North Pole to the Stripper Pole...

I'm not one to get preachy about women & what they should do. At the very least, I'm only responsible for my own daughter (assuming she's actually my kid), but her mother usually intercepts any positive intentions I have toward her. I can only hope that my children's mom doesn't brainwash my daughter to have the same, lopsided mentality that her entire man-less family does. Rejection does incredible things to a person's perception.

[tony's note: one of these positive, black female role models really needs to holler at these 'baby mommas'. there will NEVER be a solution as long as THEY contribute as much to the problem as WE do.]

The small amounts of time I do spend with her are mostly so full to-the-brim with fatherly wisdom & pearl-casting that I rarely get the chance to sit & talk with her. So, even though I attempt to make up for lost time, said time is spent making up for lost time; a vicious cycle that will never end.

I think it's more important to teach her about the perils of low self-esteem & the dangers of boys than it is to know what her favorite food is. Since I'm in a position of submission from the gate, I use my time wisely. After all, I'm not her friend, & won't ever be. I prefer that we fill our time with big words, rather than small talk, per se. In the words of Chris Rock (or, some other prominent Black social commentator), my job is to keep her off the pole. Whatever euphemism you choose in regards to that phrase is fine by me; it still works.

My first real duty as her father, was to debunk the Santa Claus myth. There's no such thing as a man who's going to give you things for free, & if he does exist, don't trust him. That was relatively easy. My last real duty as a father is to debunk the exotic dancer myth. There's no such thing as a man who's going to give you things for free, & if he does exist, don't trust him. This may prove a bit more difficult.

Not only is a bitter ex there to (try &) intercept the words that my little girl needs to hear from her dad, but the rappers, TV shows, movies & dumb ass friends surrounding her have more access to her psyche. I'm not teaching her to "Jerk" or "Reject". On the contrary, I'm want her to "reject" any "jerk" who wants her to see his "stanky leg". But society is telling her there's nothing wrong with that, so I appear the overbearing witch doctor attempting to hypnotize her out of having fun.

Nah. I'm just trying to keep her off the pole, literally & figuratively.

If I can fill her with self-righteous indignation then maybe that will quell some douche nozzle loser from filling her with poor self-worth & unwanted babies.

But, hey, if I don't accomplish my mission, & you happen to be at a strip joint & see my daughter dancing, tip her good, because that means she has mouths to feed at home.

Child Support

My youngest son (who I speak of very often) did a speech at his school this morning. Now, without trying to sound like too much of a douche nozzle, he's been doing speeches/plays since his first year in preschool. He's now in kindergarten (& yes, that's how you spell it, the word is not "kindygarden" or "kinnygarden"). He's never seemed to ever contract a single iota of stage fright. I've never once in (just about) six years seen him nervous, not even when being threatened by a doctor's needle or his angry mom.
*Footnote: We've been inseparable his entire life. We'll come back to that.*

So, today he proudly stood in front of roughly 150 people, big & small, & young & old, & flawlessly recited his speech in honor of Black History Month. Two weeks ago, he recited MLK's "I Have A Dream" speech. At Christmas time, he was in "The Nutcracker". Sorry, I'm bragging.

After his performance, he exited the stage & took his seat. He looked over at me & grinned, as nonchalant as a glass of Kool Aid in the summertime (grape with extra ice). I smiled back & watched the duration of the presentation. On my way out, I stopped to congratulate him on another job well done & he asked me where I was going.

"To take care of some things, I'll see you in a minute."

Kiss on the forehead.

His grimace changed instantly & he started to cry, to my surprise. He doesn't cry very much. He said, tearfully, "what if you miss my other two times?". Of course my retort was proverbial, "you'll be fine kid, just do the great job you just did." But, that had no effect on the waterworks. This wasn't the first time he had multiple performances where I wouldn't be able to attend them all, but normally I come to the last one. I guess there's a first time for everything.

His teacher rounded up her tribe, & we parted, but my mind started flipping while I walked away. He never freaks when it's time to get on stage, a natural spectacle by all definitions. But, when I left, he broke down. How important was it to him that I wouldn't be there for THAT to make him cry, when he's had upwards of 300 people staring at him at a time, while trying to remember a thousand words & maintain a performers composure?

I felt bad, of course, but he'll be all right. I'm raising a man. Point is, my support (or lack of) is the basis of his 5 year old existence. As long as he knows I'm there, he can accomplish anything, even if by accident.

When I taught him to ride a bike, I pushed him & said "You can do it, go, I'll be standing right here". I never realized until now how powerful that scant sentence must have been. But, he sure rode that damn bike to the fence & came back to me.

& then, he fell.

Every major accomplishment he's ever had was done with me in eyesight proximity (remember inseparable? I came back to it). I'm not going to give myself all the credit like I constructed a Frankenstein Baby, but it must have been a lot easier on him knowing that "I" was there. That's power. In the right hands, that power could decide the future, possibly the fate of the world, because hey, you never know.

It's possible that he would do all the things he's done regardless of me around, but I am around, constantly, & in a day & age of such African American progression as President Obama, I like to feel as if my contribution to our race could be viewed as equally as important. Good or bad, all things have a beginning. Who knows where his life is headed.

I'm going to be his father, the best father God wills me to be, regardless of his travels and destination. I'll always be proud & triumphant for his cause because hey, you never know.

Father's Day: fact or fiction?

Holidays are douche bag reasons to sit at home, stuff your face with artery cloggin' cuisine, & shamelessly spend money. Simple & plain.

They otherwise provide little to zero enlightenment on the supposedly special day. Take your pick & prove me wrong;

Mother's, Father's, Christmas, Veteran's, Labor, & Halloween doesn't count.

MLK, Hannakah & Kwaanza get a pass, because I have actually learned a few things about them once I stopped being so one-sided.

Now let's look at Father's Day. An odd, if even celebrated day to praise the Man who makes all things possible. Before we go further, immedietely exclude those individuals who have no right even acting like the day belongs to them. You are dismissed, see you next session.

& just like that, at least half of the faces disappear. I suck at math, so there's a huge possibility that it's far more than a 50% margin. Yikes, to say the least.

I have a Father, with a capital F, because it's a title he earned fervently. He happens to be my dad as well, which today, is a sweet bonus to the deal. I thank God everyday that the psychopathetic (yes, crazy+sad) tendencies of my mom didn't drive him away long ago. Quite frankly, I might've left. I've said it as a child, & I'll stand by it today; my Dad can kick your dad's ass anyday of the week. Word to Jur-El.

That's Superman's pops.

Now, here I am, a man raised by a man who choose to give a damn about his family. I've never seen him unemployed. He showed up at every school function I've ever been involved in. He knew all of my teacher's on a first name basis. He checked my homework. He spanked me so bad once that I never, ever ever, did what I did again in life. He ate metal, drank fire, & saved kittens from trees. Dude was, is, & always will be the most awesome superhero the world has never heard of.

So, its only natural I emulate what I experienced growing up. I believe that kids eventually do what they choose to, but the stronger the foundation, the safer the building. I'm living proof of that philosophy.

However ridiculous as it sounds, I don't even take Father's day seriously. Probably because it's barely recognized around me. I'm not even quite sure what the date of it is. Come to think of it, I doubt I've ever seen a commercial for it. It's no more important to me than my birthday. Maybe it should be.

I'm a real father, the quintessential clone of my father's, & his father's behavior in regard to their offspring. Some say I spoil my children. I ask those people where are their kids? That usually forces a subject change.

I make it a point to hug, kiss, & teach my children as much as possible. I don't lie to them about anything, especially my mistakes. That has got to be the worst way for demons to haunt a parent. Their whole fiasco could've been avoided if the kid's were aware of "unsafe sex" or "just one drink". In a perfect world, knowledge & wisdom would fall out of the sky, or have it's own TV show everynight after dinnertime. No dice. It's buried in boring books, & hidden in the innuendos & insinuations of anonymous people traveling through life. If you're lucky, one of them will stop & help you along your journey. That's where a Dad steps in.

A kind word, a gentle touch from a father is more powerful than any force on Earth. On the opposite end of the sprectrum, the sentence "I'm disappointed" has caused my kids far more tear shedding than any extension cord or switch could ever. Feelings & emotions trump belts & backhand slaps any day of the week, bet that.

For any adults out there who won't admit how much not having their dad there hurts, I apologize for them. I'm sorry. & a lot of women don't know how to handle it when a man isn't willing to just throw them under the bus, because that's all they know. To those men who have the unfortunate situation of having children with a woman like that (me included), I also apologize for those women. I'm sorry. I'm one of those men as well, so I'm going to also give myself a hug.

No matter what life hurls in my general direction, I vow before God to be there for my kids as much as humanly possible. That's all I know. Anything else would be disrespectful to the morals my father planted in me. Or as Charles Barkley would say, "uncivilized".

I refuse to be embarassed like Shaquille O'Neal's dad, on national TV being called a deadbeat.

Maybe that's why I don't really but into the Fathers Day hype. I know that its basically a thankless job, but take a look around. Somebody's got to do it. Why not me?