The Whole Man

Part 1: In Praise of Presence

To The Present Ones:

The other morning, as I was driving a familiar route to the gym, I saw a father standing at the bus stop with his daughter. It was a frigid morning, and as I passed by, I noticed this young girl and her father looked miserable, and my thought was how sweet it was that they were miserable together.

Being Miserable Together

There is an old saying, if you know it, say it with me: “misery loves company.” It’s meant to reflect how unprocessed grief and pain drag others into the mire alongside the pitiful. It often accompanies the turn of phrase “hurt people hurt people,” implying that the miserable tend to inflict misery on those they encounter and on those with whom they are in the closest relationships.

As I contemplated the father and daughter at the bus stop, I wove a story in my mind. That story was about a father gently waking his daughter on a cold morning to a hot breakfast and a hearty hug. As she prepared to go outside, he reminded her to put on her big coat, because it’s too cold to be standing outside without one. As she steps outside, she looks up at her father and says, “Will you stand out here with me?” To which the father wishes to say no, but, out of love, says yes because she asked.

While they stand there, breathing frost with every exhale, bouncing from side to side to generate warmth. They shiver and wait, miserably, in silence, with a steady assurance and a protective presence.

This is the story I made up on my way to the gym that morning after seeing them there.

A love story.

A story where a Black father willingly steps into misery to be with the daughter he loves. He’s present in both the warmth of the home and the frigidity of the world.

Unfortunately, when people think of the Black father, that’s not the story they tend to imagine. They imagine a selfish man who abandons his family for no other reason than his inability to stay faithful, often viewed as lazy, noncommittal, and absent, unwilling to enter the daily joys and pains of life.

That narrative has warped our imagination and exhausted us, leaving too many bearing an undue burden. While the American family does have an epidemic of fatherlessness, too many good men are lumped in with those who are absent.

The story of the man and his daughter is the story I imagined, because it’s the story I’ve experienced and seen. I dream in color because I’ve seen the rich experiences of others. I see men of every background every day providing a loving and gentle presence as fathers, mentors, brothers, and leaders.

They read bedtime stories, brush little teeth, untangle thick hair, and twist it into bouncy plaits (Black women are going to read this and say you braid plaits, not twist them, but we girl dads do things a little differently).

I dream of the man who wakes up early in the morning, serving as an alarm clock and a short-order cook, ensuring that everyone is bathed and well-fed. Some men wait in the cold, while others warm up the car as they sing Disney songs or worship music on the way to school, offering wisdom on navigating the complexities of childhood or adolescence. This is presence. This is what it means to show up.

I know many men like this, regardless of their relationship status, their title, or their season of life, who show up daily. Not every family looks the same, and just because a family doesn’t fit our expectations doesn’t mean it’s broken. It’s just different.

So here’s to the men who do traditional and the ones who do different. Here’s to the fathers who keep the weekly lunch date with their daughters. To the men who clean cuts and bandage boo-boos. To the ones who read books, make breakfast, drop off at school, create meaningful experiences, and those who endure misery together.

Because the man at the bus stop isn’t just a father; he’s a leader, paving the way for his children, laying a foundation for their lives to be built upon, and instilling identity and a deep sense of worth and value. And the world needs him to know that.

But being present in misery and merriment like that doesn’t just happen. It’s cultivated. It’s chosen, over and over again, in the cold and in the warmth, in the easy seasons and the ones that seem to cost you everything. And if we’re going to see a new generation of men who show up that way, as fathers, as leaders, as brothers, as sons—we need models. We need a picture of what this actually looks like when it’s fully lived out, and we need the encouragement of each other to endure.

So over the next few weeks, that’s exactly what we’re going to explore. Because the story of the present, holistic man isn’t new, it’s ancient. And the men who’ve walked this road before us have left us everything we need to follow.

To the men who are present in all of life, and to those who desire to be!

Your brother in the fight,

Danny Brister, Jr.