Baby Daddy: The Soul of a Man

By Bijan Sebastian Williams

I don’t think I will ever be in this position again! Was what Bryen thought as he sat looking over the custody paperwork. Bryen on the outside is successful. He is a part of a thriving Psychological practice. He lives in a posh living area for black professionals. Plus he has written a book, all of this does not bring him happiness though. Bryen struggles with the mistakes of his past, and the fear that he will make them again. In the works to stay in his daughters life, Bryen fights tooth and nail. With the constant reminder that relationships, no matter the guise, is hard work. Join Bryen as he fights to be a better father. Follow along with him, as he struggles with everyday life, in the hope that one day he can make his children proud. Hoping to get past the obstacles that three women, who claimed to have cared for him, have put in front of him. That plus the constant visitations from the other world makes for an interesting adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9780359219667

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Baby Daddy: The Soul of a Man

BabyDaddyBijanSebastianWilliams

This book is dedicated to the memory of a very special young lady

Devin, tho your life was so short. You touched so many, your sister your brothers, your mother and your boyfriend. Not to mention through our brief interaction this author, you were and still are an amazing star burning brightly to guide your loved ones. A star your mother communes with nightly… but you already know this. Much love on your new adventure and we will see each other soon.

Also, to My amazing and beautiful Daughter I love you, munchkin and am so proud of you!

~ Love Always Daddy

Prologue

I

am starting this journal because, truly I don't know where I am in life. I am sincerely trying to start over in my life right now. I am 36 years old and I have lived several lives up until now. I was born in a shack in a very rural part of Jamaica. In the winter, if there is truly a winter there. The tale of my birth has never been one of note except to my parents. Several doctors, who were of note, had told my mother for the longest time that she would never carry a child, let alone carry one to term. God and I had other ideas however. I came into the world very much as normally as I was able too.

I do not remember the actual details of my birth, nor of my first few years but then again who does? One of the strange things about me is that when I was born there was something wrong with my legs. I actually spent the first two years or so of my life in braces. I learned very quickly how to get them off though and my mother had spent the better part of those years trying to get me to wear them, she finally gave up. I was also a very sickly child I spent the vast majority of my first years in and out of the hospital with croup, a disease of the respiratory system.

That was the beginning of my first life. I was not anything special other than my intelligence; I have an IQ somewhere in the range of 180. I actually remember one time my father had me, that there was an altercation with my sandals we argued for some time on whether I had them on the right foot or not. I actually did but, the argument went on until he and I made it to grandma's house. I did have them on the right foot it is the one argument that has stayed with me my whole life. 

I lived my first life up until I was six; it was fairly straightforward and cheerful. My parents were not married when I was born in fact; they didn't get that part right until I was almost five years old. At first, my mother and I lived with my grandmother. Life was good trying to play with everything I could get my hands on. Pots and pans I only have the vaguest memory of the toys my family lavished on me. I was not very much interested in them. I always figured that I could make better than the toy makers could, I think. I was very into taking things apart, I didn't actually learn to put them back together until it stopped being cute in my house.

Then I learned to be sneaky. I was born in the latter half of the seventies. October 28th to be exact there was very little going on. We still had Elvis for two years and the Vietnam War was soon to be a distant memory. Although the times were different, they really stayed the same. Segregation was still prevalent although behind closed doors and Afros and Dreads were still in style. I on the other hand was too young to remember any of this. I really cannot remember much but, that it all seemed to fly by. Innocence often does.

During this time my brother was also born, I did not like the prospect of sharing my mother with anyone let alone some one that had as much claim on her heart as I. We spent many years at odds until the incident involving a water heater. It was the first time that I could remember that we had indoor plumbing and as my brother swung from the pipe that connected it.  The pipe broke. I thought that my parents would have heard the loud sound that it made when it burst so I quickly went to playing with some obscure toy.

I soon noticed that there was no one coming to investigate so I went up to tell on him. When my father came back from downstairs, he was soaked. To the point of making me believe that, the basement was completely flooded. He beat the both of us senseless. I wondered aloud that since for the first time I had nothing to do with the crime why I was punished my father told me that it was because I had not told fast enough. I decided right then that I would put my brain to helping my brother get away with as much as I could. In fact, that is the day my brother and I became best friends. 

We spent more time than a little bit getting away with all sorts of things, some of which I truly regret. When I was young, probably nine or ten that was when innocence died. I began to go with my parents to visit my family in Georgia, Rockmart, Georgia to be exact. There we had family out the wazoo. Cousins upon cousins. And my brother although only five years old had already become my partner in crime. We had learned very early that tattling on each other only brought punishment on both of us. Therefore, as I had said we began to get into mischief together.

My family in Georgia was different however. Freedom was the key. We played almost all day and stayed up late into the night dancing and laughing. I was always under foot; you see I had been raised predominantly around adults, so I was always curious about the older kids. I began hanging around them riding the motorcycle and all. That is where my love for motorcycles started, I think. My life however, began to lose its innocence then. I started to hang with my cousin who was more adept to being around older kids. He was more used to it that was the truth. I had one cousin that began to take a shine to me.

He was always there we would talk and even play games with so many made up rules that the originals would get lost I loved my older cousin. Even though he was my friend or, so I thought. Black was my counterpart. We were exact duplicates at least in my mind. We wanted to do the same things we wanted more in life than what we had even at that age we had big dreams. However, my cousin was my link to the adult world. You will notice I don't use his name here and in truth I think I forgot it on purpose. He and I would always find ourselves alone either in the woods or in the family clubhouse or somewhere like that. I never knew that it was part of a pattern. One day he had me in the bathroom and he kept looking away for some reason then he just came out and said it.

Bryen I have something to show you.

I was puzzled because we didn't keep any secrets, or so I thought. He then began to unzip his pants. He pulled out the largest thing I had ever seen. I had never really paid much attention to that part of my anatomy before then. In truth that was where I get my inferiority complex about my genitalia. In that moment he then began to stroke it and said.

Isn't it nice? Do you want to see it? Come on you can touch it.

I did. I had never seen one that big. Not that I could ever remember, and it was slowly getting bigger. Once I touched it, it got a lot bigger and stiffer quicker. A slow moan escaped his lips. I jerked my hand away something told me what we were doing was wrong but then he said 

You can taste it. It is fine with me put your sweet little mouth around it and taste it.

In truth I was more than freaked out and I just wanted it to be over. Something told me that this was wrong, and I had no clue that he was using me to quote unquote get off.

I don't want to.  

That was all I said and his eyes flashed anger he then tried beguiling me into it. He would tell me that I was being a good boy and that if I wanted to touch it some more that would be fine. Then he began to force it a little more than he finally said.

I want you to taste it. Put it in your mouth Bryen.

I struggled but finally I just did it. It was the most horrifying thing that I had ever done. I tried to spit it out, but he held my head. All trace of his nice behavior had disappeared he held it there and pushed it further in until I began to gag. I quickly pushed it out and sat there trying to get my breath. I was dizzy and ashamed and then he sat next to me put his around me and said.

"Now this is going to make us closer. If you want, I have some money for the Snow-cone lady and I'll get you one if you don't tell anyone. We are going to have so much fun together. Bryen, I know you are leaving in a couple of days, but we can have more special time, before you leave.

Remember don't tell. No one would ever understand."

I began to cry, and he held me for a while then the thought of that snow cone began to coax me out of my melancholy mood. I told him I wanted the snow cone then. He said ok and led me out of the bathroom. He then said.

Let me find my money and then we will go get it. You go around that corner and I will go around this one. That way no one will know that we were together.

I obeyed but all I could think about was that snow cone. I just wanted to forget what happened. I never wanted to remember that bathroom again. I actually ran up to grandma's house and sat for a while by myself. I should have told on him, I should have gone straight to my parents and told, but I didn't.

I was ashamed and even worse it had left me feeling more than a little dirty. I didn't ever get that snow cone mind you. He disappeared until later that day. When I asked him about it, he made up some story about not being able to find me, and that she was closed. I wasn't very much fun the next few days we had several more encounters that seemingly progressed, but really, I don't want to put them down. My family assumed that I was just down because we were leaving. I just let them think that.  The abuse lasted for some years before he grew tired of me. It progressed to anal penetration sometime after that luckily, he never achieved orgasm. However, he came close several times.

I don't know if that has anything to do with the fact that I hate being touched unless I give permission or why I was so clingy in my hetero relationships since but being raped repeatedly for so long as a child has to do with some of my feelings. The fact is I have always gravitated towards women as friends. I know that now. I just wished I had when I was younger that may have saved my relationship with Kaira.  That is later on though. The fact is that when I was eleven, I tried to kill myself. I still could not handle the stress of the abuse and I wasn't too sure how else to handle it. I just could not handle the homosexual sex with my cousin Karam and I was not sure, how that was supposed to make me feel. I thought Karam was my mate and it hurt even more that he would abuse me that way. You see I had no idea what child abuse was. Let alone what to do if I was a victim of it. My parents were from a time in which you just grinned and bore it. In truth, my parents were ill equipped to handle it. Much like I was.

My parents would try to come up with new ways to punish me, since I was growing and in answer to the abuse, I was becoming more obstinate and mischievous. They tried to quell, what my grandmother called ‘The evil in that boy.’ To no avail. They tried to come up with more brutal ways to punish my brother and me. It was all for naught, I began to block out the pain from the beatings. I even began to relish them, because I felt that what was happening to me was my fault in some way.

I even had begun tormenting my brother. I would go out of my way to hurt him. I know it was sick, but any form of abuse is wrong, and it can lead to the abuse to become an abuser. I was more than a little messed up. By the grace of GOD is the only way that I have been able to get this far. Moreover, by his grace I will continue to live.

I have to get back to the suicide attempts. I had been an exceptional student until sixth grade and then I started to notice girls. I noticed urges that I associated with the abuse and that made it even worse. You see, when you are a child that has been through what I had, it leaves you with some much fucked up views of how life is.

I didn't understand what was happening to me, my parents would try to explain it, but truthfully, I blamed them for what happened to me, so I had stopped listening to them. I would answer their questions but then I began to just try to fade away into myself.

The problem that had caused this was I didn't truly like myself. That coupled with the abuse. I actually hated myself. I hated everything about myself from the shape of my nose to the color of my skin. I hated my body and how it was shaped; I hated the fact that as a child I had developed mastitis, a disorder that promotes the development of breasts in young boys, even when I was at my skinniest. I hated everything about me in general. Spending that much time with yourself can do some serious harm to oneself. I began listening to heavy metal. Wearing black all the time and having some very dark thoughts. 

One day I just snapped. I couldn't take the constant teasing I received at the hands of the neighborhood kids or my class mates the feeling of being alone at home or the feeling that no one loved me. This included me. I had tried it the first time just to see if I could do it. I tried hanging myself; I tried pills, cutting my wrists, throwing myself off of the roof of the house. I tried a lot of things and more than once. I wanted to die, I wanted that death more than anything else in the world. You see depression is a lifelong fight you never really get over it. I want too, but there are days when all I can think of are the things I won't ever have.

I think back when I was young and don't see happy moments or that I was going to lose them. As you will see, I have lived a very good life I have accomplished some things most will never do. I don't see it that way I look at what I have lost because of them. Now don't start worrying though I fight on every day to learn to love and be loved to enjoy life and what it has to offer. I am a fighter and one day I will be fine. 

So, you hear that Kaira? Now looking at me you would never find out what is inside. I am tall, 6'6" I am in good shape. I am semi successful. I even have a beautiful daughter that means the world to me. I can't even begin to tell you how much. That being said, the suicide attempts never took anyone more by surprise than my mother and father.

They were not equipped to handle it. They tried to keep an eye on me while the drugs worked their way through my system. Then they took me to see someone. Not really what I wanted to do, and I drew back into myself again. I lied to the therapist and never once brought up the abuse. I learned then most people will leave you alone if you lie to them. He was nice enough but the fact that I never had much trust for whites, well at that time, led me to not wholly trust this one. Now what I have not said is that I am pretty astute. I even tested in order to see if I could be a FBI profiler. Nevertheless, all the tests and academic achievements well they couldn't fix me.

I was very interested in my own undoing more than anything else. 

It was shortly before that I had tried killing myself by getting run over by a car. I never wanted anyone to feel bad for me to be gone, so I planned it out. I stole my bike; my grandfather had warned me off of it. I soon set out to get it done. One day while my father was away at work, I rode out into the street and was hit but it didn't kill me. It only sent me careening over a rock ledge that ended up busting my knee completely in two. On the way to the hospital in the ambulance, the guy riding with me wanted to know why

I had done such an idiotic thing.  I pretended that it was just to get away with riding my bike. He just shook his head.

There really wasn't much to say. I have a sneaking suspicion that he knew what I was doing, and my grandfather did too. God rest his soul. He was the most understanding and loving man I have ever met. I wished mostly because of him that I was more able to be with people wholly. I am working on it now, but one day I will be able to make you proud Paw-Paw. What I neglected to tell you is that my mother was already in the hospital. You see she suffers from what's known as Chrohn's disease it isn't highly fatal that I know of. The points that have made my mother’s life miserable is that it's very rare in those not of Jewish heritage. Yet, she has it. My mother actually spent more time in the hospital than I care to admit. 

My life was bad, or so I thought, but her story is really a tale worth hearing. I was taken to what was known as St. Jehosephat's hospital and there my knee was replaced. Not much to this story and in truth I can't remember much. I was on crutches for a short period. I ignored the doctor's advice and began walking on it early however I was back at Sacred Heart elementary school with the brace on.

It didn't really bother me all that much because like I said I spent the vast majority of my formative years in braces. Moreover, so it went, I was in a school play and actually showed some aptitude in acting. That was not to be realized, however. The only real thing I can remember from school is the trouble I got into.

You see although I was apt at mathematics, I hated it. So, as with all things I didn't like I ignored it. I learned but, at such a far quicker pace than others, I just began to ignore entire classes. I didn't see the need for homework so, I didn't do it. I was an apt pupil, but a horrid student. You see all I needed was to do something once and it stuck so I was learning but my grades would still suffer because I didn't apply it. My test scores were always high but with the lack of homework I was getting only C's. My teachers were always wondering why this was, they even enlisted my parents help. I just continued on.

I didn't plan on living long, so I asked myself, why worry? I excelled at reading, writing, and science, but gym and mathematics were a bore. Gym mostly because I was antisocial and wasn't very good with others. Math was because that is the only real subject that requires that the work be done on the page in front of you. I have never liked doing my work out on the page. I can usually come up with the correct answer without the work. Hey, the teacher is in charge however, and I have learned now that work must be shown.

It really is to be understood that my parents did the best they could. I am however, a strong-willed person. While I was experiencing my dark period, I felt I had learned very little. There was really very little to learn from, except to think and try and learn from my mistakes. It is very hard to go back to be a solitary person when all you have ever done has been to be around people. I truly hate being alone but that is also another tale for later. As school progressed, I found little ways to keep my mind off dying. 

I broke my leg again this time the other and although my knee never needed to be replaced it took quite a bit longer before I was out of the brace This time. I tried wrestling for a while, but the true trouble didn't start until about sixth grade. One day my father came into our house and announced that we were moving to America. I really didn't have all that many friends so at least I wouldn't miss them. Now to tell you the truth I don't like change. Up until then I had been in a very structured Catholic school, my father however, told me that my brother and I would have to be put into a public-school system up there. 

Not a problem for me, I had always had a problem with organized religion. I was soon to find out though, that Public school is another story. It's not really like anyone could prepare you for the change but, it is something to think about. Coming from fifth grade into the sixth grade is hard enough but to change schools also that is something that most people would never be able to handle. Sorry to say in that instance I am most like everyone else. I did not make the change easily. I resisted which was the worst thing I could ever do.

I hated my new school and wanted nothing to do with it. Until I met my teacher, Mr. Jansom, he was the nicest, most understanding and intelligent man I had ever met.  He was also a very strict disciplinarian. He was also the first white person that wasn't a nun that I ever had dealings with. 

Something I needed. I learned an incredible amount from him and he was one of the first adults that I trusted in a long time. Now I don't want you to think that this is a pity party because it isn't. It is actually the story that in writing it, I am hoping that you in reading it, can realize that you aren't alone.

You see in order to share in my triumphs you will need to know about my past. You will also need to know what eventually led me to become a man. The man I am trying to become is even better yet. Mr. Jansom mind you was a veteran. He had served the US in some war. I never really paid attention.

He did however, tell us some quips that continue to speak to me today. The one in which I most remember was this that Platoon was the most realistic portrayal of the Vietnam experience ever. That has always stayed with me throughout all these years why would anyone ever think that that would stay with me?

I don't have any interests in Wars or history that has much to do with American history. Now you understand that I know that my words may never reach the masses or that I may be dead a long time before these words ever see print.

I have to put them down because if my words offer even a slight amount of comfort to someone out there then they have served the purpose that GOD set out when he gave man the ability to communicate.  Now I should return to the story. As I tried to make the adjustment to life in the public-school system, I came upon a new thing, one which would take over my whole world for a very long period of time. Erica Walstone, she was the very first girl I ever really noticed. Now if you ever talk to someone that dates outside of their race you will notice that there are times when the person notices that they don't feel things for their own race that they do for others.

Now, I have never felt anything but appreciation for Black women. No one who has been