If you’re new to Raising Myles, Welcome!
I write letters to my newborn son, Myles, sharing my journey as a first-time dad and spreading the love I didn't experience myself. If you’ve been here before — thank you for coming back. If you’re new here, below are some good places to start:
Here’s the most recent one - Happy Birthday, Son
I want to thank everyone who wished Myles a Happy First Birthday, and went as far to purchase a gift from his wishlist. Most of you I’ve never met, but through these letters to my son , I know your heart.
From my little family to yours, thank you ❤️
53 Weeks Old,
Dear Myles,
Your grandfather did not throw me away. A man can’t throw something away that isn't theirs, no matter how hard he tries. When I was contemplating having my own child—you—and asked your grandfather, my father, what he was thinking when he had us, in his full vulnerability and honesty, he told me… he wasn’t.
It was easier for him to be and deal with the outside than to deal with what was happening inside at home. It took me years to forgive him. It took me years to realize he wasn’t running away from the inside of his home, where his two sons were; rather, he was running away from the parts of himself he did not know how to face. But just like the birds in the air that no one feeds and the grass clothed in its splendor of green that no one waters, God has sent fathers to take care of me.1
Mr. Jackson
My seventh-grade teacher in middle school stood easily over six feet tall and had the confidence of a Caribbean man who knew he looked as good as his smile. It was he who made me fall in love with words and taught me how to use them to paint flowers for the girls I thought I loved at that age. He believed so much in my writing that he thought my words belonged in the pages of Hallmark cards given to loved ones for special occasions. When I graduated and could not afford my AP English textbooks, Mr. Jackson purchased them for me. I never passed the AP test, and my words never made it into the cards, and Mr. Jackson passed away for a reason I still don’t know, but I can still see his smile and wish he could have seen yours.
Mr. Moise
He was a Haitian man, short, stout, and stubby, who brought out the pride of being Haitian in me, a pride I had tried to hide because I had been bullied for it so many times before. He told jokes while he taught and knew how to make you feel like you were dissecting a frog, but we were really just picking apart an author’s words. He sowed the first seed that made me want to become a teacher and wanted to work with me, a 10th grader at the time, to help people learn our beautiful language. I never took him up on his offer, but I always remember that he, too, treated me like he saw something in me that I never saw in myself.
Mr. Michel
Your grandmother was a former Baptist, your great-grandmother a devout Catholic, and your grandmother’s friend was Muslim. Later, I would meet an after-school teacher, Mr. Michel, who had the kindest soul that started with his eyes. It took me years to figure out that his relationship with God made him who he was. He invited me to church once, and it was the first time I learned that I didn't have to work for God’s love; He loves me in spite of myself. When I speak to Mr. Michel now, he speaks to the parts of me I still struggle to see. He was the first to call me things like "smart" and "brilliant," and even though I am much older now, when he does it I still feel like a kid who tries to dismiss him as just being nice. To this day, I still miss his hugs. He visited us once here in Alabama with his family. It was the first time I’d seen him in maybe 15 years. He held you, and the picture I have of this moment feels like a testimony.
Arthur
When Arthur found out he was becoming a dad, I remember asking him if he felt ready. We were the same age, he just left teaching, and had just started a new career. Truthfully, I was asking for myself. We were in a bar, and he told me not only that he wasn’t ready, but that he had no idea what he would do or how he would do it. Both of us are on the other side of fatherhood now. And although we never cried together, we talked about those deep feelings that came up when our sons were first born and, for the first time, we questioned our worth as fathers. We talk about the beautiful feeling of hearing the person you love, love someone else. It was Arthur who reminded me that even when we make mistakes, we are redeemable.
Patrick
The world could not cancel Patrick if it tried. I would meet him much later. He reminds me that we don’t have to agree on everything, but no matter what, love and family will bind us. He was the first person I went to when I decided to bald my head. It was Patrick who showed me that masculinity is an amalgamation of all things beautiful, and even the parts that are deemed unattractive remind us that the journey of understanding what it means to be a man is continuous. Even though I’m in Alabama and he’s in Jersey, I love to call him because, no matter what he is doing, even if he’s in the middle of cutting someone’s hair or working in his backyard, he always picks up. He treats me as his own.
All of these men have treated me as their own. I show up as an adopted son not because I am unloved, but because I have received love in all these different forms from them.
It’s Fathers Day- and I'm finding it's not about me, but about the men God sent me so I could be a better father to you. I can’t help but think about the first time I get to honor you as a son but also as a father.
I don’t know at what age this letter will reach you. But if you are reading it and you are a dad too, and just in case I am not around, and God pulls the plug or something like that, Happy Father’s Day, Myles.
You are doing a great job.
You are what’s wanted and needed in the world.
I love you, and there's nothing you can do about it.
Love,
Daddy
These letters are a labor of love. All funds collected from writing these letters go toward Myles' college savings. A paid subscription also gives you access to these letters I write every other week- ish, where I explore fatherhood more deeply, discuss my own upbringing, and reflect on what it means to be raising a Black son.
If you can’t commit to a monthly subscription, but still want to support, here is my Buy Me a Coffee page.
And if you are on Substack, please restack this letter and recommend it so I can share this love with the world.
Let me know your thoughts:
Were you parented by people who weren’t your parents?
What feelings does Father’s Day bring up for you?
This was my first ever voice note of a long letter. Should I record more of these for Myles? Any feedback?
Check out this list called The Best Picture Books for Father’s Day by
. Even though I am bald, a favorite of mine is Hair Love by Matthew by A. Cherry and illustrated Vashti Harrison.Jalesa also makes these book & craft boxes that encourage book play, literacy, creativity, & quality time with your little one through reading and crafts. See for yourself at Tyrannosaurus Tot.
Looking for more writing from Black, Global Indigenous, and People of Color on Substack? Earlier this week Earlier this week, the Locked In community published its first issue of Unlocked | BIPOC Reads . This issue was beautifully curated by my friends
and edited by .Want more of Myles’ Letters?
These are Subscriber’s favorites:
Myles met his Grandfather in Brooklyn, NY
Read about Our first Father’s Day.
A video about beautiful backgrounds: Tell Them Where You're From.
Read about My Wife’s Love Affair - It’s exactly what you don’t think
Have you ever been Cooking in the Bathroom kind of tired?
Check out Carrying the Gift, Holding the Love
Matthew 6:25-33
Beautiful, poignant, touching...
This letter gave me goosebumps , Marc. The work you’ve done to be the father you didn’t have is so commendable. Myles is as lucky to have you as you are him