YouTube "single fathers raising children", nothing.  Google it, sales pitches and sob stories. 

Here is the deal. 

Ten years ago I won residency of my son.  Won is a terrible term, if anyone "won" it was my son, but it came a  price.  His birth mother made wild claims like I wasn't his father (my son and I were then tested), she created jurisdiction disputes and of course more lies that meant time to heal when it was all through.

I have read more than I ever care to read on men being destroyed mentally after losing custody or residency of their children.  It's hell, its a prison, is worse than any person can imagine.  The possibility of it looms over your head and you can't eat, you can't sleep well and you essentially live in fear and fight off depression.

I am a lucky man.  I know that.  I have said time and again every parent should fight for their child, they'd appreciate them more.  The act of them brushing their teeth, watching them play with siblings, watching them roll on the carpet with out a care in the world... becomes priceless. 

When I fought for my son, it changed me to the core.  I swore I'd make certain the courts would be proud of allowing me (that's right I felt honored to be allowed to be my son's father) to be my son's full time father.

I did everything in my power to learn every parenting skill needed.  Not because of the courts, but because the experience taught me what I had.  And even then, perhaps the experience of feeling I could loose what was most precious to me wasn't completely the reason I wanted to be the best father.  I had my own childhood to correct.  I ...   more »

My name is nobody. That line seems to read sadly doesn’t it? It is far from it. It is in fact an important part of my life. It’s a line that empowered me. It offered me hope and it became a way of life for me.

When I was a mere boy of 14 I was in search of my identity like most early teens. While some boys were established jocks, some boys had scholastic skills that seemed unfair, and others had charisma, I had none of these at the exceptional level in which I felt I knew what I’d do with my life.

At best I had a love for music and sang in my bed at night. That is another story.

From an early age I admired men of mystery. Men that said little, or if they spoke, their words protected them. Two types of men that fit this mold where spies and detectives. Spies would always speak in public with words meant to communicate yet protect their agenda and identity. Little of their life was open on the surface. A spy lived a sad life however because those that loved them most, may never know them, including perhaps a wife. With detectives, they saw life through a different prism, and like spies their senses were sharpened to what they saw in day-to-day life, let alone situations that required finely tuned instincts. Spies had secret lives and lexicons, while detectives read secrets. These people made sense to me. I have always been drawn to those skills. These type of men lived a life where they were essentially unseen, could blend in and saw the world around them in a way other people took for granted. I admired spies and detectives because they were strong and comfortable with being, nobody. They live around us invisibly. They are nobody.