I never thought I would become a father. As a single man in my thirties, it wasn't part of my plan. Then I met Jayden.
He was seven years old, bouncing between foster homes, labeled as "difficult" by a system that had failed him. I was volunteering at a community center when he walked up to me and asked if I could teach him to shoot hoops. Something in his eyes—a mixture of hope and hurt—changed everything.
The adoption process was long and challenging. There were home studies, interviews, and moments of doubt. "Are you sure you can handle this?" people would ask. "A single Black man adopting a Black boy with behavioral issues?" But I knew what Jayden needed wasn't a perfect parent. He needed someone who wouldn't give up on him.
The first year was hard. Jayden tested every boundary, waiting for me to abandon him like everyone else had. But I stayed. Through the tantrums, the tears, the sleepless nights—I stayed.
The breakthrough came on a random Tuesday. Jayden had a nightmare and came to my room, something he had never done before. "Can I sleep here?" he whispered. "I'm scared."
"Always," I said.
That night, as he fell asleep beside me, I realized that fatherhood isn't about biology. It's about choice. Every day, I choose Jayden. And every day, he's choosing to trust me a little more. He's fifteen now, an honor roll student who wants to be a social worker. He says he wants to help kids like him find families like ours.
I didn't become a father the traditional way. But I became a father in the way that mattered most—by showing up and never letting go.