Black Boy Joy

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Late Sunday evening I’m sitting on the couch in my sweats waiting for Baby to return home from taking his son back to his mom for her week with him. He was sad as usual as he packed up his things. His son was his world, no matter how much fun he had out in the wind being an adult, his best time was spent with his Mini Me. I’m eagerly scrolling Twitter for inspiration on what to write about, feeling like all my good ideas have been used already.

My favorite aunt writes me on Facebook telling me how much she misses me so I give her a call to share my sentiments and we chat for about 15 minutes, shortly after Baby calls and we wrap up conversation. He reveals some cryptic information and we share a light laugh in response to our inside joke as we continue to flirt like two teens on his way home. I hear the music in the car turn off as he tries to trick me into believing that he wasn’t home, only to walk in the door shortly after.

He had just left about 30 minutes ago, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him and want him back home. Clingy much? Absolutely. I could go on for days about the family feel I get when he and I are running the household together.Grateful for the opportunity to witness a father and son bond that is untouched. In the process of him returning home and showering me with kisses, I remember that I haven’t spoken to my male best friend from Ratchet City.

An intellectual fool he is, but I can always count on him to give me grandeur insight into the likes of what a man looks, think, and behaves like. It has been him for so many years following college that has assisted me in my quest of learning who I am and what I like, what I should tolerate and what I need to work on, my appreciation doesn’t grant words. Love.

We’ll come up with a name for him later, but today, he’ll just be my brother from another. Early last year we found out that the young lady he had been seeing was getting ready to bring life into this world. I remember asking him at least 100 times, “Are you ready?” The first 25 he hesitated as any new dad would, but as the thought of creating life and raising a child began to set more into his mind, he got happier. He hoped for a boy as all men do, but when my little mama was born he was more than excited. There was never any distinctive relationship status between him and the child’s mom, but it mattered none because the apple of his eye was now here to break him down and build him back up. The joy in his heart when it involves her only made me happier to know him.

Earlier today I spoke with my dad and I could hear him blushing at the sound of my telling him that I was coming home for his birthday. I spoke with my mom beforehand and she let me know that he wanted his babygirl back home so that he could help me. “That girl down there struggling, tell her to come home” my mom said he told her. I sat back and thought about the luxury I have in knowing these men.

When I thought about the topic for this article I ran it by my closest confidant and her response was “please please please do not continue the false narrative that black men arent in the home. We are more so than the white man” I had to enlighten her that I planned to do just the opposite. See she knows me well enough to understand how I feel about black men as a whole. I love them, each and every one. But the positive gentlemen that take pride in their role in the home may just be my favorite.

Outside of my father, like most young women during my childhood I wasn’t really exposed to those I felt like were real men. Adult males, older boys, yes, but men aside from definition? Not quite. In my world, men are providers, care takers and head of household. They understand that they are the blue print for the way the household and everything regarding the family operates. As a woman I believe my role is to nurture and give care to my care taker.

I look at strong black couples like Denzel and Pauletta, Viola and Julius, Will and Jada and I’m floored by the equal love and support. But the men are the staple in these foundations. Martin and Gina, Whitley and Dwayne, I appreciated these visuals so much growing up never realizing that they shaped my thought process on real love. As I look around me and take in my generation, it’s kind of funny to me. There aren’t many committed relationships, but these men are fighting harder and doing better as parents than the women are.

They are falling in love with the idea of being fathers. My favorite cousin, who may as well be my brother has the craziest story I’ve ever heard. He didn’t know he had a child out in this world and when he found out I believe his son was about one. But the second he laid eyes on him, it was like he just hopped into daddy mode. It was amazing, a complete 180 was made before my very own eyes. Everything had become about his son. “Gotta get a better job because he need stuff.” “Gotta make sure I’m close just in case his mom need me to do xyz…”

Men seem to be unaware of their value and strength until they produce a child, but to watch them become their best self for the sake of their children is beautiful. I’m 26 and I believe I’m living with the “I don’t need a man” generation as of late. I shake my head when I hear comments like that because contrary to popular belief, yes we do need our men. Being raised by a black single mother, the syndrome is comprehensive due to circumstance and what we are taught, but it is absolutely and completely incorrect. Men are needed in everyday life and please take this in the most humbling manner, love is love, but I’ll only submit to my black man.

Women need men so that we understand what it actually means to be a woman. We’re so head strong and ambitious that we fail to recognize when to relax our dominance. We lack trust and reliability in our men because we have surpassed them for so long. I too am a victim of the Superman Complex, where I once believed I didn’t need a man.

Until I got one.

One who has allowed me to place my flaws, fears, worries and insecurities on his back. This man has gained my honor in more ways than a few. I can relax because I know my home is made of brick and my man is of steel. This cycle of men bashing can and it will end, black men are stepping up and showing out in life, love and career. Ladies as soon as we take the blame for the sour men we pick, the sooner the pickings will sweeten.

Tell a black man you love him today.

With Love,

Storie Stone

The Storie Will Be Televised

B R I L L I A N T. Successful Project Product. Proud Black Sheep and all around Thoroughbred. 26. Planted in Chicago,IL | Blossomed in Atlanta, GA

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