When I was a boy, no one ever told me I was cute. As I got older, no one ever told me I was handsome. I didn’t realize how much that mattered because I was busy trying to be reliable—helping my mom raise my sister and, in many ways, raising myself.
I focused on being good, being useful, being steady. It took me decades to understand that I also needed encouragement, compliments, and someone telling me it was okay to try again when I failed.
For a long time, I believed that if I was kind and funny, it wouldn’t matter whether I was attractive. Life taught me otherwise. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding mirrors, and now I’m older and still hesitant to explain why I’m single—why I’ve always been single.
People don’t ask anymore. Maybe they wonder about me, maybe they don’t. But this is the truth: I grew up never being told I was enough, and I’m still learning how to believe it for myself.
My barber told me he's going to be a dad, and he asked me for words of advice. First thing that popped in my head was to tell him to be the biggest cheerleader for this child. Compliment hin/her regularly and make sure that whatever they are passionate about, make sure that you will have their back 100%. Tell them they're cute, they're pretty, they're handsome, they're smart. Tell them they can do anything, and that they're just as good as any body else. Everything my sister and I never heard.
