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When Daddy Ain't So Perfect
http://www.gbmnews.com/articles/4330/1/When-Daddy-Aint-So-Perfect/Page1.html
Kevin McNeir
Award-winning journalist with over 12 years in the business as a news, features and editorial writer. Degrees from U of Michigan, Emory and Princeton with two first place awards for feature writing by Chicago Association of Black Journalist. Writing is my passion. Newest projects include J'Adore Magazine and National Black MBA Magazine.  
By Kevin McNeir
Published on 06/17/2009
 
"I Saw Daddy Kissing ... Santa Claus"

By D. Kevin McNeir

Another Father's Day is here and for the longest time, even though I am the divorced dad of two great teenagers, I had a hard time "celebrating" this day. First, my own father, who died when I was only 25-years-old, lost his battle with lung cancer only days before Father's Day, 1985. Suffice to say, when the day approached each year, I found myself, instead of being in a celebratory mode because of the gift of my own fatherhood, to avoid any conversation on the topic.

 

You see, my dad, Cleveland Billy McNeir, (yeah, he was from Alabama -- had to be to have a name like that huh?), was my superhero. Growing up in the turbulent 1960s, with Vietnam, assassinations, Civil Rights marches --even a riot in my hometown of Detroit -- there were a lot of time that I was afraid of life, the world and the mean-spirited people who seemed to be in charge.
But my Daddy was always there, ever-present, dealing with the world -- somehow, with grace and strength. He was my Superman, my shelter in the time of storm and the kind of person that I wanted to be like when I grew up.

So now, as I approach my fifth decade of life, I ask myself, "what happened?" And the only answer I can give is, "Life." But that's a cop-out and never let it be said that I am one to run away from the truth. The real deal for this writer is that being a Black man seems to have become so much more difficult, so much more of a monumental feat -- especially if you have somehow avoided the common pitfalls that await us -- prison, drug addiction, HIV/AIDS, unemployment ... the list goes on.


Then, to add to the complexity of this challenging road, I am an out SGL man. In other words, I love other men. More specifically, at this moment, I love ONE man. And he, like me, is a father. The question is how do you reconcile the quest to be the perfect father with the need to be the perfect lover? How do you spend time with the children and then spend time with your "man?" And why is it so difficult to blend both worlds?

Clearly, as Black men, we are members of a community that is still reluctant to accept homosexuality. In fact, sometimes our people are downright hostile, vicious and cruel when it comes to talking about "the gay lifestyle." Sure, it's okay to do it in the dark, to get down in a discrete manner in an isolated Holiday Inn or to engage in a little fellatio during a business trip far away from home.
Hmmn. Maybe I am stretching things by saying it's okay, but let's be clear -- the DL lifestyle is not a new phenomenon in the hood -- it's just new because now we have begun to talk about it aloud rather than whispering. But it does happen -- more often than some would imagine.

So what do I tell my own beloved children? Can I be the man that they need me to be and still be true to "my man?" And how should I introduce my lover? "This is my cousin Mark" or "Hey kids, this is your Cousin Jerry." Lies, lies and more lies.

Haven't I earned the right to just be real with who I am and who and what makes me happy? Haven't we Black fathers suffered enough to be able to live outside of the closet and share with our own flesh and blood the hopes we have, the joys we have experienced and the memories that have made us who we are?

I suppose that each of us must answer those questions for ourselves. But for me, and particularly as I reflect on this Father's Day, I have decided that as much as I love my two "crumb-snatchers," that it's time to celebrate ME just a little more often.

Heck! I know many of us, this is SGL fathers, have not been there all the time for our children, have had to be the reason for their disappointments and their tears, but somehow I wish my own children could understand that I have cried more than they ever could. I have ached for them, wanted to take them in my strong arms and be to them what my father was to me -- Superman. And yet, I realize that we live in a world where kryptonite sits on every corner, seen and unseen. And we often are caught in a struggle to simply survive.

So my fellow fathers, I write this essay to encourage you -- to implore you to stay in the battle and to refuse to give up. I love my children more than I love myself. I am sure that most, if not all of you do too. And one day ... perhaps we will find a way to let them know that. Until then, we must remain in battle against those who hate the way we live and love. And, we must sometimes even fight ourselves -- because we are unable to accept the fact that God made us who we are -- Same Gender Lover Black Men -- and that God loves us just as we are.

Here's wishing ME a happy father's day. You may have to do the same my brothers. But that's okay. The 'card' is in the mail. Oh, and by the way, if you want to really enjoy yourself, why not go out and kiss your Santa Claus one good time under the mistletoe. I know I'm gonna kiss mine.
 
"I Saw Daddy Kissing ... Santa Claus"

By D. Kevin McNeir

Another Father's Day is here and for the longest time, even though I am the divorced dad of two great teenagers, I had a hard time "celebrating" this day. First, my own father, who died when I was only 25-years-old, lost his battle with lung cancer only days before Father's Day, 1985. Suffice to say, when the day approached each year, I found myself, instead of being in a celebratory mode because of the gift of my own fatherhood, to avoid any conversation on the topic.

 

You see, my dad, Cleveland Billy McNeir, (yeah, he was from Alabama -- had to be to have a name like that huh?), was my superhero. Growing up in the turbulent 1960s, with Vietnam, assassinations, Civil Rights marches --even a riot in my hometown of Detroit -- there were a lot of time that I was afraid of life, the world and the mean-spirited people who seemed to be in charge.
But my Daddy was always there, ever-present, dealing with the world -- somehow, with grace and strength. He was my Superman, my shelter in the time of storm and the kind of person that I wanted to be like when I grew up.

So now, as I approach my fifth decade of life, I ask myself, "what happened?" And the only answer I can give is, "Life." But that's a cop-out and never let it be said that I am one to run away from the truth. The real deal for this writer is that being a Black man seems to have become so much more difficult, so much more of a monumental feat -- especially if you have somehow avoided the common pitfalls that await us -- prison, drug addiction, HIV/AIDS, unemployment ... the list goes on.


Then, to add to the complexity of this challenging road, I am an out SGL man. In other words, I love other men. More specifically, at this moment, I love ONE man. And he, like me, is a father. The question is how do you reconcile the quest to be the perfect father with the need to be the perfect lover? How do you spend time with the children and then spend time with your "man?" And why is it so difficult to blend both worlds?

Clearly, as Black men, we are members of a community that is still reluctant to accept homosexuality. In fact, sometimes our people are downright hostile, vicious and cruel when it comes to talking about "the gay lifestyle." Sure, it's okay to do it in the dark, to get down in a discrete manner in an isolated Holiday Inn or to engage in a little fellatio during a business trip far away from home.
Hmmn. Maybe I am stretching things by saying it's okay, but let's be clear -- the DL lifestyle is not a new phenomenon in the hood -- it's just new because now we have begun to talk about it aloud rather than whispering. But it does happen -- more often than some would imagine.

So what do I tell my own beloved children? Can I be the man that they need me to be and still be true to "my man?" And how should I introduce my lover? "This is my cousin Mark" or "Hey kids, this is your Cousin Jerry." Lies, lies and more lies.

Haven't I earned the right to just be real with who I am and who and what makes me happy? Haven't we Black fathers suffered enough to be able to live outside of the closet and share with our own flesh and blood the hopes we have, the joys we have experienced and the memories that have made us who we are?

I suppose that each of us must answer those questions for ourselves. But for me, and particularly as I reflect on this Father's Day, I have decided that as much as I love my two "crumb-snatchers," that it's time to celebrate ME just a little more often.

Heck! I know many of us, this is SGL fathers, have not been there all the time for our children, have had to be the reason for their disappointments and their tears, but somehow I wish my own children could understand that I have cried more than they ever could. I have ached for them, wanted to take them in my strong arms and be to them what my father was to me -- Superman. And yet, I realize that we live in a world where kryptonite sits on every corner, seen and unseen. And we often are caught in a struggle to simply survive.

So my fellow fathers, I write this essay to encourage you -- to implore you to stay in the battle and to refuse to give up. I love my children more than I love myself. I am sure that most, if not all of you do too. And one day ... perhaps we will find a way to let them know that. Until then, we must remain in battle against those who hate the way we live and love. And, we must sometimes even fight ourselves -- because we are unable to accept the fact that God made us who we are -- Same Gender Lover Black Men -- and that God loves us just as we are.

Here's wishing ME a happy father's day. You may have to do the same my brothers. But that's okay. The 'card' is in the mail. Oh, and by the way, if you want to really enjoy yourself, why not go out and kiss your Santa Claus one good time under the mistletoe. I know I'm gonna kiss mine.