A Lesson From ‘Kier & Them’ About Therapy

So, I’m going to try and keep this post short today, son. Ok, yes, I say that almost every time that I write and I never follow through, man. In any case, I wanted to briefly speak about an Instagram video that resonated with me. Both my wife and my broski BK sent me a video from Kier & Them that touched on therapy. More specifically, the video highlighted the fact that people, especially emotionally-distant men, will never truly be happy until they work through their past trauma.

Ok, anyone who’s ever read this blog knows that I’m a BIG advocate for therapy. I mean, as someone who’s dealt with various bouts of depression, I owe my life to getting help, fam. Shit, as I’ve mentioned on this site before, between the ages of 19 and 28, I was a fucking madman, bruh. I always felt isolated, I put an immense amount of pressure on myself and instead of talking my issues out, I drank. A lot. Like, a whole lot, brethren. Frankly, I wasn’t necessarily suicidal, but I also didn’t care if I lived or not. All I know this, that was a terrible feeling to have when I was supposed to be raising a child.

Now, it’s no secret that my wife was the main person who inspired me to get help. Yeah, my homie Mitch tried to get me to go to therapy in college, but I wasn’t ready then. It wasn’t until I was faced with the possibility of losing my family that I finally woke up. All in all, I wanted to be better for her. I wanted to be better for our son. More importantly, I wanted to be better for me. I was tired of feeling like a prisoner in my own head. I was tired of keeping my loved ones at arm’s length because I was waiting for shit to go wrong. I wanted to give my son the love that I never felt as a child. Yes, my mother absolutely loved me, but she wasn’t the best at showing it. This was because it was never really shown to her either. All I can say is, the cycle is fucking vicious, bruh.

Moving on, the Kier & Them video did a great job of explaining the importance of getting help. Hell, social media LOVES talking about “couple goals,” but never talks about the difficulties in maintaining a strong union. The truth is, my wife and I have been through some shit, son. Now, I’m not saying that relationships have to be painful, but I can attest that they aren’t a cakewalk either. The fact of the matter is, both parties involved need to check their own trauma before they bring it to their companion’s front door. The way I see it, a functional relationship recognizes dysfunction and works through it. Plain and simple.

In the end, shout-out to Kier & Them for that dope video. Ultimately, I hope people learn a valuable lesson here. By and by, let go of the stigma of therapy and let go of any baggage that is holding us back. At the end of the day, that’s the real pursuit of happiness. That is all. LC out.

Am I The Only One Who Eats Bread Ends?

So, I won’t lie, son. On the real, this is probably going to be the most trivial post I’ve ever written. But, I have a serious question, man? Am I the only person who eats bread ends? Like, whether I’m speaking with my wife or my mother, they think that I’m the weirdest person in the world for not throwing out the ends, fam. Shit, my wife has already brainwashed our kids into believing that the ends taste different. All in all, am I the only one who’s an equal-opportunity bread consumer?

Ok, as ridiculous as it sounds, this topic has been a long-running debate in my house. Now, for some reason, my wife is under the assumption that there is something wrong with eating bread ends. In her eyes, the quality of the ends is different than the rest of the loaf. Because of this, she refuses to make sandwiches for herself or the kids with those particular slices. However, I literally don’t see a difference, bruh. Hell, to me, bread is bread is bread, son.

Now, in addition to my wife, my mother and a few other people that I know feel the same exact way. With that being said, I really want to know why, man? Is there really a difference to people or are folks just being extra/wasteful? Seriously, enlighten a brother, fam. Side note, I’m still going to eat the bread ends, but I legitimately want to know what type of time people are on. Anyway, holla at me, bruh.

In the end, nothing else needs to be said, son. Ultimately, I wrote this post just to poll my followers. Side note, I laughed very hard when I wrote “poll my followers.” In any case, it’s that type of Friday, man. By and by, I’m out here writing nonsense that’s not really nonsense, fam. So, let me know what’s good, brethren. That is all. LC out.

What A Difference A Decade Makes

So, here we are, son. It’s 2020, baby! Thankfully, I’ve made it to another year and another decade, man. All I can say is, the last ten years have been a wild ass ride, fam. In any case, I’d like to consider this post a tale of two photos. On the real, the smile may be the same, but the LC from the beginning of the decade is DRASTICALLY different than the LC from the end of the decade. Shit, let’s get into it, brethren.

First, let’s speak about the LC on the left. Real talk, I was a fucking train wreck at the beginning of the decade. At the time, I was a brand new father, struggling with my career, dealing with previously-undiagnosed depression, self-medicating with Jack Daniel’s and stepping out on my then-girlfriend/now-wife. Keeping it a buck, it was my lady who held up a mirror to my shenanigans. Based on my issues, she had every right to leave me. In fact, she did for a period of time. But, I understood that I needed to become a better person. Not for her, but for me. The truth is, being the best me would ultimately lead to being the best companion and father.

Moving on, let’s talk about that dude on the right. Now, this LC doesn’t have to hide behind a fake smile. Currently, I’m a husband who’s fathering multiple little people, working the best job I’ve ever had, performing my music again, blogging and drinking socially (instead of trying to drown out the voices in my head). All I know is, this transition didn’t happen overnight. Instead, making small steps at the beginning of the decade paved the way for how my decade ended. All in all, life is fucking beautiful right now, son.

In the end, I didn’t write this post to just talk about me, man. Ultimately, I want my story to be a lesson to anyone who’s reading this. By and by, folks don’t have to wait for a new year or a new decade to make a change. At the end of the day, if there are improvements that anyone wants to make, then start now, fam. In addition, don’t be afraid of slow progress. The fact is, slow progress is still better than no progress, bruh. So, let’s all be better together, brethren. My wife always says “there’s no such thing as stuck” and I had to learn to believe her, son. Let’s start this decade off right, people. Yessir! I love you all! LC out.

P.S. I’m super proud of the fact that I look damn near the same after ten years, son. Shit, Black don’t crack, baby! Well, besides a few years in the middle when I was unnecessarily fat. But, we don’t talk about those times, fam. Good day.

The Scariness Of Parenthood Over Time

So, I won’t lie, son. On the real, I’m not sure if this post is going to have an overall point. If anything, I’m just here to share some random observations I’ve made about parenthood. All I know is, despite being a dad for nearly a decade, I still have no clue about what the fuck I’m doing, man. The truth is, as children continue to grow, there will never be any room for complacency, fam.

Ok, to be frank, I was inspired to write this post after hanging out with my oldest son last Friday. Now, since I have more than one child, solo time with each kid can be a little rare. Side note, I know people advise to carve out individual time when there are multiple children involved. All in all, I’m trying, bruh. I’m trying.

In any case, last week, my wife had something to do at her church and our youngest son was with her. So, it ended up being a night at the crib with my firstborn. Moving on, we camped out in the living room and watched copious amounts of X-Men: The Animated Series on Disney+. In addition, I tried to pick his brain on the day-to-day social shenanigans of his school life. I mean, he always tries to be coy, but he’s already made it clear that he’s started the boy/girl game with his classmates.

Anyway, during the course of our random conversations, it threw me for a loop that I was having a meaningful dialogue with my son. Like, I distinctly remember changing his diapers. I remember when he learned to walk and talk. I remember when he read his first book. Fast forward to now, he has legitimate feelings, real friendships with people and the whole world ahead of him. Truth be told, I’m fucking frightened by all of this, man.

Look, as exhausting as babies can be, parents can essentially control everything, son. Shit, they depend on us for their basic existence, fam. But, now I’m at the phase where that isn’t really the case anymore. Yes, my son is still a child but he’s also fully-immersed in the environment around him. Hell, my wife and I are now at the stage where we’re trying to decide if he’s ready for the “sex talk.” All I can say is, my little boy is growing up and I don’t even know how to feel, bruh.

In the end, I’ve probably said a lot and said nothing at the same time. Ultimately, I’m just a father trying to evolve as his son does the same. By and by, parenthood is unique because it’s never static, son. At the end of the day, the circumstances always change and we need to be ready to change with them. All in all, I just hope I don’t give my kids any terrible advice and fuck them all up. I mean, daddy can be a head case too, man. Shit, ask my mother. I’m positive that she had the same struggles in figuring out how to raise me, fam. I guess the cycle just continues, brethren. That is all. LC out.

P.S. For inquiring minds, my son was two in the pic on the left and a month away from nine in the pic on the right. Good day.

P.P.S. He won that trophy in his second-ever chess tournament. I was fucking HYPED, son! Ok, ok, I’m done. For real.

Raising Sons In The #MeToo Era

So, before I even begin, let me keep it a buck, son. Now, as of today, both of my sons are under 10 years old. Meaning, I’m not even ready for them to be dating in any capacity, man. Shit, if it ain’t about Nintendo or comic books, my brain can’t handle it, fam. Real talk, I thought about locking my oldest son in his room when he told my wife and I that he had a girlfriend last year. But, that’s another story, bruh. In any case, as a father who’s responsible for raising two boys, there are some things they need to understand in the #MeToo era.

Ok, before I continue, it’s story time, son. Now, one particular night as a freshman in college, I thought I was going to get lucky. It was a Friday night and I was playing wingman for my homie. Anyway, during the course of getting ripped on brown liquor, this girl started kissing me. Moving on, I happened to catch a glance at her eyes and she looked like she was on another planet. Like, the alcohol had REALLY taken a toll on her, man. From there, I stopped the make-out session, helped her get in bed and went back to my room. The next day, she thanked me for looking out for her.

Now, I didn’t tell that story to look like some good dude, fam. Honestly, I thought it was common sense to not get down with someone who was clearly compromised. However, as time went on, I learned that I might be in the minority, bruh. Shit, it’s 2019 and I’m still taken aback by a lot of the stories that women have told me, son. On the real, I have no idea why consent is such a foreign concept to some guys, man. All I know is, it’s my responsibility to let my boys know that no one owes them anything.

Real talk, consent goes beyond “no means no,” fam. Power dynamics matter. Age differences matter. Hell, judging by the story I just told, intoxication matters, bruh. All I can say is, I want my sons to avoid any potential grey areas, man. Yeah, life can be confusing at times, but there should never be any question on if somebody wants to bump uglies. All in all, it’s my job to prepare my children for what they may face in the real world. Hopefully, I don’t righteously fuck them up, brethren.

In the end, I’m no genius, son. Frankly, I’m a moron who’s figuring out this parenting shit as I go, man. However, my kids’ behavior will be a reflection of the values that I’ve instilled in them. With that being said, I don’t want them to contribute to the problem, fam. Ultimately, I want them to thrive in the #MeToo and #TimesUp era. I want them to be examples of how to conduct oneself in these serious times. At the end of the day, I definitely have my work cut out for me, bruh. That is all. LC out.

P.S. Shout-out to my brother BK for giving me the idea for this post. Salute, my guy! Good day.

So, I Was On A Podcast…

So, I’m going to keep this brief, son. Basically, I was recently featured on a podcast, man. With that being said, I want to give a major shout-out to my homie, Huey Booker. For whatever reason, he thought I’d be a good guest on his The Book of Huey podcast. In any case, I was featured on his “Black Men Speak, Vol. 1: Legacy” episode. On it, we talked about a variety of topics, ranging from marriage to fatherhood to my blog. In addition, we spoke about a few of the lessons learned from Black Panther. Hell, he even asked me about my time on Ask A Black Man with MadameNoire. All in all, we covered a lot of bases and spoke pretty candidly.

Now, all of the fine folks out there can listen to the episode below. Side note, now that I’ve done a podcast, I’m putting the pressure on Sydnee Washington and Marie Faustin to put me on their The Unofficial Expert show. Look, I’m just saying, fam. Anyway, The Book of Huey will be available on YouTube, iTunes, Stitcher, etc. However; I’m posting the SoundCloud link below. Either way, get down with the getdown and listen to Black men keeping it a buck. That is all. LC out.

When Should Parents Have ‘The Talk’ With Their Kids?

Keeping it a buck, being a parent is stressful, son. Like, it’s a never-ending cycle of “I’m not really sure I know what the fuck I’m doing,” man. Anyway, I thought I had more time before the “birds and the bees” talk, fam. I mean, my oldest son is only 7 years old. In my mind, I thought I had until at LEAST 10, bruh. However; with the way things are progressing, I may need to get my PowerPoint presentation ready, people.

So, here’s why I’m having a mini panic attack. Apparently, my firstborn has a girlfriend. Now, when my wife first told me that, I feel like the information went in one ear and out the other. Side note, I’m sure she’d argue that’s because I “don’t listen to her.” However; in reality, my brain just couldn’t process that story, son. In any case, from what I understand, my son and this young lady spend time with each other at lunch and dismissal. Even wilder, SHE’s the one who pressed him about whether he was her boyfriend or not. Fam, I thought he’d have to wait until his teenage years to face that kinda heat. I guess it all starts early, son.

Now, I won’t lie, my mind is in a tailspin, man. Listen, even though my son claims they haven’t kissed yet, I bet that’s right around the corner, fam. Shit, I kissed my first girl in kindergarten, bruh. Real talk, I know how fast all of that shit can happen, folks. To make matters worse, he already asked me what sex means because he heard the word in a song. Man, what the fuck is happening around here?! I could’ve sworn this dude just learned how to walk last year! How does he have a damn girlfriend already?! Look, I’m not prepared for ANY of this shit, son!

With all of that being said, when is the right time to have “the talk” with children? On one hand, I don’t want to introduce him to some shit he’s not ready for. On the other hand, I don’t want to be OD late to the party and have to tell his ass to slow down. Look, amongst my friends, I’m the OG parent in the group. However; this is some uncharted territory, man! At this point, I’m willing to listen to any sound advice, fam. Shit, it’s either that or I’m going to have to lock him away until I figure this out. In the end, I miss the diaper days, bruh. LC out.