The night was filled with laughter and liquor bottles. My mom was wearing one of her best fake smiles. She's not a drinker.

It was New Years eve 1988.

Both my dad's sister and brother were over to celebrate the coming of the new year. "We're almost in the 90's," someone said in a drunken slur. For as long as I can remember, my mother always disliked my step dad's drinking habits. I wasn't too fond of them myself. He would always transform into the loving and caring TV dad, which was quite the opposite from his everyday grumpy self.
On that New Years, my Aunt Debra decided to make every one hug each other; and by that time my dad was pretty much well past the legal limit for drunk. Even then, he was still hesitant to give his three boys a hug. It sounds ridiculous, right? At the time, my two brothers and I did not want to hug him either.

As the night went on my aunt got drunker. The drunker she got, the more she insisted we hug. The first victim was my youngest brother Rodney. Poor boy, he never saw it coming. The next was Henry Jr. He was my dad's oldest child. He was also the worst behaved. Both hugs looked to be the most uncomfortable hugs my two little brothers had ever experienced in their lives. For nearly the rest of the night, I spent hiding and ducking. Everything was going smooth until my drunken aunt snuck me from behind.

"Alright, we got one more hug to do," she blurted out. Her breath nearly scorched the top of my head. It was my turn. My little heart began to pound hard like a bass drum. Each pulse sent a wave of nervousness throughout my entire body. Within seconds my palms were saturated in sweat. I had never came close to hugging this man. "Does it have to be now," I thought to myself. NO! His beer and cigarette infested breath caused me to curl my nose. My arms wouldn't allow me to embrace him. It was without a doubt the driest and most uncomfortable hug I had ever felt in my life.
    A true story.

The purpose of "The Hug".

We as black men shouldn't portray the image of a kind and loving father only when we're in a drunken state, or when it's convenient. If you are in fact the 'strong brother' that 'takes care of your kids,' then it shouldn't be a problem to show your child or children how much you care. It shouldn't be at a convenient time. It should be all the time.

Over all, many Black children in today's society don't often have a strong and dedicated father. So they often grow up not knowing how to deal with emotions or restrictions.

We as black men know this, and see this shameful act as it oozes out into society at a slow but gradual pace. The many problems black men face today started within the home. The question is 'Why do we allow this ungodly act to persist? Why do we, as descendants of great kings and warriors, desert our own children today? Why do we say 'forget it I just can't deal with that…B,' when referring to the mother of our seed or seeds?

When something as detrimental as abandonment of royalty is occurring, one has to look to a different place.

Our African ancestors of many years ago had very strong Alpha males within each tribe. This is true because in tribes of any kind, there has to be strong leadership. In a pack of wolves, there is the Alpha wolf being the leader, and the other members of the pack follow his lead. If the Alpha were to step down or lose his position, there would be another member to take his place, and so on. Just like the wolf pack, our genealogy bestows that same strength within us. In order to bring that strength back to our community, it starts in the home.

The image of the Black Alpha Male today is of a Jay-Z or Nelly. Not to take anything away from the two, but our children need a tangible, more realistic person to take on the responsibility.

Show your child, or the child that you are raising how much you care; and if you don't care, you should, because our legacy depends on it. It's not a myth, or a rumor; our heritage is in jeopardy, and if we as a people don't start taking care of our future, then who will?

The Black Man as we know him could be gone tomorrow. If you don't think it's true, then I suggest that you do your research. Check out the statistics on AIDS, or the percentage of black males in any prison. Look at the high school dropouts in your community. The next time you see a drug dealer ask him why he deals drugs instead of holding down a job like a real man should. It's not only his fault for dealing drugs, because the majority of his customers are black, and his own family. "My daddy is my best customer," once said a friend of mine. It's sad, but it's so often, so true.

As I conclude this article, I hope that it will be heart felt by at least 5% of my critics. If 5% of you all can feel my words, then please show this to at least 5% of your Black friends. We must get off of the bullshit, and 'Man up,' y'all.

Anthony L. Kelly Sr. anthony.l.kelly@us.army.mil
http://www.myspace.com/hrcobra