photo by Caroline Smith

My birthday has, for the last few years, been an emotionally conflicted time for me. I’m not sure what it is about another rotation around the sun that makes me want to both hide like a hermit while hoping that people take the initiative to celebrate me. I think on some level, I recluse to avoid disappointment. After all, if, on that day, nobody sees me, I can at least say that it was because I decided I did not want to be seen. 

I turned 35 this year, and, per my usual, I kept a very low profile. I took the day off from work, kept my phone on silent, and removed myself from social media. This year, however, my attempt to disappear was thwarted. 

First, Christian called me. He left me a voicemail saying that he loved me, and he was happy that we were friends. He had left New Haven for New York only days prior, and it was clear that we were both still feeling the weight of the distance. Then, Gideon sent me a video on the Marco Polo app with his 2 year-old daughter, my goddaughter, Jubilee, saying that he was excited to see me, as we had planned for me to visit that upcoming weekend. He said he wanted to make sure his daughter remembered me. Frank was next. He FaceTimed me and while I attempted to screen the call a few times, he was persistent. When I finally picked up the phone, I was met with a freestyle birthday rap that made me smile for what felt like the first time that day. He insisted that I celebrate myself on my birthday. Come to think about it, he insists I celebrate myself on my birthday every year.

My mentor, Pastor Council, gave me a call shortly after. He asked questions and showed interest about how I was doing, what I was learning, and where I was experiencing the divine. He gave me advice I did not ask for. I never ask for his advice. I think, more than the advice, it was his insistence to give wisdom, to contribute like a father to a son, that made me feel loved. Last, towards the end of the evening, I received a voice note from Ross, who, in the middle of a hiatus in the woods he took as a mode of achieving some enlightenment, felt pressed to share with me what he was learning about himself, and to reassure me that he wanted me in his life. I had only known Ross for a little over a year at that point, but I knew that he meant what he said.

Christian Shaboo. Gideon Emmanuel. Frank Brady. Pastor David Council. Ross Pennock. On a day where I thought I wanted nothing more than to be invisible, I was reminded by these men that I was seen, and that I was worthy of the celebration that I craved, even if I claimed otherwise. These men pursued me that day, and it wasn’t the first time they had chased me down.

Christian and I have been friends for close to 10 years now. We worked for the same organization, on the same team, for six years. In our working together, we both realized that we were on a similar journey, aimed at processing how to live out a more healthy, well-rounded masculinity, one where we could fully feel all of our emotions, and where we were safe to practice a different kind of love. The safe space we were creating between each other ultimately led Christian to ask if I wanted to start an organization, if I wanted to build something together that would help other men think through and do what we were thinking through and doing for one another. We started that organization, Men Up, which is dedicated to helping men of all ages create personal definitions of masculinity, ones not rooted in the chains of patriarchy. Christian has always been someone who takes initiative, who calls first, who affirms first, who says “I love you” first. He suggested that we practice telling men that we love them, by first becoming comfortable with saying it to one another. We surprise people with how often we share that sentiment. I am unsure about a lot in my life. I am very clear about Christian.

Gideon and I met because we both cared about the same boy, a young man named Dayqwaun, who, in different ways, we had both become responsible for. By the time we had met, Gideon had taken far more responsibility for the young man’s well-being than I ever did, and yet, he approached me asking about how he could be a better mentor. What flourished was a friendship grounded not only in creating space for young men to learn how to love themselves, but also our shared desire to know the divine and make the divine known. Gideon eventually met his wife, Erin; shortly after they were married, they moved to Boston where they had a little girl, Jubilee Emmanuel. On my birthday, 3 years ago, Gideon called me and gave me what might be the best birthday present I have ever received. He asked me if I would be his daughter’s godfather. I cried, said yes, and then sat in silence as we both took in the magnitude of the request. In that moment, I was clear that he wanted me to be in his life just as much as I wanted to be in his. 

Frank is the kind of friend you don’t see as often as you would like, but when you see him, he will make it abundantly clear just how much joy you bring to his life. Frank jokes around with me so often that sometimes I can’t stand it — and yet, his presence, and our friendship, is grounded in a deep sharing, spaces of reflection where we talk honestly about our fears and insecurities. Frank is the kind of friend who says everything with intentionality, and so when you get a yes from him, you know that it is grounded in truth. This is what happened when, during one of the darkest periods in my life, I needed a place to lay my head while I figured out my next steps. I asked Frank if his home could be that place, and he told me he needed to think about it. When he came back and said yes, I experienced some of the deepest gratitude I had ever felt. In a time where everything else was falling apart around me, Frank gave me a place to lay my head for three months. Those three months allowed me to see who he was when he was alone, and our bond became tighter as a result. I can say with deep fidelity that had it not been for Frank Brady, my life could look vastly different.

Pastor David Council is, without a doubt, the most influential man to have ever loved me. While my biological father was not present in my life, my experience never felt like one of fatherlessness because, even though he didn’t have to, Pastor Council took responsibility for me. At my mother’s request, Pastor Council took me under his wing, and was my primary source of verbal affirmation, wisdom, and guidance pertaining to manhood. His expectations for me were sky high, but his willingness to demonstrate love to me was even higher. It was Pastor David who would check up on me when I struggled in school, who would become frustrated when he saw I was not living to my potential, who comforted me when I was afraid of myself or others, and who talked to me about how to manifest love for myself and the world. He cried when I went away to college. He was the first man to ever tell me that he loved me, the first Black man to affirm my lovability, my fundamental belovedness. He was, and is, my spiritual father. In a world that is committed to drilling scarcity and insecurity into young boys, and especially young Black boys, Pastor David Council was an ever present counter to the world’s narrative.

Ross is the kind of person who seems as if he woke up one day and decided that he was going to make sure that you never forgot just how amazing you actually are. I met Ross through a friend and former coworker, and it seemed as though our connection was instantaneous. We would meet up to play board games and talk about what it meant for us to love the world well. In those conversations, Ross always seemed committed to making sure I was abundantly clear about my capacity to do good, and when your friend consistently affirms your value, and your ability to contribute good things, you begin to believe it. It wasn’t long before Ross and I expressed a commitment to do life together, and not long after that, he moved to California. I was convinced that while we would still be friends, we would not be able to hold the bond we were creating when he was still here. But then he sent me that voice note assuring me of our bond, and that he would pursue me. It was the voice note that reminded me of the men who had chased me in love.

There is a deeply held myth in our society that says that men are pursuers, and not the pursued. I thank God that the men who reached out to me on my birthday think otherwise. I have everlasting gratitude for the men who have come looking for me even, and especially when I do not want to be found. I am grateful for the ways that they are able to see past the façade and remind me that I am indeed fundamentally worthy of all the love, all the belonging, and all the connection that I desire.

I think I will throw myself a party for my 36th birthday.

Learn more about George at Collab and LinkedIn

To reach George directly: georgeblack203@gmail.com

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