Seeing him was like seeing myself. The striking resemblance. The melancholy disposition. The reluctance to embrace. The fortress of protection used to insulate the heart. The cemented stubbornness that stems from the belief that truth is not relative. And, the love that begins to flow as the fortress slowly comes down. Now, getting to know him/me is easier.

My father has always been a part of my life. I made sure of that with my on and off efforts to be nothing like him. He was not there when I graduated, crossed the finish line, and when I became a father. He was not there for so much as I attempted to defy all those who wanted me to be forgiving: “No matter what, he still your daddy.”

What he missed was my creation of himself that was altered to be what he wanted to be, a parent. Ultimately, he wanted to be a man not associated with his turbulent past. “Me can’t come back to Thomasville. I am JB there and not the aging with God’s grace JW here in Monroe.”

What my father did for me was remarkable. He encouraged me to strive for success, to be proud of my ethnicity, and to be caring. He did all this outside of my life, not in my life. He did this by hiding from what he caused: Pain.

And, God returned to the garden and asked, “Where are you Adam. Why are you hiding?”

JW Taylor has been hiding...and Adam did not respond.

But, that's okay. Seriously, it is okay! I finally came to that conclusion when I saw him for the first time in 8 years on Black Friday 2010. The peace that came over me when I saw him. It was surreal. He looked, I looked. Our brains were racing without the uncontrollable anxiety that's dominated our lives for the longest time.

While sitting in his presence with my oldest sister and his daughter, Shirley Jean – I quietly admitted that I have been mad at myself and the JB Taylor, not the JW Taylor.

JB is what he became (mean and violently unpredictable) while coming to grips with his life long trauma: no father, no mother, and the lost of his twin brother at 2 years old: “Me raised me self. Me twin died and I stayed alive.”

We are responsible for our plight...

I have never made overt excuses for my unbecoming behavior or my less than thoughtful decisions - but I have selectively with a tattered crutch connected the mishaps and foolishness to a lack of manhood training.

And, God returned to the garden and asked, “Where are you Adam. Why are you hiding?”

Muata has been hiding...and Adam still has not responded.

Unfortunately, my daddy’s fatherly abandonment has become a justification, an ill-advised rally cry for all the ills of the Black Family.

While we do need more of our black men to be fathers, our black boys should not wander aimlessly through life reeking havoc on society http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hvNi0VZwc8 because daddy has not or was not around. The accepted chaos is the rotten fruit of poor decision making, not father’s absence.

We, black men without daddy, must take control our lives. We, in the end, when it is all said and done our decisions are ours. We have to own the decisions without connecting 'no father' to them - and without getting frustrated with Tyler Perry's accurate depiction of MORE than a few black men. We are those images on the screen.

So, JW Taylor and I can rest now. We are at peace. Our souls are no longer in turmoil. We are back on the same sheet of music. We are singing his favorite song, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WMdBs7uTLHw and back to eating our favorite meal,

*Stewed white rice and chicken

Muata Nowe