I was born to a drug dealer in 1980 and my mom found the courage to leave him him when I was 5. It wasn't a swift transition and involved the kidnapping of my little sister and a police standoff. It wasn't until I had gone through foster homes and a year living with my aunt and uncle that my mom got me back. Life was tumultuous to say the least until I was 8 and an AA meeting commercial was on T.V. They went around a circle stating their names followed with "and I'm an alcoholic" that I turned to her and said "that's what you are".That was the day my mom got sober. Within a year I had a dad and I was no longer the man of the house. That's a tough transition for a boy who was used to taking care of his mom and his sister, but it was a relief to get to be a kid. I did't do so well with the transition though.By 13 I was such a problem child that my parents kicked me out of the house. I went to live my friend and his dad, who didn't seem to mind because he was too buys dealing drugs to really notice I was there until we did something wrong and got caught for it, and he beat our ass. Not for being delinquents, but for being caught.My dad (step dad, the only dad I had known) got wind of the abuse and picked me up. Things were alright, but I met a girl who had an equally disturbing childhood, if not worse. Within the year I had got her pregnant and not knowing how to be a man, I ran. I moved out of state to live with another aunt and uncle.That was an amazing year. For a brief moment I was surround by family who believed in me. I was a straight-A student who was miles away from my real life. Until a call one day. "You had a daughter last night". It was my mom. I told her no I don't and I hung up.Three weeks later, the guilt got to me and I moved home. I knew I had to do the right thing but I didn't know how. The next several years were me being selfish, almost to the point of sociopathy. All I cared about was my instant gratitude. Whatever made me happy that instant, that was me. Booze, drugs, girls, you name it.Eventually I had fucked up so much that my only out was to move back in with my baby momma. I pretended to be a good person and before I knew it I was married and 20 years old. My daughter knew her father, but I was a bad father. I was angry, I was short-tempered, and I was trapped in a situation that I didn't want. I didn't do this to myself, someone did this to me.A man with no reason to look after me took a liking to me and taught me what it was like to be a man. His name was Marv. I didn't understand why he was the way he was, but I knew that people liked him and I liked that. I wanted to be him. He became my dad.My wife got pregnant and I had a son in 2004. I don't know when it happened, but at some point I stopped pretending to be a good person and I started being a good person. One night, in late 2004, I was carrying my son around the house at 2am because he would cry if he was still. I had gone from a low-life welfare kid thinking my only option was the life my parents promised me, to making 6 figured at 24 because I finally found something I was good at: technology.That night when I was carrying my son, Fresh Prince was on. It was the "why don't he want me man" episode. I sat there at 2am, holding my son while my wife and my daughter slept, crying like a child. I cried for what seemed like hours. My son fell asleep, I laid down with him on the couch and went to sleep. I never spoke of it.A few days later I was taking a shower and broke down completely. I don't remember crying, or even feeling before that. My wife walked into the bathroom and I let it all out. I cried for a week, sporadically. I couldn't get my shit under control. Every time I saw my son, all I could think was "how could he not want me?". I wasn't there for my daughter's birth and I never felt that connection with her. It's been almost 14 years since that week and I still struggle with my inability to be a good father to her.But that moment never left me. Any time I saw that episode, I lost it. I started watching episodes of television that touched me like that when my family went to bed. The finale of SCRUBS when J.D. imagined his perfect life. The episode of Roseanne when Dan finds out Booker beat Jackie. All these moments where men were men and they were allowed to feel.Then in 2011, Marv died. My 3rd child, my 2nd son, had just been born. I was the man I always wanted to be but never thought I would become. I was alone though, I didn't know how to exist without my mentor and while I was the rock for my family who missed their grandpa, I was a wreck when everyone went to bed. I would drink by myself and by morning, nobody would know.My oldest son is 14 now. He's an amazing person. I am in awe of everything he is and it's humbling to think I am his father. I was a poor kid. I was on welfare, my family had no money, the only reason I could play sports was because the school or the lions club supported me. My son doesn't see himself as a rich kid, and he related to my stories as a child. His junior high-school years should, by all rights, be filled with impressing kids with his house and flaunting my financial status. But he doesn't. He collects misfits. His friends are the kids who were like me when I was a kid. Kids with families who don't care about them. Kids who otherwise would think that once High-school is over, they'll be working dead-end jobs.It dawned on me last week when my wife and I were talking that all his friends call us "mom" and "dad". We are the confidants that they have. We are the safe place that they come after school and on the weekends to feel respected, and loved, and encouraged. We're the reason that they're preparing for their SATs in grade 8. We're the ones they ask about how to apply for scholarships and grants. We're the ones they look to when they think about their future.I had a rough week and decided to have a drink after everyone went to bed. Old habits die hard and I pulled up that trusty old Fresh Prince episode and while I teared up as always, this time it was different. This time I realized that I wasn't the wounded child who didn't understand why my father didn't want me. This time it was because I was the man that these lost children looked up to.I first saw that episode in 2004 when I was 24 years old. Tonight I am 37 and I have moved beyond that broken child wondering why he was abandoned. I am no longer the lost child and am now a guiding light (or at least, trying to be) for lost children.Tonight is a victory for me, but not because I made myself better. Tonight is a victory for my children who made me a better man, and had the wisdom to share that with other broken toys.Tonight I am no longer Will. Tonight, I am Uncle Phil. via /r/Parenting http://ift.tt/2FbyL1Y
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