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The Man And Dad That I Am Versus The Husband I Am Not


It was just this past December when I wrote here on this blog that I couldn't stand the sight of me in the mirror. I believe my phraseology was something like when looking in the mirror I didn't know what (not who) I was looking at.

These days, I'm enjoying my reflection quite a bit, short of becoming narcissistic. The pudge that was in my cheeks is noticeably reduced, revealing sharper lines. The backfat from the small of my back is gone, although there's still more to be removed from the rest of my midsection. I'm standing erect, moving around easily. Intensity flares in my eyes. I go to bed dead tired and wake up not wanting to wake up, but I hit the ground running and don't stop until I'm dead tired again. I'm take charge and fight the doubt that swirls in my head every time I'm poised to do something that will benefit me. The soundtrack of my life right now is a mix of Rock, R&B, House Music with some touches of Hip Hop. It's my warrior's soundtrack. I've written extensively about "Getting Back To Me". And I feel me clawing my way out of the fat blob of discontent I've been for the past 3-4 years. If I were to be completely honest with myself it probably began before then all the way back to when I found out I was going to be a dad for real.

I feel in control, though I know I control nothing. I feel power, though as a man I only have direction over me. I feel I am standing at the threshold of something great. This can mean one of two things or be a combination of both: I am moments or mere steps away from peace of mind, or I'm about to hit paydirt. Either way I feel it and I'm encouraged by the substance of what I can't see (a.k.a. Faith).


Anyone who would ever question my dedication and actions as a father (not that it's ever happened) would seriously get their feelings hurt. By no means am I a perfect dad. Sometimes I'm quick to anger. Sometimes I growl, yell and bark. Sometimes I'm not interested in being patient. Sometimes I get fed up with these little people (even the one who is taller than me now) telling me what to do. I deal with their youthful rudeness as I would a man of my maturity and understanding. And then I realize what I've done when I see them cowering before the Man that I am. Sometimes I enjoy the reaction. It's wrong, but it happens sometimes. Otherwise, they are the number one priorities in my life. I am up before the sun making sure my son has a hot breakfast before he has to face his demons (and there are many) at the high school. I tell him to have a great day whether he responds to me or not. I let his occasional teenage ingratitude roll off me like the water does in the shower. I fight for him at the school. I fight to keep him busy. I fight to instill in him as many tenets of manhood as I can before he flies the coop. My daughter plain and simple is my power source. Like the Arc Reactor embedded in Tony Stark's a.k.a Iron Man's chest, she powers me, even as she drains me. I listen to her as if she were a Ph.D. I empower her not to become entitled and helpless because of her staggering beauty which is currently disguised as unbelievable cuteness. I pray with her. I read to her. I keep her centered. I do tea parties and playdough parties. I get dressed in suits and make my hats and caps look silly to fit the scenarios of whatever adventure she's cooked up in her head and chosen to include me in. I do what any parent should do. I love them --- in word, in emotion and in action. And I'm thankful to have been put in charge of them.


The husband I am, I'm not so sure about as of late. Many who have been with me through these past couple of years know that my wife was a major subject matter in my blogging. Since the beginning of this year it'd be hard to not notice that I've barely mentioned her at all. Those commenters who always had something to say about my musing on married life have become mute, my traffic has dipped, but my subscribers keep increasing. I've given up trying to figure it out.

This morning I had an argument with my wife. In my outrage, the real me, that me that I mentioned at the beginning of this post, confessed that I'm not the loving husband I thought I'd be, need to be or even want to be. I am my mother's child: sensitive, thoughtful, fashion conscious, obedient to the law and very concerned about the well being of others. But as I chase down 40 I'm discovering that I am just as much my father's son: brooding, methodical, distant, cold, academic instead of emotional, as a matter of fact and sometime downright stoic. The distinction I can make is that I am my mother's child. I become my father's son when on the defense. I love my father with all my heart for everything that he is and is not, but in the bag of traits that was handed down to me I made a point not to pick the ones I listed here. I seem to have grabbed them anyway. Why this has happened, whose fault this is, is somewhat irrelevant for the purpose of this post. I guess I just am stating all this to state to the universe that by no means am I a perfect man. I don't profess to know it all and in most circles I'd prefer to keep my knowledge to myself lest it be challenged. I let my spirit guide me, but in a world ruled by the self I am constantly at odds because I am not in sync with most.

Marriage is something many enter into lightly, not understanding that it is a contract written in blood and DNA. Many men who find themselves overwhelmed or disillusioned have a simple solution: they cheat. But I believe (as a married man) I should have all my eggs in only one basket. And they are in plain sight for everyone to see under the roof of my home and nowhere else.

I'm a Man, I'm a Dad, And I'm a Husband. And I'm doing the best I can.

I just felt like sharing.

To be continued (or added to) at some point in the future...

How's that for transparent?

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