Happy Father's day

Bored at work as usual, I was surfing the internet and ran across the website “the daily voice.” I didn’t even know father’s day was yesterday. I started reading all the different entries from black gay men on their fathers and I couldn’t relate.

I don’t care about father’s day because mine died when I was five years old. I remember that I didn’t like him. I thought he was an asshole. I also remember that he didn’t like me much. He thought I was too effeminate. I sometimes wonder if he had lived what type of relationship would we have had. I am his first born son.

I like to fantasize that my father would’ve saved me from many years of abuse, foster care systems and my mother being addicted to crack. But the truth, my father was kind of the reason my mother first started smoking crack. I don’t know the whole story just what relatives tell me. The truth, if my father had lived he probably would've been another deadbeat dad. I mean, he had like ten other kids by ten other women. I remember when he was alive, he was never around.

As I gotten older, I think more about my father. When I turned twenty seven years old I knew that was the same age in which he died. He was still so young. Growing up I always wanted that male figure in my life: somebody to protect me, teach me about sports, and teach me to ride a bike or tie a tie for an important interview. I learned most of that stuff on my own. Growing up, I guess I wanted my father to teach me how to be a man. I know he probably just taught me how to be a criminal. It’s the sad truth. I just wish my father could’ve been a better man and then he wouldn’t had gotten himself shot in the head. Happy Father’s day dad.