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If you believe Kid Cudi’s ‘SNL’ attire threatens Black masculinity, it’s time to do some soul searching

Photo: Will Heath/Getty Images

It’s spring again, and with the opening of businesses after a year of Covid-19, it’s apparently become necessary to once more consider one’s personal fashion before stepping outside. You’d think that after a year of pandemic couch-surfing this would be a low priority, but as it turns out, if you’re a Black man, you still can’t wear just any old thing. Somehow, in light of all of the problems we face in the most racist country in the world, it is still ungenteel to wear dresses.

Every father hopes to see his son surpass him. But did it have to happen so soon?

Photo: Nick David/Getty Images

My 12-year-old son keeps challenging me to hand-to-hand combat. First, we move the coffee table and place a few pillows so that no one loses an eye or needs stitches; then we wrestle in the living room.

After a life of struggling with my weight and self-esteem, I was on track. Then Covid came.

Photo: John M Lund Photography Inc/Getty Images

“You know you look skinny, right?” The words felt like a too-tight hug that was starting to hurt.

We’ll get through these problems just like billions have before us — together

Photo: kupicoo/Getty Images

2020 was supposed to be my year.

Don’t believe the hype that ignoring your mental health and keeping your problems inside is manly

Photo: shapecharge/Getty Images

The year 2020, in many ways, feels like Tetris on repeat. I’ve attempted to masterfully maneuver the blocks of my mental health, faith, job performance, and physical safety into alignment. Even when I lack the insight to do so alone, the blocks continue to collide, and the “Game Over” jingle continues to play as this year throws more obstacles at me than I could ever attempt to manage.

Chubby baby thighs: 1. Me: 0

Photo: DorianGray/Getty Images

Before I get into one of my funniest fatherhood moments, I have to set the unfunny scene.

Are we raising boys who are free to be themselves?

A still from “#blackAF.” Photo courtesy of Netflix

A young Black boy comes into the house crying. When his parents ask what’s wrong, he explains: His classmates forgot his birthday. He cries harder, beginning to hyperventilate. The mother comforts the boy, tells him to breathe. It’s the picture of loving parenthood. The father, though, stands back with a look of disgust, shaking his head. On the screen, a mock scouting report appears distilling the 10-year-old’s disposition: He is the “sweet, sensitive, moist towelette of the family.”

I’m strong enough to say that my wife protects me from all enemies, foreign and domestic — and those with more than four legs

Photo: Cheikh Mballo/EyeEm/Getty Images

Let’s start with the (flattering) facts. I am just over six feet tall, I can sprint a mile in under six minutes, and I can bench 225 pounds for six reps before an ambulance needs to be present. I cook, and I cook damn well. I make my wife laugh — real laughter, not humoring-me laughter. I cry during Pixar films. I possess just the right amount of masculine aloofness that makes my wife wonder if I’m getting dumber or if I just pretended to be smart while we were dating.

Most men don’t abuse women. The problem that we need to talk about, though, is the men who know abusers — and never confront them.

Let’s talk about fatigue for a second. Not tiredness. Not even exhaustion. Fatigue is less physical than it is emotional. It’s Sisyphus back at the beginning with his ball, staring up that ramp, knowing he was this fucking close and that’s exactly as close as he’s ever gonna be. Fatigue hasn’t snuffed out his ability, but it’s damn close to bodying his resolve.

It takes consistent effort to remind other Black men that we are more than our gender

Photo: Olu Famule/Unsplash

I came out to my family in 2015. At the time, the Supreme Court was about to make the historic vote that would legalize gay marriage for millions of queer people in America.

He accepted my gayness…

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