To my father and all fathers, fathering even in the midst of criticism and nonsense

Teenage parenting couldn’t have
been easy.
What were you thinking when I
came along?
Your first child—a girl, mirror image
of you in a tiny body…
The community practice baby,
Trial-and-error baby,
First model of how to get it
right and wrong.

That’s a lot of pressure for
someone who’d just
broken away from his own
mother’s home a year before.

You did it.

In your own way, you fathered
me in the shadows of
spirited descendants showing
you paths of least resistance.
You fathered me when you
wanted to give up, and
when street basketball
should’ve been more important.
You fathered me without the
knowledge of who I’d become…

Strong-willed
Opinionated
Open-minded
QUEER

Divorce cracked our foundation,
but it could never rupture our
walls.

You still are the first man I
ever loved, and you’ll
probably be the last.
My home away from home…
if my heart aches and I
need a voice of reason who
will be honest, too,
you’re a phone call away.

Have I been fathered well?
I have a father who proudly
speaks of his daughter—who
doesn’t shy away from the topic
of my sexuality, who has loved
every pet as he does his
human grandchildren, and still
cooks for me when I visit home.

He listens.
He paces his responses.
He preaches to me as he
would in his pulpit, but he
doesn’t overshoot the message.

Whenever I hug him, I feel safe.
And that is a feeling
worth remembering for years
to come.

That is a feeling I’ll always
know and look for when
trouble is lasting longer
than it should.

To all the fathers excelling at what they’ve been given—a gift, to those rearing the children of their communities, their nieces & nephews, godchildren, and young men who’ve lost their way. To the women and men living without fathers, praying to still have the heart of humanity, I see you. I love you. Hang in there.

Also shared in Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun via Substack.