My time

As a toddler, Trey went to a home daycare. Janice was the best. An older woman who had run daycare out of her home for years. Plenty of room inside and out. Trey loved going there and never wanted to leave.

One day I picked him up and she told me he bit another little girl.

Without thinking, I grabbed his arm and bit him back. Not enough to hurt him badly, but enough to make the point. When he cried, I asked, “Are you going to bite ever again?”

“No ma’am,” he said.

Yes, I was hard on him. I felt like I had to be. I was raising him alone. I couldn’t depend on anyone but myself.

From the moment he could talk, he said “sir” and “ma’am.” That was my rule. It wasn’t how I was raised, it was something I required from him out of respect.

I set expectations early. I knew one day he would be bigger than me. And I would still need him to respect me. Especially knowing he didn’t have a father consistently teaching him how to become a man.

I had no idea how to raise a boy into a man.

But I was going to try like hell.