two behind me, specifically to the little boy, who can only be about 8 years old, and how there are countless other young males out there with no father to look up to or who would be there to encourage, support, and guide them. They also wonder where their fathers are when it’s time to play catch, when they score their first touchdown, and when they get their acceptance letters into college. They wonder if they did something wrong to “push” their fathers away, hoping that, one day, he will walk through the front door with arms wide open and say three simple words, “I’m home, son.”
I was quickly saddened, realizing the severity of this epidemic in today’s society—how it’s a social norm to be in a single-parent household with no father—and even sadder to realize that often times, these young boys don’t have other family members to lean on, as I had. I begin to think about the fact that I am a father and how seriously I take my duty and responsibility; how I take every hurt growing up and make that a place of joy for my son. However, I also understand that this is often not the case for many young people in today’s society—many parents take their hurt and inflict it on their children who are defenseless against their parent’s wrath. What’s even more unfortunate is how many men these days have children and then leave them fatherless, simply because they did not have a father in their home growing up—the wretched cycle continuing.
As the plane begins its ascent into the open summer sky on its way to Atlanta, I have a moment of revelation. I realize the next level of my purpose and the new chapter in my story: writing a book that will help address the internal conflicts that numerous people are dealing with on a daily basis. In this moment, I realized that it was now part of my mission to help address the emotions surrounding people who are without a husband, a mentor, a partner, or a father who is willing to step in and help take care of his family. Those thoughts helped to set the foundation of this book. The words on these pages will help encourage, inspire, motivate, and bring awareness to men, women, and children who are currently experiencing or have experienced single parenthood.
I want this book to help those growing up without a father. I want it to touch those developing into manhood without a male influence. I want it to assist men who never knew their father but are not using that as an excuse to be absent from their children’s lives. Hopefully, fathers struggling to provide consistent attention to their children will gain some inspiration from my words. This book will provide simple success principles about life that will leave people feeling more confident about themselves, their specific life situation, and their relationships with their family. My mission, with the assistance of this book, is to lay out applicable steps to free people from any stronghold related to this growing epidemic of single-parent households and help them begin living lives without limits and walk into their true and provisioned destiny.
I don’t claim to be a licensed counselor, family therapist, or holder of a PhD who has conducted in-depth research on the causes and effects of single-parent households in a greater society and what this potentially means for the future of the world. I have not conducted hundreds of interviews with young men, asking them their thoughts on growing up with a dad in their lives and what that does for their self-esteem and their self-worth. Additionally, I don’t have any concrete evidence on whether or not young men who are raised by a single mother have a greater likelihood of getting into trouble with the law, which ultimately leads to a life behind bars. However, I AM a man who experienced life without a father, overcame all of the adversity associated with being without an active male parental figure, reached numerous peaks of success, and became a reliable and dedicated father to my two children. I am proof that although your beginning may not start out as you dreamed it to be, that does not mean your future can’t be something wonderful.
I am a Fatherless Father.
Chapter 2 – Faith and the Will to Live
“He said to them, ‘Because of your little faith. For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.’” –Matthew 17:20
Weeks had passed since the conference, and I was beginning to feel very overwhelmed. Monday was running into Tuesday and Tuesday into Wednesday. Each day became a blur, and the stresses of life were compounding on my shoulders. At the time, I was in the midst of an ugly legal battle that was taking a toll on my professional life, as well as my personal life. Furthermore, I had just created a new company, my wife had recently become pregnant, I was actively engaged in the motivational speaking world, and, to top it off, I just found out life-altering news: My mother was diagnosed with cancer. It was almost as if I was drowning in life’s surprises. Despite these things, there was this persistent need to place my words to others down in a book; the burning responsibility to write these pages somehow always stayed at the forefront of my mind.
My world seemed to be caving in; there was so much joy yet so much sorrow all at once. To be honest, I was stretching myself trying to find a way to stay positive, searching my spirit for inspiration. I kept thinking to myself, I must keep myself going for my family, for my business, for myself. In those moments, I remembered the story my grandmother always told about how strong my mother was right around the time of my birth. The circumstances that surrounded my birth—and the months and years that followed that date—helped to test the true character of my mother, something I referred to during this time in my life. I thought, If Momma could hold it down with far less than I have now, surely I can press on. She was that kind of woman: the type of individual that left one inspired, even when she wasn’t around to have her presence felt.
Now, when I was born, there weren’t any photos taken of me. There wasn’t one taken of my mother holding me moments after she had given birth. There weren’t any cute pictures of me sleeping in the baby nursery with a dozen other children who were brought into the world on that day. No photos were taken of me during my first feeding, my first sleep, or even my first diaper change.
There was nothing.
It may be hard for some to believe, but there were no pictures of me until I was about 5 or 6 months old. You may wonder why this rite of passage did not happen.
The answer is quite simple: The doctors told my mother and grandmother that I was not going to live.
My premature birth came around the end of my mother’s second trimester. Here I was, coming into the world at the end of the sixth month of her pregnancy. As you can imagine, this was an alarming experience for my small immediate family. I was born at 2lbs 2oz. Take a moment to let that marinate in your mind. I weighed less than a telephone book, a bag of sugar, or a laptop computer—everyday items that people pick up without much effort. It’s important to note that babies typically lose weight right after birth before they gain weight, so at one point I went down to 1lb 2oz. It is honestly a blessing from God that I was even able to survive such an improbable hardship as that one. When I reflect back on this time in my life, I realize that I’ve always been destined to overcome obstacles, no matter how daunting they may seem at the time.
My grandmother would later tell me she tried to get my mom to avoid seeing me so much while I was in the incubator. She was afraid my mom would become too attached to me when they all thought it was a matter of time before I passed away. In hindsight, I really can’t blame this mentality. Honestly, what’s the likelihood of a child with a dangerously low birth weight making it out of infancy without birth defects and lifelong disabilities that would have them sidelined their entire life?
My mom refused to give up on me and said no matter what, she would come every day after work and pray for me. And that’s exactly what she did—she kept the faith. And slowly, without much fanfare, both my mother and grandmother would come pray for me each and every day. They would tell the doctor that no matter what he said, I was coming out of this. Simply put, they were speaking my little life into existence. It was a routine they followed: They lived their lives, took care of their outside obligations and tasks, and kept me prayed up. They would not be deterred from this