Confessions = Good for the Soul

An excerpt from The Root -

Confessions of a Bad Dad on the Eve of His 2nd Child
Sometimes, I’m just not good at my job.
By Corey Richardson

As my wife and I careen into the last few weeks of her pregnancy and prepare for life with our new little girl, it’s beginning to dawn on me just how bad a job I’ve been doing as a parent for our first daughter. Four, almost five, years into the game, and I’m finally coming to grips with the fact that, as a dad, I’m not very good at my job sometimes.

So, in the spirit of clearing the slate for this new life to come, I feel like I owe it to my eldest to confess my sins and seek something like forgiveness for being a s–tty, although involved, dad. So, in the spirit of Usher Raymond, these are my parental confessions (although imagine me as DMX on the cover of Flesh of My Flesh) laying myself bare for your judgment.

I’ve exploited my child’s illiteracy for my own gain. Throughout my life, I’ve had to use a variety of ruses as tools to get my way, get what I want or get out of a jam. Most of the time, when I had to run game, I was dealing with adults with some modicum of education who required a lot of thought to pull off a con.  Then, God gifted me this little person, who came into this world knowing essentially nothing. But most importantly, this lil bama doesn’t quite know how to read yet.

Man, is that liberating. Driving down the street and you see a sign for a fast-food place she recognizes? I tell her that the sign says it’s closed and she just can’t read it. At the store and she’s getting ready to get her Ezell on for some cookies or some chips? Flip that bag over and tell her, “Oh no, these say they’re spoiled,” then keep on truckin’.  And then there’s my favorite move–when she pulls out that long-ass bedtime story to try to prolong the magic and keep from going to sleep (bruh, there’s this book that’s called Grandfather Ghandi that’s like the goddamn Odyssey for children), I skip pages and make up a new story on the spot. What’s she gonna do; stop you? She can’t read and I know the jig is gonna be up any day now, so I might as well get it in while I can.

I’m pretty sure I’m gonna pay for this when she gets a neck tattoo that I’m forced to read for the rest of my life. I’m sorry.

http://www.theroot.com/articles/culture/2016/11/confessions-of-a-bad-dad-on-the-eve-of-his-2nd-child/