Thanksgiving night, 2010. We were hosting. Waiting for everyone to leave. I had to make a phone call.
To a good friend. A father. Like me. And a writer. Like I wanted to become.
And the author of a brand new "daddy blog". Like I was nervous about launching.
I needed support. I had the website and a few posts ready. But I had never written anything publicly. At least nothing vulnerable.
My style was the self-deprecating dad of toddler twins who "had it all together". Sarcastic, snarky recountings of parenting fails.
Sample titles:
"Is Elmo Really Your Friend?"
"This Is Why We Don't Go Out to Dinner Anymore"
"A Twelve Step Program for Binky Addiction"
"How You Will Unintentionally Become a Deadbeat Dad"
It was funny shit. I was finding my voice.
And expanding my topics.
On October 2, 2011, I wrote about my dad dying of AIDS.
A few weeks later I submitted the piece to an online magazine. They accepted it.
Explaining why, the editor said: because the personal is universal.
September 29, 2020 was 20 years since my dad died. He's the main inspiration for my work.
We all have an origin story. We all need to share it. Even if we're scared.
The personal is universal. People need to hear your story.