Sharp turns in life can rock you. Unspeakable pain and heartbreak can make us feel like we are being ripped apart from the inside out. Oftentimes those turns in life’s twisted road can appear out of nowhere with little to no warning. In a way, it is almost like hydroplaning in a vehicle. Losing complete control of where you are going which sometimes leaves you in a terrifying tail spin.

Back in 2003, when I lost my brother at the beginning of the opioid epidemic, I was shattered. My whole family was. He was barely 17 years old and his entire life was stolen from him and from us. There are no words to articulate the immense pain we felt. All of a sudden our lives seemed bleak and broken.
If you have felt that magnitude of pain, you know exactly what I am talking about. The emptiness and confusion about where life was going at that point will never leave me.Those desperate emotions during the bleakest moments help me stay humble and focused. They remind me of how fragile life truly is and how none of us are promised tomorrow. Many won’t get that last phone call to hear, “I love you.” Some will say “good morning” to loved ones having no idea they will never have the chance to say “good night” again.
If I could just see Shane one more time, I would cherish every second. I would tell him all the things I had planned to say later in life. I would punch his shoulder and then hug him tighter than I ever had before.
You see, it’s easy to think back on those missed out opportunities after they are gone. What are we doing today to let them know while they are here? Are we too embarrassed to be that vulnerable and emotional? Will they see us as weak? Would they laugh? Well if they are anything like my brother Shane was, he absolutely would giggle at me being such a mush. But then he would say, “Me too, Erik. Me too.”
It took years for me to realize this but, we will see the ones we miss so much again after their passing. Although, it may not be the way we would prefer. My dreams I have of my brother don’t come too often, but when they do, they are as real as I could have ever hoped. At first, I would cry my eyes out after I woke up wishing it wasn’t a dream. I finally found him. Time and time again it happened. As years passed, I was able to start to appreciate those moments. In a way, those are the times I prayed for. I wanted to see him the way I had expected, and I was losing sight at the very opportunity to tell him everything I wanted before he left us. Sure, there are angry moments about why he was so rebellious. Why did he have to take something so powerful to feel good?
A few years ago, I found out those answers. Dreams can also answer questions. They can unlock secrets to the past, but most importantly, they can give you peace. He was a kid and had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t have the wherewithal to know he’d be taken from us so soon, or at all for that matter. If he had known then he wouldn’t have ever tried it in the first place. That was all I needed to hear. He did love us that much. He just didn’t make the right choices. And although I want to hug him and punch him on the arm, he also feels the same way. That’s why we dream, my friends. Dreams are that powerful.​

Photo Credit: BSAphotography.com

Photo Credit: BSAphotography.com

Everything that happens in our lives is meant to teach us something. These experiences--good, the bad, and the ugly--accumulate to help us grow into the people we are. I see how true this is with each passing day.

In 2005, my life was turned upside down. Katrina blew everyone’s life to hell and then we had to pick up what was left and learn to live again. After becoming a ‘refugee’ in Memphis, I decided to move out West because I had always wanted to live in LA. I had stars in my eyes and I dreams of making it big. FEMA money in my pocket, I loaded up my little blue Mazda Protege and started my journey across the country to become a famous pop singer. It was just after Thanksgiving when I moved, and I was lucky enough to have a couple of sweet friends to meet up with when I arrived. Christmas time was quickly approaching, but I wasn’t ready for it. Yall, I loooove the Holidays. I always have. There are so many things about this time of year that are special to me... the decorations, the cheerful people, and most of all my family. I didn't realize how big of a role family played until I moved. I had to relearn how to enjoy Christmas.

As the universe would have it, I met up with a friend of mine. He was the manager of the B-52’s and lived in a gorgeous house off of Sunset Boulevard. I would sit on his door step and look over at the ‘Laugh Factory,’ a famous comedy club in LA. It was amazing. The walls of his home donned several platinum records from the B-52's. It was surreal. After some time there my friend had to leave to visit his family for Christmas. The day before he left, he called me into the living room. There were button down shirts hung from coat hangers all over the room; he wanted me to have them. At first I didn't understand why, but later on it hit me-- I was from New Orleans and people viewed me as a refugee. This man was giving me his clothes. I still have a shirt in my closet from him. I stayed in his home a couple of more days after he left. Some people would have loved it, but I remember crying and feeling so lonely. I spent Christmas Day of 2005 sitting on his front steps and staring at Sunset Boulevard, longing to be back home in New Orleans.

I remember talking on the phone to my best friend from back home that Christmas. Every year we would call and exchange stories about our Christmas and what we love about the holiday. But this time it felt different. It felt as if my friend was 1,670 miles away. While Christmas of 2005 was painful, it helped to allow me to see where I belonged. As much as I thought I wanted to be on the west coast, the place where I was supposed to be was New Orleans, my home.

​It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around that in just 10 years from that very moment of despair, my husband and I would be welcoming our newborn daughter home. With clammy palms, rapid heartbeats, and our stomachs in knots, we welcomed our tiny little daughter. At 4 lbs, she was smaller than a baby doll and more fragile and more beautiful than anything we had ever held. This was the moment our lives changed forever. It was as if life’s fog lifted and everything around us became clear. Now, every choice we made would revolve around her. This was perhaps the most significant day in our lives--the day we became Daddy and Papa.

The night we brought our baby girl home.

I remember laying on the couch and having this tiny baby lay on my chest. Listening to her breathe, watching her little hands move. Now THIS is surreal. Life has an amazing way of helping you grow up. When our daughter was born she only weighed 3.5 lbs. She decided to come into the world 10 weeks early so she had to stay in the NICU for a few weeks to gain her strength and put on some weight.

In the beginning we called her "werewolf baby" because she would literally try to eat us when she became hungry. She would be all snuggled in her cute swaddle then, like clockwork, about 20 minutes before it was time to have her bottle she’d start squirming and transform into a loud and angry baby worm. We had to be sure to not feed her too early because that would mess her feeding schedule up. So we had to do whatever we could to help her pass the time. We would usually cave in about 10min early out fear of being eaten alive by our beautiful werewolf baby. My husband thought to buy a Christmas ornament to remember those times. Every year we are taken back to those moments when we place it on our Christmas tree.

Our werewolf baby ornament along with
​our ‘first Christmas’ ornament.

Feeding schedules weren’t the only thing we had to learn. We also needed to know how to NOT overfeed her. Being premature, she had a terrible time digesting her formula. We had her on the most sensitive type they make and yet it still seemed like it was too potent. As hungry as she would become, we knew if she drank too much we would be in for it. I think the hardest thing we had to do was try to console her when her tummy was hurting. The pain on her face was awful, and the only thing that seemed to help was when she threw up... and threw up... and threw up. All the time, every time. No matter how many burps we were able to achieve, it would still involve projectile puke somehow. We wouldn’t dare wear anything nice because it was sure to be barfed on. I lived in tank tops and sweat pants for months.

One time, we were in Jackson visiting my mother-in-law. Our baby girl was still having a tough time digesting. We were talking in the living room reminiscing about our newfound parenting lives. Someone said something hilarious that made each of us die out laughing. It was like she was waiting for the perfect moment. Douglas had Alli Mae facing him as he held her. And just as he opened his mouth to laugh, she unloaded a whole bottle's worth of baby puke directly into his mouth. IT WAS HILARIOUSLY DISGUSTING. His mom and I laugh about that to this day and I think we will until the end of time.

It's amazing how much the direction of life can change. Christmas of 2005 felt so depressing.  I felt so stuck and it seemed like every decision I made blew up in my face. But in hindsight, I was wrong.  That Christmas wish I made sitting on those doorsteps looking onto Sunset Blvd. almost 15 years ago came true.  I didn’t realize I loved New Orleans like I did. I wouldn’t have known that unless I moved away. And as soon as I moved back home, I met my husband, the Daddy of my babies.  The way the universe works is so incredibly awe-inspiring.  Just when you think you have it figured out- the universe gives you a wink and says, “not so fast.”

Four years ago we received the phone call that changed our lives forever. We were told that in our own city of New Orleans, there was a newborn baby that needed a forever home. What we were told by the agency would likely take 5 or more years took mere weeks. We frantically started putting together her nursery and planning for her arrival. She was born 10 weeks early and needed to stay in the NICU to grow and gain her strength and weight before she was released. She was so tiny and delicate. We were almost afraid to hold her in the beginning because of how fragile she was.

Finally, the day arrived that we were able to bring her home and we were thrust into overdrive. We prepared by reading all the baby books and watching the videos, but all that goes out the window when you have a baby in your arms. Our little baby had trouble digesting her formula due to her prematurity. The look in her eyes due to the pain she felt broke our hearts. We felt helpless! All we could do was just try to make sure to do everything on our end to help alleviate any pain she may encounter while feeding her. It was terrible. We would hold her for hours trying to console our hurting baby girl. I remember thinking to myself while she was crying that I would do anything to make her feel better.

Months passed and she grew stronger. The tough times we all experienced in the beginning bonded us closer together. Although she won’t remember those times, my husband and I do. We know in our hearts that she developed trust and security for us both especially because of those difficult first months.
She knows that we would and will do anything on Earth for her.

A year and a half later we welcomed our second baby into our lives. Our story seemed to be writing itself. Our oldest was able to fall in love with her baby sister just as her Daddy and Papa were. It seemed like life’s cobble stone pathway started to form right in front of us. We hopped onto each one as it appeared below us. One year turned into 2 that then faded into 3. Now we are at year 4 and something has seemed to happen. Our pathway that formed so naturally for us seemed to be getting more difficult for others to find. Life’s pathway should be accessible to anyone.

Photo Credit: BSAphotography.com

There are many people in our country that feel LGBTQ+ Americans shouldn’t have the same rights as our straight counterparts. The Trump administration is trying to allow adoption agencies that RECEIVE FEDERAL TAX DOLLARS to discriminate against LGBTQ+ families. This proposal is fully supported and praised by several people in highest of leadership positions in our country. There are currently protections in place that deny federal funding to adoption agencies that discriminate against same-sex adoptive families. Keeping these protections in place encourages more agencies to open their doors to same-sex couples. This administration is trying to do away with these protections.

I understand that some (not all) faith-based adoption agencies choose to turn away hopeful same-sex couples. While I in no way agree with this personally, I do respect the concept of freedom of religion. However, they don’t have any business being given federal funds if the funds are being used to support discriminatory practices. ​Any business that accepts federal funding must NOT DISCRIMINATE. Period.

When I read about this proposition I became enraged. I was literally shaking with anger. Separation of church and state is in our constitution for an important reason! How can I just sit back and personally allow this to happen? My mind suddenly became a jumbled thought machine. What can I personally do?
My first thought was write. But I was so hurt and angry! How can I write and effectively allow my anger to subside? That seemed impossible. So I kept thinking. Well, what if protested? I have never done that. Where do I even begin? Do I need a permit? Will I be arrested? After doing my research, in LOUISIANA, a permit is only needed if you march. To stand and have a peaceful demonstration requires NO PERMIT and it is absolutely free! When I read this my heart started pounding with excited anxiety. Once I felt like I was on to something, I created a slogan.

Before I knew it there was a Facebook event. I chose a place in New Orleans that I thought would be a popular spot for tourists but I also wanted a sentimental spot for us to be at. Jackson Square seemed like the perfect spot because that is where we were married, plus it's always packed with people. The night before our demonstration my husband and I made our posters to hold. Afterwards, I emailed local news outlets and any person in the public eye that may be interested. One news station ran a story about it the morning of the protest. I reached out to our beloved church family and parish priest. ​Father Terry is a very outspoken and admired member of our community. I was honored when he joined us for the demonstration.

Once we arrived, we were met with an overall positive atmosphere. About 12 of us participated in the demonstration. The crowd not only was accepting of our message but they also were very curious and had many questions.

If you do choose to hold a demonstration, be sure to think about your responses when people ask your thoughts on the issue at hand. This being my first protest, I was caught off guard a few times. I wasn’t expecting to answer so many questions. When you do arrive at a demonstration, be ready to answer any question thrown at you. Practice at home. That will help.

Although crowds and speaking publicly are not my strong suit, I promised my girls in the beginning of their lives that Papa & Daddy would do anything for them. That includes holding signs and picketing in front of absolute strangers. My family deserves to be treated like any other family. Just because my husband and I may interfere with someone’s deeply held religious beliefs does not give our government the right to alienate us and treat us any different. The tax dollars we pay should not be given to any business that deems our existence unworthy of the service they offer. PERIOD. End of discussion.

Being part of a marginalized group of society, it is easy to sense prejudices, bigotry and inequities that chisel away at our community. Something ominous is happening in our country today. The atmosphere is much different than a few years ago. When Trump was elected to office I was scared that his reputation of bullying would extend much further than the Oval Office. Unfortunately, I see evidence of that everyday.

Since 2017 I have published a post on my Nolapapa Facebook page. This post has over 11,000 likes and I stand behind the message. About three times a year I boost the post to share my message. Two days ago, I ran it again. Within the last 48 hours I have had to ban over 50 people from my page because of hateful and vile remarks. They not only were commenting on my post but they were aggressively and hatefully coming for my audience. A few hours ago I had to suspend the campaign because of the enormous amount of hatred coming in. Something is happening. Why are people suddenly acting so hatefully? My gut is telling me that the hateful people have always been there. They are just more audacious and brazen today. These people are not only hateful trolls and bullies, but they are menace to society. They are mimicking the President’s actions.​ If the leader of the free world is allowed to say mean and hateful things, then why can’t they?

They can. But it is up to each and everyone of us to stand up and speak out when we see this happen. Our future is up to us alone. If we allow to be steamrolled, then we will be. We must unite together and not allow this unfortunate time in our history to determine our beautiful future. ​Our lives, our babies’ lives are worth it.

Twenty years ago when I came out, it was unbearably hard. As I have written before, I am from the Deep South. Anyone who dares to deviate from social norms was sure to be ostracized. It’s not that these people were born hateful or mean, rather, it probably was more to do with not them not being subjected to other lifestyles. Anything different from their own sparked fear and confusion. Homosexuality, interracial relationships, religious differences--these were all unfamiliar territories to the average person I grew up around. Thus, growing up was particularly difficult.

I remember laying in bed at night when I was a little boy. I would pray and beg God to not let me be gay. Every single night I would end my prayers with "...and God, please don’t let me have nightmares and please don’t let me be gay.”  I remember crying myself to sleep many nights.  I was embarrassed and ashamed. And I wanted God to cure me.

Growing up, I remember thinking it took a really strong person to embrace their true selves and to have enough pride to show it off for everyone to see. This was their life and they had the right to live it how they wanted, regardless of what the rest of society thought. I secretly admired that so much. I still remember hearing snide remarks about interracial couples holding hands in the mall. I remember thinking how incredibly bold those couples were to not be intimidated by anyone. I felt that it took a special kind of bravery to place their affection on public display... if only I could be like that one day.

Indeed, my time would come to rise up and embrace who I truly was. Defying social norms is risky business. All I could think about was being shunned by my family, church and friends. Well, as it would turn out those fears came to fruition and actually happened and it shattered me. People turned their backs. They said awful and hurtful things. Even some of my closest friends did this. But do you know what? Today I have grown to understand that I didn’t need those people in my life. Unconditional love isn’t something that you reward someone with. It’s something that you give regardless of any outcome or expectation. If someone doesn’t give you their unconditional love and respect, then that person isn’t worthy of being in your inner circle. THAT TOOK ME YEARS TO LEARN. There are many other people out there waiting to get to know you and give you what you deserve. You just may have not met them yet. When you do, you’ll know it.

​Looking at society today, I cannot imagine what it is like growing up with social media platforms all around. I still have trouble with understanding how people can be so hateful as they hide behind their computer screen. After I came out, I thought it was difficult hearing other people’s opinions about my personal life. ​ With today's social media, hateful people are able to stand on their soap boxes and lash out in a wide range of social groups and contexts. I remind myself daily that those hateful people will always be there and I shouldn’t take offense to what they may say. I knew trolls were around, but I didn’t know how prevalent they were until my writings started circulating around different websites on social media.

In the beginning, I felt like I needed to write about my journey. Metaphorically speaking, I like to look at my writings like I am from straying from the main road to leave a trail for others that may need hope. Helping to light a way for other LGBTQ people in our community is crucial in today’s society. I feel like it’s a personal calling and I passionately follow it, and I'm sure many of you do the same. People need to see that living our best and truest lives opens doors to so many beautiful opportunities. Young people who are questioning their sexuality need to see the beauty of what can happen when a person comes out and chooses to live their true self, boldly, proudly and unapologetically.

Unfortunately, having my writings picked up by popular websites leaves my work vulnerable to anyone that disagrees with my life. Although it’s exciting to have the exposure, it definitely isn’t without it’s share of disappointments. Hateful comments and messages from strangers still hurt. It reminds me that mean people are still out there. It also helped me realize that I needed to grow a thicker skin. Yes, I am living my best life and I am damn proud of it. Why should some hateful and repressive comment hinder my growth? Why should I give trolls the power to tear me down? I don’t even know them. Who cares what they think? What I do know is that I am a good father, husband, friend, son, and brother. I AM good enough. That is ALL that matters.

But, I am also a sensitive person, almost to a fault. I always have been. So, trying to learn how to grow a ‘thick skin’ has been rather difficult. I know I should let comments just roll off and move on, but instead I find that I overthink and dwell on them. It is super frustrating. In life, I have found that people are mean for different reasons. I don’t know why, nor do I need to know. They just are. Were they not loved enough? Who knows. The bottom line is that I must move on. That person is for some reason struggling to find their compassion and kindness. They lash out because anger and confusion are their default emotions when they do not understand something, and I need to remember to not take that personally. In fact, that's the solution--I shouldn’t take it personally. That is, all I have to do is be the better man and turn around without retaliation. I wouldn’t be able to change them with anything I said anyway. It would be futile. I Just need to be the bigger person. In doing so, I don't give the the twisted pleasure of seeing that they have elicited a negative emotional response from me. I choose to not give them what they want. You can do this, too.

Photo Credit: BSAphotography.com

National Coming Out Day is important because it allows people that are questioning their sexuality to see the support from so many people all around the world. It gives them the chance to see that it really does get better. And yall, it gets soooooo much better. Trust me. When you go to sleep at night, do you try to pray the gay away like I did? You may even cry yourself to sleep. It's okay to cry, just don’t give up. Keep moving. Just keep swimming. Life WILL get better.

If you're a teenager, you will find that it can be very, very hard sometimes. It isn’t always going to be like that. Although it may feel like nothing will ever change, trust me, it will. Have faith. Your life means something and you matter. Find your tribe. Find the people that lift you up and embrace your quirkiness. Find the friends that love you for who you truly are, inside and out. Find the places that make you thrive. Find your passions. Paint. Garden. Cook. Workout. Laugh. Watch Ellen. Be kind to one another. Kindness is everything. Remember that your kindness today can be someone else’s strength tomorrow. Life is beautiful. And it truly gets better. Just push forward, fight, and I promise, you will see that.

It’s been 14 years and it still feels as if it happened a couple of years ago. Hurricane Katrina shook the entire South to its core. It single-handedly uprooted thousands of people, many of which never returned home, and affected the lives of everyone here in some way. The livelihoods of countless people were ripped away and tossed into the flooded streets glistening with oil sheen under the hot August sun.

This is my Katrina experience.
My account: a refugee’s story

Credit: Mashable.com

Hurricanes are a way of life down here, right? I mean, we deal with storms every year.  So how in the hell could this happen? How could we let our guard down? Both are very good questions. It still makes me wonder because power outages, minor street flooding and evacuations are second nature to most New Orleanians. But Katrina was different. She was a monster.

The day before mandatory evacuations, I remember waking up after a long night of partying and seeing that my mom had tried calling me multiple times. I called her back and, through my hangover, I could tell that she was completely stricken with panic. “Come home now!” she screamed into the phone. “The storm has turned and it is heading right for New Orleans!” Through the night, the storm had shifted from a northwesterly path to due north--straight for New Orleans.

I had lived in New Orleans for about 4 years at that point. My family still lived in Oak Grove, a suburb of Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Like I said before, we deal with this sort of thing all the time during hurricane season. But unlike all the other times, this particular instance was like a series of unfortunate events that enabled this storm to be catastrophic. The water temperature in the Gulf and the jet stream were two of the main culprits. Usually, it seems like storms shift away from us, not toward us. And as the events unfolded, it was like the whole city of New Orleans held its breath. You could hear a pin drop. Then, once we all realized this was really happening, everyone scattered.

The silence gave way to the sounds of construction as homeowners and business owners nailed up plywood to protect their property. The people that stayed rushed to the grocery stores and the people that left sped to the gas stations. I will never forget how long the lines were. Waiting to fill my car up with gas is one mistake that I will never make again.  Little did I know that waiting an hour for gasoline was a cakewalk compared to what would be in store 2 days later.

Credit: Wikimedia

It was really tough leaving home. This was different than any other time I had evacuated. It may have been because of the ominous path the storm was on. Whatever reason it was, it was very emotional for me. I remember making sure that my house was nice and tidy as I picked up the living room, Weather Channel blaring in the background. My mom had always instilled in me that when I came home from evacuations, it would be nicer to walk into a clean house rather than having to clean when I got home. Little did I know, I wouldn’t be coming home for a long, long time. I packed my little car with a couple of duffel bags, secured my garden and lawn furniture, and off I went. It took about 4 hours to get to my mom’s house, a trip that usually took 2 hours. Given the amount of cars on the road, that seemed like a success to me.

As the next day approached, it was pretty evident that Katrina was going to hit New Orleans. However, we didn’t have any idea that there was a warm pocket of water in the Gulf she was about to churn over that would spike her windspeeds even higher. All of us were frozen. As the winds became stronger, she began to shift east. Wait, what? East? Now, she was predicted to make landfall in south Mississippi. So I left my entire life behind, and for what? To go to ground zero.

We all know how it played out. Katrina was a direct hit for south Mississippi. It literally annihilated the Gulf Coast. We were about an hour inland, but that didn’t stop the massive winds. Pine trees snapped and crashed down all around us blocking everyone in our neighborhood. I had never seen trees bend like that. It was horrifying. The rain blew sideways for days it seemed. The wind howled like rabid wolves in the night. Then, the lights went out. And they stayed out for 2 weeks.

Luckily, we had a generator to at least run the refrigerator and the a/c for a few hours. We had to really watch our generator because there were thieves that were stealing them and replacing them with lawn mowers because the motors sounded so similar. Days after the storm it seemed apocalyptic. No power, no gas to run generators, no water. There were reports of people killing their own family members over ice, food, and gas. It was 100 degrees outside and we had no electricity, no water. Seriously, what do you do?

To our amazement, it was like a guardian angel guided them to us. My parents' friends owned a furniture store in town. They called us to see if we needed somewhere safe to stay. ​We were so excited! This place had electricity! It had running water! We walked in and got to pick out our sleeping spot in one of the 2 different show rooms. Each show room had about 10 different room displays. I can still remember how comfortable I was with the cool air blowing on me as I lay on a big sofa. I was able to charge my cellphone and turn it on. When I did, I was flooded with voicemails. Earlier that day, the levees broke in New Orleans. Water inundated the city. Parts of the city were on fire. People were drowning. It seemed like ​New Orleans had fallen.

Credit: National Geographic

After a few days of sweating it out with my family, I was elated to find out that some friends of mine came up from New Orleans heading towards Memphis. They stopped by my house to see if I wanted to follow along. As quickly as I could, I threw my bags in my car and away we went.

A close friend of mine lived in Memphis and I was able to stay with him and his family for a while. They took me in as their own and, to this day, I am eternally grateful. All of a sudden I went from being a guest in from out of town to a New Orleans refugee. Memphis picked me up and give me the tightest hug. Everywhere I went, people hugged me. I couldn’t help but to cry- all of the time. All of the stores had signs in their windows reading “refugee discounts.” Every time I took my license out to show them, they hugged me. Some cried. Some would put their hand on my face and tell me that it was going to be okay. Memphis will ALWAYS be my second home. The compassion, empathy, and love that radiated from everyone there still shines in my heart to this day, as it will forever.

Credit: Wikimedia

One week led to a month, then to two months. Then there was talk of New Orleans allowing residents back home. They implemented the return for residents by zip code only. I waited anxiously for them to call my zip code. The city officials stressed that the city was still uninhabitable. This was just to allow residents to assess damages and grab their belongings until New Orleans was operational again. Finally, they announced my zip code and away I went.

There were many detours because of roads and bridges not existing anymore. Finally, I got to New Orleans. It was like it was Armageddon. I could not believe my eyes. Floodwaters, broken trees, debris, caskets. It was overwhelming. There were military check points every half mile. One happened to be right beside my house on Saint Charles Avenue. They walked around in their military garb wielding assault riffles. It was literally like a war scene from a movie. When I finally made it to my house I had to wind my way through broken branches and slate roofing tiles.

I was frantically trying to load my life up for the next few months. As twilight fell, everything was silent. The wind had stopped. No sounds of birds, insects, people. It was incredibly eerie. There was a sunset curfew and I had to be out of the city before the sun went down. Well, needless to say, I was running a little bit late. I jumped in my car and hauled ass toward the interstate. There was another military checkpoint before I could leave. He flagged me down and I stopped. He said I was past curfew and I had to turn around and go back to my house--​my dark and scary house. At that moment I lost it. All I could do was cry. Actually, I balled. I was terrified. I couldn’t even talk without hyperventilating. Thankfully, he felt sorry for me and let me pass. I felt like I was transported to Iraq. It was so surreal and overwhelming.

Credit: Smithsonianmag.com

I went back to Memphis as quickly as I could that evening. I had nightmares for years after that. Many, many other people do too. Some, much, much worse. So many people died. Entire families drowned in their attics with no way to escape. Katrina left holes in people’s lives that will never ever be filled. The images of the rushing water flooding my city will always be burned into my memory.

Credit: Nytimes.com

Photo Credit: BSA Photography

Photo Credit: BSA Photography

Photo Credit: BSA Photography

A couple of months back, I posted an article about a new and progressive cartoon about a little girl and her two dads called “The Bravest Knight”. It is now streaming on HULU.
I was eager to post it to my Nolapapa Facebook page because I found it very inspiring and I wanted to help spread the word about this groundbreaking program.
In a time where ‘two dad families’ are sometimes demeaned by closed minded opinions, it is nice to see a family like mine take front and center in a mainstream media children’s cartoon.

​The show centers around Sir Cedric (T.R. Knight) as he shares the story of how he transformed from a pumpkin farmer into a full-fledged knight with his adopted 10-year-old daughter, Nia, (Storm Reid) who is training to become a brave knight herself.

​Knight, Bobby Moynihan, Storm Reid, RuPaul, Christine Baranski and Wanda Sykes are among the stellar voice cast set for The Bravest Knight, Hulu's groundbreaking animated kids series based on Daniel Errico's popular children's book The Bravest Knight Who Ever Lived, from Big Bad Boo Studios.

I grew up in an area of the South called “The Bible Belt.” Most people who live there don't stray too far from what they have always known, at least that was my experience. As such, those of us who deviated from social norms were often viewed as socially unacceptable, or even outright bad. It’s no wonder that people in the South stay in the closet for so long! Because they're afraid. And the fear works both ways--often times the conforming majority are afraid to expand their views of anything they aren’t used to. It all stems from fear. Afraid of being judged, worried about being shunned, and terrified of losing the only thing they are familiar with- their own definition of normal.

I have vivid memories of sitting in church as a child next to my Mamaw. I remember her opening her purse and giving me a stick of her spearmint gum while the preacher screamed at the congregation about heaven and hell.  I started singing in the choir when I was 7 years old and from then on, I loved church. I have several good, wholesome memories that I look back on and am proud of.  I remember my mother sitting in the congregation while I sang in Christmas recitals smiling as wide as her cheeks would allow. Her pride in her little boy swelled and everyone in that church could see it.  I loved to make her happy. Whether it was cleaning the house while she was at work, or helping her during the weekends. I loved to make my mother proud.

As I grew into an unruly teen everything started to change. I began adopting characteristics of my rebellious friends. I would lash out and say things that were sometimes mean or hurtful. In spite of these changes, I still wasn't a big partier as I was more comfortable in my youth group at church. For most of high school I continued to perform at church and spent time with my Southern Baptist cohort. It was around the year 2000 when I was a senior in high school was when I knew that I was different from most of the people I had been associating with. This is the year that I came to accept that the thoughts I had been having for the past few years weren't a phase, they weren't going to pass, I was gay. Usually discovering truths about ourselves is something to be celebrated, but this was scary. It was scary because I knew what would happen if I came out. I had heard the way my friends talked about homosexuality. I had heard the name-calling and the off-color jokes. I feared that if I came out, everything I had always known would vanish--my family, my friends, my church... all gone. And because of this fear, I held on to what I knew. I closed my eyes to who I knew I was and refused to open them. So I lived blindly, losing more and more of who I was by the day. Was it worth it? Did other people’s appeasements mean more than my own personal happiness?

My wake up call came when I graduated from high school and got my own apartment. I started venturing out a little more. And then... Mardi Gras came. I was asked to go to New Orleans for the very first time. THAT was when I had my aha moment. I finally found a place that I was meant to be in! I led a double life for about a year, hopping back and forth between NOLA and Mississippi and praying that no one would find out. Life was suddenly so full and exciting! As I mentioned, I had never been much of a partier so to be in an environment I felt accepted and energized in was a new experience for me. I felt empowered to finally be able to be who I truly was: a nice and fun-loving young man who just happened to be gay. I felt free, like chains were broken and weights removed. Everything was finally as it should be! At least, it was until someone from Mississippi spotted me in a gay club on Bourbon Street and told people in my hometown.

It's amazing how quickly gossip travels in a small town. Pretty soon, people that went to school with my little brother were telling him and teasing him about it. I knew that I needed to tell my mother before she heard it through the grapevine. And that's when it really hit the fan. She cried. And she cried some more. Her expectations of me and hopes for my future seemed to fade. Being raised in a somewhat of a religious home, she brought out the Bible. Yes, the Bible. She read passages aloud while sobbing. Some of the things she said made me mad. I would lash out and the two of us would get into it and nearly blow the roof off the house. Like many religious parents, she truly believed I was going to hell and she fought tooth and nail to make sure her baby wasn’t going there. Interestingly, today we both have different memories of how things transpired. But I know it is easier for her to deal with the way things happened by understanding her actions today.

The thing is, there was more to it than just my sexual orientation. When someone comes out to their parents it really is a double whammy because in addition to the person's new LGBTQ identity and all that that entails, the parent will also be faced with the challenge of accepting gay culture in general. As such it would come as not surprise that my mother was insistent that I was involved in a darker scene. The “partying scene.” Even today, nearly 20 years later, that is what she still latches on to. She says I was living an unhealthy lifestyle. And to be perfectly honest she was right, I was staying out late, drinking, etc. But, it was deeper than that. She had a very difficult time coming to terms with me being gay. She would scream about how she wanted me to be married, and how I would never be. I remember her crying about wanting grandchildren and now she’ll never get them. At a certain point it became too much for me. Too much for both of us, really, so I moved to New Orleans.

Our communication went silent. On the occasions that we did speak, things would spiral into an argument. Invariably one of us would hang up on the other and things would go silent again. This cycle repeated itself time and time again. Then in the middle of the night one night, my house in New Orleans caught on fire and burned. I lost almost everything I had. Losing a house to a fire is a painful, traumatic experience. The first people I called were my parents, and they were there for me in spite of our differences. My mother came to New Orleans, a city she despised, and helped me pick up the charred remains of my life. She was still my mother and in that time in my life that she was grappling to understand, she was there for me.

Still energized by my new life, I quickly bounced back and was back to normal before I knew it. My mother and I still bumped heads often, as she was still coming to grips with who I was. We were both sick of fighting and started to resign to keeping distance from each other. I was going to live my life and love it despite the way she felt. ​And I was going to let her live hers. Then, our lives were rocked to the core.

My little brother was only 17 and still living at home with my mother when he died. I wrote about this last year, read about it here. And just like that, all of our lives stopped. It took years to learn to how to live again. We all had to completely rethink life. Not only life, but how we dealt with the people in our lives. Before, we could just hang up on each other and not speak for weeks. Losing my brother taught me that I cannot end conversations like that. I had to reevaluate my relationships, especially my mother’s. For the longest time we were so close. She was one of my best friends. We could laugh and laugh about something until we hurt, and I missed that.

​It took many years, but we worked very hard to mend our relationship because we missed each other. I was her son and she was my mother. She was working very hard to let go of her own expectations she had of my life. Then in 2006 I met my future husband Douglas and we were instantly inseparable. My mother welcomed him from the day she met him. Our relationship wasn’t perfect but it really was getting better. We both still had things we needed to work through. I think the biggest fight my mother and I ever got into took place on the night I told her that I wanted to marry him. I'm not sure if she remembers those particular details, and that's okay. What matters is that two years after that fight, my mother walked me down the aisle in my wedding. And not only was she there, she WANTED to be there. And she was elated. My mother held my arm with such pride. With her head high, and her bright smile for all to see, she was there with her son.

We made it through all of the ups and downs. Through the loss of my brother, we were able to reevaluate just what we needed in our lives. We needed each other in them. I needed my mama. And I thank God that she needed me.

Erik and Douglas’ wedding day
​Photo Credit: BSA Photography

You never know why things play out the way they do. Sometimes things happen to help put us back on track. It is easy to lose sight of where we are going. We get destracted by something and then tunnel vission sets in and before we know it relationships are lost. I will be there first to say it. I was as shocked as anyone to know that my mom had a change of heart about my life.

I would love for you to follow our journey!

I can’t believe it’s been over two years since I wrote about our ‘Open Adoption’ for Gays with Kids. In that article I covered the series of long discussions that my husband Douglas and I had that led to our decision to pursue an open adoption.  There are several reasons that this was the right choice for our family.

Our girls both go to nursery school weekly. They are able to see ‘mommies’ come to pick their children up everyday. We figured that would eventually prompt questions. A couple of weeks ago it did. After bedtime stories, we said our prayers as usual. After prayers, she usually asks us to tell her about Disney World (she loves to hear about Disney World). However, this particular night she didn’t ask about Disney, rather, she asked Daddy (Douglas) to talk about his mother. We both looked at each other as this was pretty random. At her request he started to tell her a story about his mother. After the story she said, “I don’t have a mother.” Immediately we both cut in and said, “baby, everyone has a mother.” Surprised, she asked us to tell her about her birthmother. I don't know what shocked us more--the question or the fact that she used the word "birthmother" when she asked. We have several adoption-themed books mixed into our bedtime story collection. It's pretty amazing how much the adoption stories helped to introduce a complicated subject (after all, she's only 3 1/2) but also helped break the ice to open up dialogue.

“Well, baby girl, when you were born your birthmother searched all over for a daddy and a papa that would love you with all of their hearts and would take very good care of you. After searching everywhere, our telephone rang. Do you know who it was?” She answered, “was it my birthmother?”
“Yes it was! And she asked us if WE could be your daddy and papa!” In reality it was much more complicated than that, but she seemed to be assured by hearing this. She inhaled quickly and smiled from ear to ear. I had a knot in my throat fighting back tears. She really understood! We both were amazed.

For the next few nights she continued to ask for stories about my mother and Douglas’ mothers in lieu of hearing about Disney. Douglas has two mothers that are both very involved in our lives. So, with 3 mothers between us we don’t run out of stories to tell her! A few more days went by and we figured we had finished that conversation until she asked the heaviest question of all, “Who is my birthmother?” We looked at each other and quickly changed the subject.

We felt that we needed to have a talk with her birthmother before we went any further. We all needed to be on the same page. Our daughter has unwittingly met her birthmother many, many times. We knew Alli Mae would know who her birthmother was if we said her name, but we wanted to clear this with her birthmother before proceeding. After talking it over with her we were all on the same page. We were all ready to face it head on.

We figured the next step was to have her birth mother over for dinner. Alli Mae is very inquisitive and we knew she would have some questions. She isn’t very shy, so after a few minutes of acclimating to the situation I knew if she was curious about something, she would ask.

We wanted this to feel natural. We wanted it to be an organic and meaningful meeting. We didn’t want anything to feel forced. Usually when you have to force something, then it feels awkward and afterwards you second guess yourself asking if it was the right decision in the first place. We thought having her birthmother over for dinner would feel as natural as you could get. When her birthmother first arrived, Alli Mae kept her distance at first. Douglas and I were cooking in the kitchen visiting with Alli Mae’s birthmother while Alli Mae stayed in the living room. About 30 minutes into the visit I went to check on Alli Mae to see if she was okay. When I did she looked at me and just like a 12 year old girl she told me to ask her birthmother to come into the living room. (Thist time, she said her name instead of saying "birthmother"). The question was so direct and to the point... I was completely shocked! She's 3! At her request I walked back into the kitchen and told her birthmother that her presence was being requested in the living room.

As soon as she walked into the room Alli Mae looked at her and asked, “are you my birthmother?” Her birthmom looked at her and smiled, “Yes, I am.”
“You are?” Alli Mae asked. “Do you want to go play with my toys, birthmother?” And just like that, the ice was broken. The secret was out. There was no awkwardness. It all felt very natural- like it was supposed to happen- just like that.

It felt like a bag of bricks lifted off of us. That was a very heavy situation that was handled with such grace by everyone involved. I am left speechless at how our daughter was able to comprehend such a serious topic. It leaves me feeling so hopeful about how we can face any other subjects as she grows older.
Children are amazing little humans. Don’t for one second underestimate their amazing capacity to comprehend seemingly complicated concepts. It comes from such a uniquely innocent place. It makes me tear up just thinking about it. If only we as adults could comprehend and interpret tough subjects like that.

Photo credit: BSA Photography

Anyone with kids can probably attest that potty training is literally one of the hardest things you’ve encountered as a parent so far. I know I sure as heck can. It really felt like we were climbing a mountain... in flip-flops! There were highs that were full of celebrations with potty treats and dancing while we cheered our girl on. But then, just as things were looking good, it takes a sharp turn for the worse. Get ready, because there are just as many lows. I am talking full of sheer and utter dread. There were days that I felt so defeated.
Just when it seemed like we had started hiking up that mountain again, we’d fall almost right back to the bottom.
​But I am here to tell you, there is hope!

Starting out on the potty training journey, I was so eager for it to begin. In hindsight, maybe I was a little too eager.
I quickly went to Costco and got a great big jug of M&M’s to serve as our potty treats. And we were off to the races!
It started great! Sometimes she would tell me when she needed to go, and other times, I would ask her if she needed to go. Many times she’d say yes and other times she wouldn’t and messes were made.

After about a week and half into this new journey the novelty of the whole process wore off. I didn’t know what to do. I read many, many articles about what NOT to do and one really stood out. “Don’t lose your cool.”
REALLY!? I just wiped poop off the walls, floor, bed frame AND toy box and I am supposed to be cool as a cucumber?

Bless my baby’s heart. I know she was learning. And I know that I’d get hot headed sometimes. She was still processing this.
She was really trying hard too. And as gross as some days were, it was adorable to see her effort.
I did not want to come across mad at something she couldn’t control or didn’t understand. I absolutely did not want her to feel like she had failed.
I quickly needed to reassess my expectations. I needed to be prepared for anything. Good days are awesome... but bad days are going to happen. That’s life. I needed to get over it and know that I am making memories, and one day we would laugh at this.

Once the novelty wore off, I was at a loss. I didn’t know how to keep it fresh, new and exciting. A fun environment is what she enjoyed. There was another thing I found problematic. Occasionally, I would forget to remind her to go potty. Whether I was with our youngest daughter or cooking dinner, sometimes, especially if we were doing good with this potty routine, I would “drop the ball” by not keeping her on schedule.
Because of that, accidents were also made.

In the midst of feeling perplexed about what to do next,
​ a dear friend told me what she did with her daughter.
She said “get a potty clock! And bring books into the bathroom.”
The clock will help get you there in time and the books will keep her entertained. It’s funny, I knew about the books but when you are so far up this mountain you forget about helpful suggestions from others that were made in the past.
​
We have a grandfather clock that just so happens to chime every 15 minutes. Perfect! That was our potty clock. I grabbed some new books that she hadn’t read before and I would read to her to help her relax. My dear friend’s suggestions were brilliant!
It was like we took off the flip-flops and put on mountain boots!

Those suggestions were awesome! She was pottying all the time. It got to the point where she would remember that she needed to go and I didn’t have to remind her. She loved getting her potty treat and everything was great, except she stopped pooping.
I read many things about this happening. It is very common.
A lot of it has to do with feeling shameful or embarrassed about this process being gross and because of that,
she held it in and would not go. Something else for us to think about was that we love pasta and cheese in this house.
If it were up to my husband, he’d eat pasta every night.
Because of that, it could cause her difficulty to make bowel movements.
Our pediatrician told us to give the girls a half dose of
milk of magnesia every day and that would help with
the ease of going.

We were still at a wall with going “number 2” until I had an idea.

When I was a kid, I created this game for my sister who is 10 years younger than me. I transformed my room into a place called “Rainbowland.” I used my motorized disco light to cast colors all over the room with exciting disney scores playing in the background. She would walk on clouds (pillows) until she got to the door where I had a treasure box full of
Mardi Gras beads. My sister was able to pick a prize and then it was over- Quick and fun.

That’s it! I needed to make it fun. If I was able to have her enjoy going to the potty, for whatever reason, I felt like I would see
big results. So I recreated “Rainbowland!”

I made a ticket with her name so when she poops in the potty, she gets a ticket to “Rainbowland.” I made a treasure chest and started to fill it with different things I knew she loved.
I ordered rhinestones from Amazon, I added Mardi Gras beads, dress up clothes, necklaces and bracelets.

I wanted to keep it new and exciting, so I replaced different items to keep it fun and fresh. Each time she goes, she sees something that wasn’t in the treasure box before- and it worked!

She is still as excited to go to “Rainbowland” now as she was in the beginning. She is thrilled when she goes to the potty and gets her ticket. To see her excited like this absolutely makes me melt. It is such a cheesy idea, but it worked for us!

The struggle is real when it comes to climbing potty mountain!
I quickly found that I would use whatever tactic that could work. And for us, this has.

They get big so fast! It’s easy to get caught up in the emotions of the potty training journey, but keep in mind- this too shall pass.

I cannot believe she is 3 years old already. It feels like yesterday we were trying to figure out how this tiny preemie could keep her baby formula down.
Now, she is using the bathroom on her own!
This stage will quickly fade into so many others, so I savor every single second. We could not be more proud of our big girl.