Who Teaches a Boy to Be a Man When His Father Isn't There?

The power of mentorship, brotherhood, and showing up

There are some lessons a boy is expected to know before anybody ever sits him down to teach him. How to carry himself. How to love. How to handle anger. How to be a man. But what happens when the person you thought would teach you those things isn't there?

For me, that question isn't theoretical. It's part of my story.

Growing Up Before I Was Ready

My father has been incarcerated for much of my life. Growing up without him meant learning early that there were things I couldn't simply turn to my dad and ask. I watched my mother work, struggle, cry, and still find a way to keep going. She was doing everything she could to give us a future, even when life wasn't giving her much room to breathe.

As the oldest, I felt a responsibility to be the man of the house before I understood what being a man actually meant. I was trying to become someone my family could lean on while I was still a little boy who needed somebody to lean on, too.

My mother taught me perseverance, sacrifice, ambition, and what it looks like to keep showing up when you're exhausted. I'll always carry that with me. But loving and appreciating my mother doesn't mean pretending I didn't feel the absence of my father.

I missed ordinary things: learning how to shave, change a tire, manage money, play ball, and handle difficult emotions. More than any single lesson, I missed having a man there to ask when I didn't know what to do.

The Men Who Showed Up

One thing I've learned is that fatherhood isn't only about biology. Sometimes guidance comes from people who don't have to show up for you but choose to anyway.

Mr. Brandon showed me what Black male leadership and professionalism could look like. He didn't just offer advice from a distance. He checked in, made time for lunch, and helped me see possibilities for myself that I was still learning to recognize.

Timothy Johnson taught me how to work on cars. He was patient, willing to explain things, and generous with his time. Those lessons weren't just about fixing a vehicle. Later, they gave me skills I could use to earn money and build something for myself. Sometimes a man changes your life by teaching you something practical and believing you can do it.

Then there's Mr. Troy. I met him through Boy Scouts in Atlanta. He showed me what a present husband and father could look like through the way he lived, not just what he said. When I needed to get to college orientation, he drove three hours to make sure I made it. He didn't have to do that. But he did. I'll never forget it.

Mr. Jeff and Ms. Jana became family to me, too. Over the years, they've called me their son, welcomed me into their home and holidays, and helped me through important moments, including getting my first car. Mr. Jeff has shown me how a man can pursue business and still make time for the people he loves. Their love also reminded me that genuine family isn't limited by blood or race.

Those moments might seem small from the outside. A lunch. A car lesson. A long drive. A seat at the Thanksgiving table. But to a boy searching for direction, they can mean everything.

The Lessons I Had to Learn the Hard Way

Growing up without a roadmap affected more than the practical side of life. It shaped how I understood relationships, conflict, boundaries, and vulnerability. For a long time, I thought being strong meant keeping everything inside. I didn't always know how to communicate what I felt or receive love in a healthy way.

I've made mistakes. I've lost people I cared about. I've had to confront parts of myself I didn't understand. At one of the lowest points of my life, I survived a suicide attempt. I don't share that for sympathy. I share it because I know what it feels like to believe your pain has the final word.

Recovery didn't hand me all the answers. It pushed me to ask better questions: Who am I when I'm not trying to be everything for everybody? What does loving myself actually look like? How can I set boundaries without shutting people out? What kind of husband, father, and man do I want to become?

I'm still learning. And I think that's important to admit. Becoming a man isn't pretending you've figured everything out. Sometimes it's having enough courage to say you haven't.

What I Would Tell the Boy I Used to Be

I'd tell him that it gets better. That his circumstances don't have to become his identity. That he can appreciate his mother, grieve what he missed with his father, and still build a life full of love. That he can break cycles without pretending those cycles didn't hurt.

I'd tell him to pay attention to the people who show up. To ask questions. To learn. To let himself be loved. And I'd remind him that needing guidance doesn't make him weak.

I still have feelings about the years my father and I didn't share. I don't think you can simply get those years back. But I'm not interested in spending the rest of my life trapped in anger. I want to use what I've lived through to become better and to make sure another young person feels less alone.

Why Fueled By Pain Exists

In many ways, Fueled By Pain is my attempt to become the person I needed when I was younger. Somebody who listens. Somebody who reminds you that your life is worth living. Somebody who shows up even when things aren't easy.

Sometimes the men who help raise us aren't the men whose names are on our birth certificates. Sometimes they're the men who drive three hours so you won't miss college orientation. The men who teach you how to work on a car because they see potential in you. The men who invite you to Thanksgiving, call you their son, or take you to lunch just to see how you're doing.

And sometimes, years later, you realize those ordinary moments were teaching you something extraordinary: you were worthy of being shown up for all along.

Pain is the Fuel, Freedom is the Goal.

— Founder, Fueled By Pain Worldwide

A Question for the FBP Family

Who was a father figure, mentor, or unexpected source of guidance in your life? What's one lesson they gave you that you still carry today? If you're comfortable, share their story in the comments. Someone else might need to know that guidance can come from unexpected places.