This topic is probably one of the more controversial topics that gets discussed in circles. When you were a child, how many times were you told, this is your home? You always need to be comfortable at home? I can’t even add them all up. Hell, I’m still told as an adult that home will always be home. Sometimes those words are questioned or challenged and then it’s revealed that, at times, parents really don’t want you to get comfortable. Because to them, it’s not really your home as a child. It’s the place you reside, that you get to call home until you’re old enough to leave and your own home. Is that fair? Is that accurate? Is that hypocritical? When should you start telling your child that this isn’t your actual home? That you’re really a guest. That at some point, the desire or the goal is for you to get out and have your own. And by that very definition do not get but so comfortable here. I’m going to teach you the lessons about being comfortable at home, so when you get your own, you will understand and be able to apply those practices in your life.

Is it destructive for your child to never believe that home is home until they have a place of their own? Is it harmful for you to tell your child “Go to Your room!” And then when you’re ready to have a more nuanced conversation, or when your child has grown older and started to do shit that you don’t agree with, you begin to tell them, hey this ain’t your home, don’t get too comfortable. I believe that speaking with that constant hypocrisy is not healthy or helpful in developing the sense of peace and appreciation for one’s own home. Telling your child that they can never get comfortable in the places or places you raise them is foolish as fuck to me. It doesn’t instill a sense of belonging or comfort for them. You actually begin to keep your child in a continuous state of unsettledness until they get a place of their own. Maybe that’s the goal. Maybe you never want your child to get comfortable being at home so they will always be inspired to move out. I wonder if that doesn’t create a little resentment towards the parent(s). Does that mean that if you do things that young people tend to do in their places of residence, that you’re disrespectful?

If you fuck in your parents’ home, are you really being disrespectful? I guess if the prevailing thought is that you’re a guest in the house, it could and would be considered disrespectful. But if you’re telling me that this is my home and I need to be and feel comfortable. I’m a minor who can’t get a hotel room legally, on my own, or I can’t use my friend’s place or the person who I’m trying to beat cheeks or get my cheeks beat by, what am I supposed to do? That’s why you have sooo many young people out here fucking in public, or in cars. Because they don’t want to disrespect the home they reside in. Very honorable and respectable on one hand, but very confusing on the other if this is my home. Yes, when you’re a grown adult and you still live with family, the dynamic is/can be different, but not entirely. Many parents tell their children, no matter age, to treat their home like it’s the child’s home. What do you do with that? If you fuck in the living room as opposed to your bedroom, are you being disrespectful? If you sneak someone in, is that respect? These are legitimate questions to ask that I believe don’t have one true answer. It will vary based upon who you are and how you were raised.

Isn’t that usually the reason why most young people wait until moms or grandma or whomever has gone to bed before getting it in. Or they wait for them to leave for work, so the house is empty? I have one specific situation that I was never thrown off by or felt a disrespect for. We had sex numerous times at his people’s house because that’s where he stayed, and he didn’t want to spend on a hotel for a couple hours, and neither did I. Some would say, then y’all just didn’t need to have sex. Or that both of us were being cheap. Others might say you could’ve fucked in the car or found a public place to do it. I don’t think that any of those suggestions are wrong. It didn’t fit the situation. We wanted to have time with each other, and the dynamics presented the house as the most efficient place to be. Being respectful not to make much noise, because we didn’t want to disturb the house with our fuckin sounds. LMFAO. But both of us felt assured and comfortable with each other, in the surroundings we found ourselves as we fucked. The funny part is that each of the three people that I connected with the dynamics were the same.

The house they reside in, not being theirs, but the one they comfortably live in. So, we waited until the house was either empty or sleeping and we discretely went about satisfying each other. While there have been other moments, when presented with the same scenario, the decision was made to fuck in the car, or outside, or wait until one or the other had a hotel room we could link in. All options are utilized depending on the moment and the understanding of the situation. That begs my next question though, is it considered disrespectful to fuck in the hotel you share with someone. Doesn’t have to be parents or family necessarily, what if you and friends get a hotel room somewhere and you find someone you want to link with. Is it ok to bring that person back to the shared room y’all have and fuck? Should that be kept out of the room out of courtesy to that person or people? Some believe that any shared space should be only used for PG-rated activities. Watching movies, holding hands or cuddling on the couch, playing games, eating dinner, shit like that.

Do all these rules or norms take away from the premise that home is supposed to be home? I’m supposed to be able to do in my own home what I want. If I live here, I should feel comfortable to do me. There is also where I think the conversation takes another turn. What qualifies the place to be yours? Is it when you start paying bills in the house? Is it when your name is on the lease or mortgage to the home? If I pay some bills, lights, internet, and food, does that allow me to have “house privileges” afforded to the primary payer? Does someone need to also be paying part of the rent or half of the rent to be able to call the residence their home and not their living place? It seems that all these measurables are very subjective. They will vary from person to person, and that’s fair too, I suppose. Life is never monolithic, so we should never expect a topic like this to be clear and universal. I grew up being told that my momma’s house was my home. Never been told anything different. As such, there have been times when I’ve clapped cheeks in the house. Not to be disrespectful or trifling, but just because I’m home and sometimes that’s one of the things I do at home when I don’t feel like getting dressed, driving, and using my gas. LOL.

Have you ever had sex while your parents were staying at your house? Do you feel that it’s being disrespectful to them if you do? How, if you’re at your own home? Many people feel you should do nothing unholy in your house while your parents are there. Me, I don’t agree with that premise either. Again, I’m not going to seek out that type of activity while my family visits me, but if it happens, and I want it, I don’t see the disrespect, it’s my home after all. And how many times have your parents been fuckin in they house when you’re visiting. Especially if they’re married or have a long-term partner. Shit, some even fuck new boyfriends when their children are home if they still live there, there is never a settled word on this to me because everyone is different. We all have different relationships with our family and parents. Different levels of respect contribute to there being so many different perspectives on this topic as well. I honestly believe that we need to agree to disagree on this topic. There will be parts of it that are universally agreed upon. But what defines a home and what makes a home a home is open to interpretation. What do you think?

Without question this is one of hardest recollections I talk about, because it forces me to admit facts that I’ve tried to steamroll for years. Missing the love and acceptance of my biological father has been devasting to me for a long time. It’s also one where I have to admit that the societal norms and teachings don’t help to prepare a child to grow up and deal with the deficit. Take nothing away from mothers, grandmothers, uncles, brothers, cousins, grandfathers, and any other part of the village that steps in to aide in closing the gap. But when part of who you are rejects and ignores you, it gives you pause to questions yourself. No matter how strong you build new bridges to cover the hole inside you, it cannot and will not replace the affirmation and self-identification of your father. Thankfully, the love and teachings of my momma, grams, aunts, and role models helped to ease a little of the burden and pain, but I’ve always lived with a sense of not belonging. Despite the adulation, praise, support, love, and encouragement from those I love and care for most, to see your father face-to-face and be ignored and disregarded in one of the most solemn times, that should bring y’all together was fuckin hurtful.

The loss of someone you love is difficult to comprehend, the loss of a child is fuckin unfathomable. When you have the luxury to lose one child, yet can be consoled by your other children, you should consider yourself lucky, thankful, and grateful. Yet, when blessed with the opportunity to grieve with your child, you stare into his eyes and move on to graciously and joyously greet the other guests, leaving your son to again wonder why is he not enough to earn your attention and time? One by one, at the bottom of the steps, you thank the attendees for coming to honor your late son. I watched as people filed out of the church and you proudly stood there to meet them. You took your time to greet my momma. Tipping your cap and speaking, directly in front of me. I walk right behind her, and you turn your attention to the next person. This is the treatment you give the son who is your namesake. I didn’t ask for that. I was given that, without consultation, after you married my momma. I was not born with your name, to be 1000 percent clear. I was born into my mom’s family with the family name. But, because she loved you, my name became your name.

Four children you had before I was created in this world. Two boys and two girls. You had experience with raising a son before me. You had time to hone your parenting skills to be a better parent to the 5th child, than you were to the first four. You had one the best fuckin villages I’ve ever seen. Both sides of your family were there to provide support, care, advice, and loving. You used it to your benefit for a while. But clearly, you’re not meant to be married and sadly you failed to be a father. The things most kids learn from a present father I did not learn from you. Yes, you did teach me work ethic, and for that I will always be grateful. That’s pretty much where your positivity ends in regard to my development as a young man, into a grown man. I didn’t learn about sex from you. I didn’t learn how to play any sport, didn’t learn how to drive, didn’t learn about dating, didn’t learn about self-defense, self-awareness, or any of those things from you. You were forced to do the fatherly shit that you did based on things I did. When y’all found out that I liked boys, particularly looking at they dicks, LMFAO, when I was in middle school, you were forced to “talk to me” about sex. That was the first time that you took any interest in my development. Your chosen way of “teaching me about sex” was comical, common, and lacking.

I didn’t then and I don’t now, knock you for the approach that you took. Maybe that was the best you knew how to address the situation, so I give you credit for the attempt. You showed me naked women and talked to me about how you handled sex in your days. That missed the whole fuckin mark, but you tried. I didn’t want to know how you chose to penalize a woman by withholding sex when you wanted to. That’s not teaching me shit, but how to be petty. You didn’t ask me if I was interested in both girls and boys, at the time either. Just forcing the “heterosexual” life on me with your various magazines and straight porn videos. Never knowing that me and some of my closest friends watched them together when we stayed at each other’s house. Usually, playing with each other in the process. LMMFAO! My curiosity with boys started from such a young age. None of you ever knew that. There are those who know, because we were playing together, exploring what this taboo thing was. And I’m blessed that I had people around me who had the same curious nature, and we were able to figure things out without the world gazing, judging, and stereotyping us.

The thing I could never figure out with you, was why you wanted me to have your name, if all you were going to do was be a breezy father. What is a breezy father? One who breezes in and breezes out. Development, growth, learning, doesn’t really come from you. You do the easy shit and show up for the accolades. When it’s awards season in school, here comes your Chesshire cat smiling ass to get the shine. When it’s time for me to put on a presentation, give a speech, be recognized for my outstanding works, here you come, skinning and grinning. The breezy shit. When it’s time to get dirty and do the work for those plaudits to be given, you’re in the breeze then too nigga. Breezy father. The hard work to get the grades I got. The extracurricular things I chose to get involved in. Preparing to campaign for school office. Learning how to do the life essentials, you were not there. It was my momma, my aunts, the instructors, the coaches, the teachers, or the counselors. When I came out, that was the end for you. You walked away and have pretty much stayed away for 20 years. Lying to your side of the family, telling them you talk to me regularly. Lying that you know anything about what’s going on with me.

When my brother died, you lied to my sister and told her that you didn’t have my phone number, and that you weren’t sure if I still had the same number. Fuck nigga, my phone always works, and I’ve had the same phone number since 2008. HA!! I hate changing numbers; it’s so ratchet to me. Mostly because when you change numbers you have to spend so much time giving it to the important people that need it. Family, work, friends, shit like that. But the audacity of you to boldly lie, in the face of tragedy striking our family. That just crystalizes how disgusting of a man you are. The trifling nature of your thoughts and the immature disposition of your soul. You just lost a child, and instead of you using that as a moment to galvanize your family, you continued to try and isolate your children from each other. This is the missing part of me that you want me to know and be like? You abandoned the family when you stepped out on my momma and created another child, during your marriage. Then you lied and hid his existence for 4 years! You and your side of the family. You people who claim to be “bible toting Christians”. But you committed one of the cardinal sins in that bible, and your trifling, wicked ass family helped you cover it up.

You allowed them to shun me and throw their “what about the bible” bullshit at me. How are you supposed to be my role model, my other half of my genetic and life makeup, but I don’t feel connected to you as my father. Then, when your son chooses to remove himself from the shit, you look stupid, act dumb, and the questions are flush with bullshit. Honor thy mother and thy father, is what it says in the text, and you mother fuckas be hell bent on following that. Fuck that! Honor those who honor you. Let’s start there. I will never honor someone who doesn’t even recognize his own child, that carries his name. The sad trend that you have carried on since you began having children, particularly sons. There is a reason that none of your living sons can stand your guts. You have no relationship with your sons. Not because we didn’t want one, but because you have never presented yourself open to having that bond. It’s not the job of the son to make his father bond with him. Understanding with clear eyes that anybody can create a child, being a parent, specifically a Father, takes work. If someone asks me about my father, I really don’t have a lot to positive things to say about you. I can’t tell them how you helped me develop into a young man, or a grown man. I built myself into a father figure in my chosen family life. Giving myself and those who choose to listen to me, solid foundation on which to stand. Finding, developing, growing, evolving, healing into a man that I can be proud of.

Never neglecting to mention that even with all I’ve worked hard to accomplish, I still feel a hole in my heart. Because the man I used to be named for, never took an interest in his son’s life. Interest is never a guaranteed thing. Just because someone shares blood with you, a name with you, doesn’t mean that they will actually take interest in knowing who you are and what you stand for. They may not be willing to provide support based upon your actions and what you believe, especially if it conflicts with what they think or who they are. True unconditional love is not easily found, and I learned that my father is not one of those people who poses that for his children. Love does not abandon or neglect. Love will challenge and push, but it also forgives and comforts. Where was your love for me when I was at my lowest? When I was struggling for survival where were you? How could you allow another man, who is not my father, stepfather, or any blood relation take your role and be ready to move mountains to secure my safety? The hole that exists used to be wide as an ocean, time has allowed that hole to close to a pothole that I drive over. Occasionally, causing cosmetic damage when I allow myself to wonder what could be.

I would have loved to be able to come to you and tell you that I have these feelings for the love of my life when I was 16 years old. But shit, telling you would’ve amounted to me telling a Catholic priest. You would’ve tried to have your side of the family pray the gay out of me. Or you would’ve sent to my momma and let her try to figure it out. Because she loved you, she wasn’t ready to truly deal with and accept her 16-year-old son as gay. The evidence that neither of you could have handled me then, was evident when you found those yearbooks in my locker at home. Choosing to isolate me away from my friends, choosing to force me to family house to “protect me” and “convince me” that what I liked was wrong. Y’all felt I needed to spend time with more kids around my age doing constructive extracurricular activities. That shit didn’t work. How stupid of you to assume that. Never considering my feelings. I never felt protected by the person I’m named after, whose DNA partly composes my DNA. The closest we ever were, was right before I left for college. You had a family that was built by my mama. Your two youngest sons had a beautiful relationship, definitely no thanks to you though. I had a girlfriend that all y’all knew about. Yea, I was fuckin her too and she was present when I had my graduation cookout right before I left. Your whole side of the family was beaming with joy. Laughing and being so jovial. Cracking jokes at my momma about how she had to step aside because there was a new number one in my life, with my girlfriend being right there on my arm, staying up under me. One because she was just naturally shy at first, and two because she genuinely loved me. But the day I dropped that news that women ain’t it for me… well that was the complete end for you.

For the better part of 20 years, I’ve lived away from where I was born. And for the first 13 years that I was gone, you were married to my momma. You took vacation the same time she did, but you NEVER came with her to see y’all son. Having my own place every time she came to visit. She always stayed in my house, comfortable, happy, and enjoying time with her kid. Boyfriend with me or not, it didn’t matter, the point was to see how her son was living. To bond and spend time with me. Where was your bitch ass at? In Viriginia, plotting and scheming. Stewing in your venom of hate for me. Never accepting and appreciating that I chose to live in my truth. I refused be like one of your kids, or your nieces and nephews who lied and hid their sexual preferences for a long time. I lived life on my own terms and that shit pissed you clean the fuck off. So, now we are at this point in life where I’m totally uninterested in you. I don’t care what you’re doing, how you’re doing, or what you’re dealing with. Be clear, I want nothing bad to happen to you. I want you to enjoy the fruits of your work. Have peace and joy in your twilight years of life. The need or desire or want, to know you intimately and have a bond with you is gone. The hole that’s left will be for me to resolve. There really is nothing that you can do. Over 20 years have passed, and the last time you had a chance to do something right, you choose to go so far left that you killed the last bit of respect that existed for you.

Your daughters are willing to stick around because clearly, they have a different relationship with you. Their love and forgiveness for you allows them to look past the issues of yesterday, and I love that for them and you. Me, I used to want to know why I was never enough for you. I used to wonder how can someone disown me. While honestly, I have that question sometimes when I’m reflecting on me and going thru my emotional check-ins with myself, I’ve moved beyond that on the whole. Whatever demons you have, you will need to work and fix. If you choose never to do so, then you lost out on knowing a dynamic ass person that you helped to create. Then if/when asked about honoring thy father, I choose to ignore that when discussing him, because I don’t honor anyone who doesn’t honor me. Where the fuck in life does it say that having a child the end of the responsibility? Life commands respect from all parties at all times. Mother, father, brother, sister, anybody. If you want to be honored or respected, then you better give the respect you want. Yes, I needed you to help be created and for that you get your thanks. But that’s all.

Voids are filled numerous ways. Positively and negatively. To ensure that your child doesn’t have to fill foundational voids, be present, active, engaged and involved as parents. It’s what you signed up for when you laid down and fucked the pussy raw. You knew what could happen, and you weren’t actively preventing it from happening. Step the fuck up, man up, and take care of your responsibility.