I’m feeling sadder and more aggravated today than I did yesterday. I’m not sure why.

Maybe it’s because Father’s Day is another day that reminds me of something I’ve lost. Actually, you can’t lose something you never had, right?

I have never met my biological father. I know who he is and have talked to him on the phone a few times, the first time when I was 26 years old. He told me some bullshit story about how he didn’t know my mother was pregnant with me at first. Then he told me my grandfather told him he would take care of me and raise me and he, my biological, was fine with that so he let my grandfather do it.

What kind of man is happy to let another man raise his child when he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself? No kind. Because that’s what boys do, not men. Actually, scratch that part about my biological being capable. He clearly wasn’t capable of raising me and I’m glad he didn’t. Him not raising me is the only gift he ever gave me.

My first memory of my biological is him calling my grandparent’s house and my grandmother telling him not to call the house again or she would kill him. When I was growing up, lots of people blamed my grandmother for “keeping my father out of my life” and told me I should “give him a chance” and listen to “his side of the story.”

If this isn’t the epitome of sexist, misogynistic, patriarchal bullshit, I don’t know what is. These assholes would rather blame a woman, my grandmother, for “keeping my father out of my life” while she was doing a fantastic job raising me than call a “man,” my biological, what he is: a deadbeat father who didn’t, and doesn’t, give a fuck about anybody but his own raggedy ass. These people had more sympathy for a man they didn’t know than they did for a 50 year old retired woman taking on the responsibility of raising a child that wasn’t hers.

Well, guess what jerk offs? It turns out my grandmother was right. My biological father ain’t shit. She was 100% justified in keeping him away from me and out of my life. As you can see, I get angry about this every time I think about it.

I’m also really aggravated and frustrated today because I’m trying to make my life more than what it is and nothing I do seems to be moving me in that direction. Lots of people look at my life and think I’ve accomplished a lot, and I have, but I still want more. Sometimes I wish I could be satisfied with just going to work, coming home, heating up my frozen dinner and eating it in front of the TV. But that’s just not who I am.

I want to write, produce and direct my own television show and movies. I want to publish a book. Once I finish writing this, I’m going to work on my book again. I haven’t touched it in over six months. I found out one of my friends has already finished one book and has a complete rough draft of another. Once I heard that, I knew I needed to get back on the ball. When my grandmother died, I decided I’d give myself a year to grieve and not force myself to work on any of my creative projects. Well, a year has passed and I need to start being creative again.

If I can’t have a career in entertainment, I’d settle for owning my own company that makes t-shirts, mugs, etc. But I don’t know how likely this is either. I shared the “Proud Angry Black Woman” t-shirt I made everywhere: I shared it on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Patreon, this blog, and people “liked it,” retweeted it and shared it, yet not a single person has bought one. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I started making t-shirts because a colleague of mine has made good money doing it, but I guess I just don’t have the knack for it. Or maybe I just need to give it more time.

Either way, I know I have to keep pushing. Anything worth having is the result of hard work. I’m going to keep working towards my goals. And even if I never reach them, at least I’ll know I never stopped trying to reach them. I hope you keep working toward your goals too. May we all make our dreams come true one day.