people in higher authority may disrespect you… and when they do, say yes sir and no sir. In one breathe, I tell them that they are superheroes and can achieve their dreams… the next breathe… the playing field is not even… for you to be considered somewhat equal, you have to reach Michael Jordan excellence in everything you do. To ensure the safety of my boys, I must let them know that a traffic stop is not about respect. It is about making it home alive. 

    2 years ago… on the way home from school, my 3rd grader had a question for me. Apparently, he got into a bit of a disagreement with a fellow classmate at school that day. I was told by his teacher that the other kid involved was acting aggressively towards my child. According to the teacher, my son was simply trying to figure out why his classmate was so upset. Looking distraught on the way home, my son asked me, “Dad, why did the teacher’s assistant grab me but no one held back my angry classmate?” For some reason, my brown child was looked at as the aggressor even though he wasn’t

    That story reminded me of when a friend & I were pulled over… routine traffic stop. According to the police officer, the passenger rear tire crossed over the white line on the right side of the road… honestly, those were his words. The officer, then asked my friend and I to exit the vehicle. After doing that, I was handcuffed and placed in the backseat of the police car. My friend, who is not black, was highly upset. As I was escorted to the police car, I tried my best to calm him… telling him, “dude relax… just answer the officer’s questions and this will be over soon… Don’t freak out bro.” The other officer, questioned my friend outside of our vehicle… no cuffs. The remainder of that ride home, I had to explain to him my friend that what he had just experienced is, unfortunately, not uncommon.

    Luckily, I was driving alone the one time I was handcuffed on the side of Broadway during Nashville rush hour. I was pulled over because the tiny light above my rear license plate was apparently not working. I had just come from locking up at work. At the time, I worked at a bank. I was dressed in a buttoned up shirt & tie… still nicely knotted. Unfortunately, I accidentally left my wallet at work… which meant that I would have to unlock the bank after this ordeal to get it. I communicated this to the officer. I also assured him that he would see that all of my driver’s license, registration, & insurance credentials were credible once he looks up my info. Hands on the wheel… yes sir… no sir… somehow, I still managed to end up bent over on the trunk of my car for 20 minutes in handcuffs for all of the downtown Nashville to see. I could hear the words of my father, “when it comes to cops… just make it home.” Thank God, I did.

    Recently, there was a petition circulating regarding the killing of Harambe, the gorilla… an amazing animal (300,000 + signatures). Last year, there was a petition circulating in regards to justice being served for the killing of Cecil The Lion (137,648 signatures). Why is there such a lesser passion towards the murder of so many black fathers and black sons? Why are there so many people trying to justify the cracks in our law enforcement?

    These are the things that I have to educate my children on. Of course, they will study the ugly history of America in schools. They will write reports on how our people became free. However, in the same breathe, I must caution them to limit the perception of their freedom. “Son, if your white friends are running around in a mall, acting like teenagers, you can’t do the same thing.” “Umm… no you cannot play with your friend & his toy guns in their front yard… someone may mistake your being a 10 year old carrying a supersoaker, with you being a 20 year old carrying an assault rifle.” This is real life people. #TamirRice

    Fear God… respect authority… even when they don’t deserve it. It’s sheer survival out here. I hold on to hopeful messages like the one above, from my friend. It is not enough for me to have these conversations with my children. To all of my non-black friends… what conversations are you having with your white children? Are you honest with them about the privilege that they have?  Are you educating them on how they also need to be verbal at the first sign of injustice being displayed in our country? Like above mentioned, I hope that there are other white fathers out there, standing with us black fathers… setting an healthy example for their children to follow. In times like these, we should all mourn together. We should stand together. I’m calling out all fathers… let’s lead our little men & little women towards true greatness. 

My Biological Father Tried...My story of forgiveness and gratitude

My biological father tried... He was an abusive husband, a manipulative father, alcoholic, and addict.  He wasn't a good person.  Truthfully, he was the textbook guy that mothers warned their daughters about.  My mother had run off with him at the age of seventeen. He was charming, handsome, an artist of sorts... and explosive. My mother and father had me a couple of years later. They remained married until I was ten years old. During this time, I witnessed my mother being beaten, stomped on, locked out of the house... abused. My father would tell me things that a father should never tell a daughter. He was suicidal... After their separation, he would share with me his thoughts on the possibility of taking his own life. I felt a twisted responsibility to keep my parents together. I was a child. I feared him... I was confused by him... My biological father had sweet moments. I remember moments of him doing my hair, preparing me for school. I remember going to the park.  I remember listening to his favorite band, Earth, Wind, and Fire. 

My parents finally divorced. My mother remarried my stepdad, Ronald, whom I often refer to as my dad. He was kind, funny, loud, and everything that my mother deserved. He loved my mother with every bone in his body. He wanted to heal her... He loved my sister and I. He was/ is love. 

My mother protected my sister and I from the emotional baggage of my biological father... We didn't speak or see my biological father for years... I didn't see him until I was twenty-nine years old... at my mother's funeral. It was a very weird moment. My husband met my biological father for the first time at that moment. I looked at this mysterious yet familiar man. There he was in front of me. He visibly older. I no longer was the ten year old girl that he had known previously. I look at him. The feelings that I feel, are not of anger... although it would have been warranted.  I don't feel the fear that I had felt as a young child. I feel... empathy. I don't see my father... I see a boy... a boy unloved. My biological father's mother was a teenager when she became pregnant with him.  His mother would leave him abandoned for days in his crib... in his dirty diapers. Although this level of neglect isn't typical behavior for most teenage mothers, this was my dad's reality... I can't understand how she could do something like that... I've tried not to judge her... I know very little about her mental state.. I never met her. She passed away before I was born. I know little about her parents... her upbringing... Was she unloved as well? He would eventually live with his grandmother. She wasn't the nicest person to say the least. Long story short, he was screwed. He had never been shown love. His mother and grandmother would fight in the streets over him. It was dysfunction to say the least. The women in his life were violent, neglectful... unloving. 

After having my first son, Jaxon, something changed in how I viewed my dad. Jaxon loved me.  He loved me in a way that only a little boy can love his mother. I was his world.  Having experienced this magnitude of love, I couldn't imagine how it must have felt for a young boy like my father to not receive love in return... to be met with neglect, abuse, abandonment. What does that do to a child? A boy? My father was the result. When I saw him at my mother's funeral... I saw the result. He was still a young boy...unloved.  Did my father love me? Yes. Did he know how to give the love that my mother, myself, and my sister deserved? No. He simply didn't know how. I could no longer be angry with him as I could not be angry with the homeless guy for not having a dollar. My father simply didn't possess the capacity to love. I absolutely believe that yes, at some point everyone has a choice to change... to heal... proceed forward... I'm not sure if he had the tools, or if his undiagnosed mental illness prevented him. I now believe that he was bi-polar. Either way, he never made the choice or simply couldn't. Of the two reasons, I'm not sure... I just knew, that I could no longer be angry for what the man simply didn't have... Love. 

That day at my mother's funeral, would be the last time that I saw my biological dad. He passed away five months later in a random house fire... I am thankful... I am thankful that I said, "I love you". I said I love you to the little boy unloved.  I said, I see you... I see you little one... In return, I believe that my dad in that moment, breathed a sigh of relief that despite his issues, his dysfunction, his incapability to love me, his daughter turned out ok. 

I am full of gratitude... Without my stepdad, perhaps I wouldn't have known what resembles a functional relationship... Perhaps I wouldn't have known that what my biological dad and my mother had wasn't healthy... that it was toxic. Perhaps without my dad, I would have been attracted to the very thing that I had grown up with... Abuse. If my mother had never remarried my stepdad, we would have never relocated, which means I would have never went to the high school that I attended, which means I would have never heard of the college that I attended, which means I would have never met my love, Jon (we met at Belmont Univeristy)... Which means I would have never gave birth to my two beautiful boys, Jax and Jedi... My heart is full of gratitude..  Thank you Ronald. 

I am thankful for my biological dad... Knowing his story has caused me to be a better mother. To hug my boys tight... To constantly remind them of their worth... My father, Greg, couldn't give me love, but he gave me my nose, my curly hair, and my dark skin.  He gave me my love for music... My laugh lines around my smile... His smile was electric... He couldn't give me love, but he gave me my existence.... and if that's all that he had to offer, for that I am grateful.  That was enough. 

The Natural... Fatherhood Unedited

So... any day now, my first born arrives Earth side. Every parent in my social universe is telling me that my life is dawning a whole new existence of cliché dad life... that soon as this baby slips into the world, I will immediately be overcome by emotions that only fatherhood can deliver. The only emotion that I currently am feeling is that of autopilot-type husband duties... making my wife feel as comfy as possible during this process. I'm having no feelings of butterflies or nervousness, just sort of existing in the moments as they come. I had no outlandish expectations of my first born arriving. I was just hoping that his head wouldn't be shaped weird... or that he wasn't breach... or just hoping to avoid that tragic birth scene from an episode of Little House On The Prairie that I watched when I was younger. Fatherhood... bring it on!!!

    Finally, we're in the hospital. It's here... the day that we've been waiting for. Apparently, life is about to get even better... and my ability to love and care is gonna grow three times bigger. My mother-n-law shows up. My sister follows. We play the waiting game for about 18 hours of labor and... there he is!!! Jaxon-Miles Sellers Jackson, 6 lbs 15oz of crying and annoyed, chocolate baby. Nurses immediately took him to a nearby station for the basic welcome home diagnostic. Everything was checking out great. I naturally peeped over to see how little man was doing with all of his new celebrity. The main thought in my head was... she did it!!! I went over to my wife and just admired her. 

    Over the next 24-48 hours, friends and family would visit. Everyone was so excited. All the while, I was waiting for all of the emotions and tears that are supposed to overtake me any moment. To be honest, they never came. What I felt before Jaxon's arrival, only mimicked my present emotions of 'auto-pilot husband duties' and now add on 'auto-pilot daddy duties.' Was I happy? Yes. Was I excited? Sure, I guess. I was all of those things before the birth. Whatever happened to the fuzzy feelings of being overwhelmed like so many fathers apparently experience when welcoming their legacies into the world? Tears, daydreams of ballgames, fantasies of father-son park frisbee, etc. I didn't have any of those. 

 I also believe that fathers need to be present even when it doesn't 'feel natural.' I just kept showing up... kept being there... before I knew it, I was looking forward to experiencing every moment that I could with my future kings.

    Was something wrong? I honestly felt as if my days were simply busier and included less sleep. Beyond that, nothing really changed. I've always been one to take my role as provider/man of the house very seriously. I naturally turned the heat up in that department. Besides that, same Jon.

    Brandi, on the other hand, instantly blossomed into this new, uber-motherly butterfly that I had not witnessed prior to Jaxon. Around 2-3 yrs old, she would salivate at the thought of taking our kid to sand parks, and mother-son dates. Every now and then, I would tag along, only to witness tons of super-hyped, cool dads playing with their kids... throwing baseballs, making sand castles... while really seeming to enjoy every bit of it. I honestly did not share their sentiments. I didn't seem to have the natural fatherly instincts that these other TV dads had. 

Fast-forward almost 10yrs... a total of 2 boys later... I get those uber-daddy feelings practically everyday. Truth is, they didn't come the first day, or the first year... they took some time... and that's ok.

    In all transparency, it took till about 4 yrs old for those mushy daddy feelings to arrive... about four years to really emotionally connect with the tangibility of my legacy. As Jaxon would grow older, my natural desire to spend real quality time with my son would increase. I began to seek out his interest... no longer out of obligation but out of sheer enjoyment. I started to really get a kick out of learning who he was & seeing who he was becoming.

    I became a father at 23 years old. Looking back, I totally can see why there was such a delay in experiencing 'the natural' daddy feelings that most fathers feel. For starters, I was 23... still figuring who I was as a man...as a husband of just 1 year at the time... really trying to balance life while chasing down the dreams that Brandi & I had as creatives. Naturally, I've always reacted to things very logically. In an effort to not seem weird, I've even faked expected emotions in certain situations, despite feeling quite indifferent.

    Fast-forward almost 10yrs... a total of 2 boys later... I now get those uber-daddy feelings practically everyday. Truth is, they didn't come the first day, or the first year... they took some time... and that's ok. Truth is, I have always been present, even when the TV dad instincts weren't there. Eventually, those 'natural' healthy father feelings showed up. I do believe that I needed to grow up a bit... step outside of myself... understand that my children are one of the most tangible representations of my legacy being left on this Earth. I also believe that fathers need to be present even when it doesn't 'feel natural.' I just kept showing up... kept being there... before I knew it, I was looking forward to experiencing every moment that I could with my future kings. I'm now happy to say that I've become one of those enthusiastic dads at the parks that daydreams of upcoming ball games with my boys... that loves one-on-one, father-son time AKA man-dates (a term coined by yours truly). I look forward to taking my 10 month old out to parks. I look forward to coaching my 9yr old's bball team next season. Despite the words and experiences of many others, some things in life may take a bit more time than we initially hope. That's ok. Just be present. That's the only way to win.