Everyone has an opinion about King James and his son,
Bronny.

last night,
they made their debut as a father/son duo on the NBA season opener.
all of my straight friends roll their eyes when i’ve asked them about these two.
apparently to them and others on the internet,
bronny is not good at ball and should have went in another career direction.
it got me to thinking about fathers and the weight of their expectations of following in their footsteps.

My own sperm donor would’ve been over the moon if I picked up soccer or cricket,
just like he did.

the idea of me following in his toxic-masculine footsteps would’ve made him so proud.
this is the same jackal who told me that when i was a baby,
and his pack of jackals asked him if he was sure i was his,
he pulled down my diaper…

…to show his friends my dick.

“Yup,
this my son!”

he was so proud while i was cringing.
my father was known for his dick and sexual skills.
unfortunately,
when i didn’t want to follow in his sports dreams and even worse…

I told him I was gay and although he claims he accepted it,
he lied and told me that he cried and it hurt him deeply.
Not only that,
lied and said someone he knows saw me in America and told him I was gay.
I don’t know anyone my father knows out here.

that is when i stopped fuckin with him heavy.
it is one thing that my grandmother kept him from me…

It’s another when I’m trying to make a connection and he couldn’t be honest with accepting me for my truth

sometimes i wonder…
what would life have been like if he got custody of me and i had to follow his path?
would i have ended up living like a DL baller wolf like many i have written about?
would i have been better off playing the role he imagined for me?

Or would I have just lost myself entirely for a sperm donor who would have only appreciated me being like him?

lowkey: i pray my life turns out well because it seems like i was set up for failure.
these people in my family did not know what to do with a bastard.