After reading the article title, the first thing that popped into my head was "Man, I'm lucky!" I have yet to meet my father, and I've been around for more than a couple of decades. My mother has told me that he has never seen me, either. I don't remember missing him, or even noticing he was missing from the picture. I am the oldest son of my mothers' three boys, whom she has raised mostly single-handedly, but with much help from our extended family.

That's why I say that I am lucky. My maternal Grandfather was my idol for the first few years of my life, before he passed on to the next realm. I can still remember the way he smelled. I remember his gravelly-voice, like the sound of a sanitation truck rumbling down the block at four o'clock in the morning, meaningful, trying to be soft and failing, yet still conveying a deep love and passion for the task at hand. That's how much of an impression he left on me. He was the embodiment of strength and loyalty, supporting a family of ten or more, depending on who was staying in the house with him and his wife of over thirty-years. He loved his wife, his family, and God, and it showed in everything he did.

My Grandfather passed, and we left his house. My mother was a young nursing student, and, needing all the help she could get, she took the invitation from my step-dad's mother to move-in with her. (My stepfather sired my two younger brothers, then skipped out on us, too!) Grandma's youngest, Uncle Roger, helped to raise us young 'tweens until I turned about thirteen. He was quite a combination of joviality and discipline. An eighth-degree black belt in karate and sci-fi aficionado, Uncle Roger loved us like we were his own boys, beating us when we needed it, but not forgetting to treat us, either!

As I grew and grew, requiring more space, my mother decided it was time for us to strike out on our own, and we lost any semblance of male leadership or mentor-ship we'd had. It took a long time for me to find replacements for Grandpa and Uncle Roger. My brother's found substitutes much quicker; they immediately found what they so desperately needed in the local gang leaders, drug peddlers, and gun traders that infected the area we lived in. It was like a prison, that's what I remember thinking and feeling, that it was like a prison. Our buildings were surrounded by black bars. The men just hung around, doing what they did, getting arrested and shot. I stayed for a couple of months, then got the bright idea to

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