DaJuan Thomas A Call Now, A Text Then

I asked little bro to recite his piece again in class today. He probably thinks I'm picking on him, but in reality I got a lot out of it. It hit home, “Dad the Street's calling but so am I.” I needed to hear that. I saw Al drop a tear behind that. As street dudes with kids we never see it from that perspective. God has a way of fixing everything. Me needing to hear little bro piece was the Universe aligning my thoughts to unscramble my puzzle.

A recent phone call to one of my favorite little cousins ended with my 8-year-old son having a major breakdown. He tried to pretend nothing was really bothering him, but with gentle careful coaching, his mom willed it out of him. He's frustrated, he misses me, he's tired of the unknown, he loves me. He's ready to be reunited again, he doesn't feel complete anymore. He used the word hate a few times and cried until his eyes was red and puffy.

That day and phone call opened my past back up, with having so many issues, thoughts and going through so much dealing with abandonment. I wonder what would it have been like had I had the balls to really be candid about my feelings to my Aunts, Uncles, mom, granny, or whatever concerned adult about my wants, yearning or needs about my father then.

Me and my siblings was taken away from my mother no sooner than after I was born because of what the state deemed as unfit or neglect. When in reality as I'm older I didn't see it as either. My mom just had or suffered from a disease called addiction which is quite common in urban neighborhoods. We were always fed and clothed, had a decent place to stay, not so much as completely ours but the family members' places we did wind up at was decent.

My mom had nine kids with no stability and never been married. I don't even know if she's even been in a committed relationship.

As a kid I was always angry. I acted out every chance I got for reasons I didn't know. I didn't understand my anger or know where the deep dark rage was coming from. All my mother's kids knew who their fathers were except me. There was maybe three to four possibilities when it came to me. “Oh Mansuur Ali is his dad!” “No, that heavyweight boxer is his dad.” And the funniest one to me was “ mannnnn, Marvin is his daddy.”

Gruhhh the frustration of not knowing added with the cruelness of kids, family members taunting, teasing and laughing. The crushing and belittling of my feelings. The Gap place in between loving and caring about my Outlook on things.

Demons taught me things an angel could never!

Being robbed of the opportunity of a father or lacking the father figures around kind of leaves a huge dent in your making or becoming a father. It affects your whole becoming of a man honestly. It leaves entirely too much time to place blame on everything but the right thing. I blamed past relationships, I've blamed past situations. I've blamed certain people for an absence that affected me.

Now a man with kids of my own I would love to take a different path but circumstances and decisions have put me in the same situation as my father. Fatherhood is so combative.

I can recall times I've done neglectful fathering and blame circumstances to try and justify it. Is that what you ' ve done?

One night I was out super late shooting dice with a few of the guys.

My response, “Are you trying to tell me you my daddy? Did you even have sex with my mama?”

This is why I'm height challenged. This is why my smile is so big… this is where I get my silliness from my complexion… the natural charm as a ladies man this is why my hairline receding…LOL. This is where I get the drive to maximize and capitalize anything from a hustler… I'm his f****** spitting image.

Guess there's truth and statements… When a Dad irritates the child's mom so much while she's pregnant or denies the child the baby comes out looking, acting, and being just like him. I inherited so much from a man I never knew.