My children saw me cry for the first time this weekend.
I always knew March would hit different… but wow, Akuna Matata.
I just can’t wait to be free.
29th March 2005 — the day Dad died.
It’s the reason I now have two young princes (but that’s a story for another day).
Since then, I’ve built up a fear of the graveside.
Whenever I talk to him, the tears just come. So, because I’m a badman, I just stopped going.
But this weekend, I tried.
Plans shifted, the cemetery was closing, and I had the boys with me.
What to do?
I could’ve left them in the car. I knew what would happen if I talked to Dad.
Been over a decade. Truth be told, I think I even lied once about going—so many people telling me I needed to.
Graveyards are strange places.
Big, small, rich, poor—together.
You read headstones, imagine stories.
Some folk even have full-blown family BBQs.
I couldn’t find the grave at first, but then I saw the bench.
I know that bench.
It’s where I sit to gather myself before I faced the world.
I only ever saw my dad cry when he was drunk.
It started okay.
I introduced the boys. Told him how proud I was.
Tidied up the plot… then it hit me.
I kept saying how much I missed him—then I broke.
I sobbed.
And my boys?
They didn’t flinch.
They didn’t step back.
They hugged me.
Tighter.
The more I cried, the tighter they held me.
And there it is.
A moment they’ll never forget.
A moment I clearly needed.
We talk so much about strength and resilience.
But do we ever say, “It’s okay to let go”?
Have you ever cried in front of your kids?
Do you remember the first time your parents cried in front of you?
What is a man?
What is masculinity?
Is my badman card revoked?
Whatever it is…
Have a blessed and progressive day.
Miss you, Dad.
#GriefAndGrowth #FathersAndSons #EmotionalStrength #BlackFatherhood #MasculinityReimagined #HealingInPublic #MenCryToo #ProgressiveParenting #LegacyLove #AkunaMatata
