I am black and I am a dad.
The current thought process (as of the 1960’s) is that I don’t exist. We don’t exist. To some the black dad is in the same magical land as the Easter Bunny who only shows up once a year and the tooth fairy who leaves money under a minus one tooth child’s pillow.
Tales of our non-existence have been so woven into American tapestry that sometimes we have to pinch ourselves to make sure that we are real. We are real.
We go with our partners to well visits.
We wipe the runny noses of our little ones.
We sit in their bedrooms when they are afraid even though we have checked under their beds and in their closets for the boogey person.
We are present in their lives even if we are not living with them.
We kiss the foreheads of our sons and our daughters.
We strive to be their protectors.
We are not figments of your imagination.
We are not merely talking points to what’s wrong with black communities
We are not merely sermon fodder on Sunday Mornings when questions of, “Where are the black men?” illuminate from the pulpit.
We are real!
We are present!