It’s not fun, but I owe it to my son.

Dear Journal,

I’m writing this today because I’m in pain. Not like suicide pain, relax. Like my body is sore pain, lol. I’ll get to why in a minute.

I decided to become an adult about 6 or 7 years ago. I was over confident and naive, a classic teenager. I felt like nothing could stop me, the world couldn’t hold me back. I was and still am incredibly ambitious. Lowkey, as I write this a part of me still feels unstoppable. But I’m also 7 years wiser.

I’ve realized that I wasn’t necessarily wrong back then. Nothing can hold anyone back, there’s no excuse. It’s a story that’s been proven time and again over time. Shit, I’d call it “Humanity’s Laws of Grinding”. Nothing will hold me back from achieving my goals. But I’ve recently recognized life can definitely grind you down into a heap of ambitious ass saw dust.

And currently, that’s the body pain I’m feeling. The physical toll to pay for my uphill climb of the last 7 years. Cause and effect, consequence.

Yet, not much has changed. I still live in my same city. Though I’ve never felt so estranged from “my city”. I mean, I used to be so proud. Saying things like “Born & raised in Dade” and “Made in Miami”. Shit, at one point I was even going to get “born & raised” with the Florida State drawn across it tattooed on my arm. That would’ve been a mistake comparable to getting your first girlfriends name tattooed on yourself.

But back then life was easier. I was a white kid living with his single mother attending private school paid by a guilty father that was trying to make up for lost time by providing the “best education” to his son. In an attempt to provide me an opportunity for a better life through a better education.

But that’s not how that shit works.

In my opinion, I couldn’t care less about what school I went to. Because I had to see my mother crying in the bathroom because she didn’t have money for the school bus, gas or even groceries. Everyday I walked with my mom and my little sister to school. Lunch felt like what I imagine commissary feels like at jail. “Your daddy deposited $100 for this week.”. So I ate all the fries and chocolate milk I wanted to. Sometimes I’d even buy some fries for that girl I had a crush on. Thinking back, lunch time was a kind of escape from reality. Maybe that speaks more about our prison system than I care to think about right now. That’s a whole nother can of worms.

I kind of feel dumb for going on a stupid and unrelated tangent. Cause in the grand scheme of things. I am still a privileged white american male. And as bad as I may think I had it. I know others have it so much worse. Like, unimaginably worse. And that brings me right back to the reason I started writing this. Because now I am a father. And I can change the things I didn’t like about my father. And more so, I can effect the circumstances I disagreed with in my childhood. The systems I disagree with. The systems I want to see changed because they’ve cause so much pain to the people I love most in my life.

And that process of change won’t be fun, but I owe it my son. And now for the first time in my life, I owe it to my daughter as well.

Till next time,


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