The Boy is Mine

Fatherhood and Anxiety

I had no shortage of fatherhood examples growing up. My father, uncles, grandfathers - a spectrum of tactics to be studied daily. And my friend’s fathers were just as helpful.

Black fatherhood came in every form imaginable so I thought it would be easy when I joined the club.

I know exactly when I knew I didn’t know.

From finding love to marriage to pregnancy to birth - all good. I wasn’t perfect but I was always sure i could figure it out. I chose the best partner and mother and she chose me.

And then I had my moment of “oh” and I felt it.

Some parents have anxiety before conception so individual moments may simply stack. Mine was a direct hit to my core.

The moment lasted 3 seconds and I more than acknowledge I was able to continue. There were no illnesses or accidents or trauma headed our way. The context was a clear and sunny day in the Pacific Northwest.

The dread was a question I asked myself when I headed out for the first time alone with my son.

A question I would likely never in a million years be asked popped up in my head and I had no answer. No solution. Just dread.

In a city with dozens of Black people - half of whom I probably knew - I wondered how I would answer if anyone asked me, “Is this your child?”

I know.

No one was going to ever ask me that question.

Ever.

But if they did, how would I prove this small bundle of happiness was my son? I had no paperwork or ID or witness.

This child was so valuable to me that everyone would want to know where I got him, right? How did I get hold of such a wonderful gift? Who did I steal this kid from?

I was already building my defense or who I would call or how I would fend off questions until I could escape back home so my wife could vouch for my right to have possession of the child she carried for 40 full weeks.

The story played out in my head as I strapped him into his car seat and he smiled.

I wasn’t worried about a bad driver or a faulty seat belt or sun in his eyes or him being hungry. His backpack was full and I wasn’t going anywhere new.

Clear and sunny day in Beaverton, Oregon.

I made up the most outlandish nemesis and realized I had no solution.

None.

None.

And I was not about to ask the woman who entrusted me with the child we brought into this world what to do if someone asked how I know this kid.

So I simply kept going.

Drove off.

Grocery shopped.

Gave her freedom.

A moment to herself.

And we survived. We thrived. We excelled.

Turns out dads with babies are treated like rock stars. Moms, not so much.

Crisis averted.

Parenthood isn’t easy.

Even when it is.

If you’re struggling with being a father, know that you are not alone. All of us wonder if we are doing it right even if we have every indication that we are.

You can do it.

Be there.

Just be there.

And bring wipes.

Good things.