I Taught Myself How to Be A Man
Tags: This Happened To Me, Family, BlackLivesMatter, LGBTQ, Life Lessons

I didn’t grow up with a good black male role model.

My father fell victim to alcoholism and refused to get help. I watched him go from being my hero to a villain. The same smile that used to turn rain into rainbows now only makes me uncomfortable.

My uncle consistently takes advantage of my grandmother, using his son as a weapon against her. He only thinks of himself and blames her for all of his shortcomings. To people on the outside looking in, he looks like a pretty nice guy but it’s only a mask. On the inside, he’s an ugly person.

My uncle used to be another hero to me. I wanted to be just like him when I was little — before I knew better. He was the one that introduced me to video games. He was my second best friend — after my mom. They used to call me his shadow.

I didn’t just lose my mom when she died. I lost my dad. I lost my uncle. I lost my definition of family. I suddenly felt like an orphan.

I grew up knowing I wanted to be nothing like him or my father. In the classroom, I avoided most black boys because their hurtful jokes were the loudest. They formed cliques and targeted everyone outside of their little group. Their evil laughs filled the hallways.

However, this is taught. Fathers teach their boys that they have to be “hard” to make it in the world. They disapprove of crying and express emotions. They approve of fighting and playing girls from a young age. Fathers teach their sons the tricks they used when they were in school.

Some fathers aren’t there at all, leaving their sons to figure out what it means to be a man on their own. A mother’s love can only do so much, but not having a father leaves a void.

My father taught me how not to be a man.

He was abusive to my mother when I was a baby. I don’t remember it, but my grandmother told me about it after I graduated high school. She told me about his excessive drinking, but I saw it for myself long before she opened her mouth.

My uncle taught me how not to be a man as well. He taught me the evils of selfishness and arrogance, and he’s too blind to see it. He’s lost his house and is about to lose his truck because he stopped paying his mortgage and his car note, but he still carries himself with an arrogance that fills the room — leaving no room for the rest of us.

He taught me how to catch the wrong women. He taught me how to be ignorant of my own surroundings until it’s too late. He taught me how not to treat the only woman that will be there no matter what: my grandmother.

I found myself trying to love her more to make up for the lack of love he gave her. I tried to be the best son she never had. I went to college to make her proud. I cooked dinner and brought her plate to her so she wouldn’t have to get up. I took care of her when she was sick while he got annoyed about having to leave his house to fetch her soup and Ginger Ale.

I am a black man, but I am not a stereotype.

I will not fall into the media’s portrayal of us: angry, violent, and uneducated. I will not make LGBTQ and others feel inferior to feed my ego. Ignorant and insensitive jokes will never be funny to me. Other peoples’ sexuality doesn’t threaten my own.

I will not give up, even if others already have. My learning does not stop in the classroom. Teachers don’t hold the power to write my destiny. I will not take advantage of others — especially black women — for my own selfish gain.

My love is and will continue to be pure and unconditional. I am not perfect, but I’m working on myself every day. I will not give in to being complacent. I will push to be stronger and smarter than I was yesterday.

Stereotypes will never define me. I have formed my own definition of what it means to be a man.

I taught myself how to be a man.