It happened again. The thing that happens when you plan something and God laughs. Myles had been sick pretty much all week, and we thought this was just one of those times when your kid goes to daycare, picks up germs, brings them home, and gets better in two days.

Nope, not this time. This time Myles wasn’t himself for almost a week, and on Friday, just when we thought he was finally getting better, the daycare called us to come get him because he still just wasn’t being himself they said. I left work early and found him in the front office, knocked out on his nap mat. I picked him up and his body was so warm, and he looked at me with those big, beautiful eyes and said, “Daddy, I do not feel well.”

Long story short, we ended up in urgent care, and they tested for all the things that make you wonder: did he pick up something traveling the globe in the last three hours since we dropped him off, or are those toddlers at his daycare whipping up something nasty at nap time? They sent the drugs to the pharmacy, the one he loves—Amoxicillin—and I wonder if toddlers all love this pink medicine so much they would whip up a bacterial infection just to get some, because when we mention we got bubblegum medicine, he puts his fist up and smiles.

So this is meetup number four, and Mom and I make the call to stop the spread and keep Myles home. Which means I show up to the meetup alone. And since I don’t have the star of the show in tow, I am on time. I walk in, and Ms. Carla—the librarian, and arguably the co-star of this whole thing—doesn’t even say hello. She just looks at me and asks, “Where is Myles?” I tell her there was an incident at the toddler lab, but he is on Amoxicillin now, so he’s all good. She looks at me and nods like she understands.

Another dad is already there, and he’s without his kids too. His name is D, and he works for this really cool company called FiddleSticks Music, where they have music classes for toddlers and babies. Ms. Carla told me months ago she was going to get them to come.

I’ve met D before, so when I see him, I’m happy because I know the kids are in for a treat. But I’m also a little sad that we are both kidless. I wonder if his kids were whipping something up at the lab too. He tells me his kids turn savage when they watch him play and teach, so he didn’t bring them along. I tell him I understand. One time, I went to Myles’ class to read one of his favorite books, and he told all the kids to stay back from his daddy. I hate to admit it, but those kinds of moments are a two-year-old’s way of saying “I love you.” Love is a verb.

I tell D next time he comes, he gets to come just as a dad—no guitar—so he can experience it all for himself too.

It’s a little after 10, and a couple of dads start to show up. One is my cousin, which surprises me because I only had to ask him once. Another is a dad from the daycare I’ve been telling about the meetup. Another is a dad whose friend invited him last time, and he came back again on his own. And then there’s Z, who has been at every meetup since the beginning.

It was a small, intimate group, and something about that always feels special. I tell the dads I know I can do a better job promoting this, but I love the intimacy of it. I know one day the room will be so full the library will be bursting at the seams with fathers and children. But for now, I sit in this moment and relish it—because even in a small room like this, it feels like enough.

D calls us over to the carpet and starts leading songs that remind me how beautiful this space is, even if it’s just a few of us. He’s there with his guitar, singing, and a part of me softens watching the dads with their little ones in their laps, singing along and playing with all the instruments.

This is what the meetup is about—just a bunch of dads and their kids. And while I know some of the dads here aren’t used to this, because I’m not either, I love how the meetup forces us, as men, to get down low with our kids and allows us to be soft in ways that aren’t often seen, or sometimes, sadly, not even valued.

Because even if the world is on fire, this hour and a half is a call to joy, to connect, and to be soft with ourselves and with our children. I wish men didn’t always have to be hard—that they could leave every burden at the door and just be like their children. Just laugh, smile, and for a little while, be in a room where everything feels alright.

Every month I think I’m creating something for our children, when in reality, I’m creating something for their fathers too.

My favorite moment from the meetup is watching mothers walk by with their kids. I tell them about what we are building here, and they say, “Don’t worry, my husband will be at the next one.”

If you are a dad reading this, you’re doing a great job. You matter so much so much to world, but especially to the little person who calls you Dad.

Thank you for showing up. And if no one has told you they love you today, I do.

The next meetup is on May 23rd, and I can’t wait.

See ya’ll soon,

Marc

Read about the last meetup here

We were running late to this month’s meetup. I was trying to get one of those boxes of coffee from Starbucks, and even though I did my best to order ahead, lo and behold, I was sitting in the drive-thru with a screaming toddler in the back asking why we were in a tunnel and not at the library. Myles has become used to going to the meetups now, excited to see new people and familiar faces. Me, the anxiety of whether anyone is going to show up and what I am going to do this time with a bunch of dads still waxes and never wanes. I called the library to let them know we were running late. And when we finally arrived, Ms. Carla, the librarian, had that same smile she always has when we walk in. She let us know two dads were already there and showed us the room she set up for us.

The last two meetups were in the kids’ area, an open space with books and toys, but dads spent a quarter of the time talking and the rest herding their kids to make sure they didn’t leave the library. Last month, Ms. Carla said she wanted to give us a meeting room at no cost and would set up the room for us and the little ones. Setup was an understatement. Ms. Carla set up about six stations, from huge Legos to walking tiles that looked like the stuff in lava lamps when you stepped on them, along with arts and crafts, a chalk area, and a bouncy house. She even had a story ready for all of us who were there. It was not just one of those stories where she’s reading and showing pictures. No, I am talking felt boards, puppets, and actions, and the kind of story telling that captivated even the squirmiest toddler. And while Myles sat in my lap and laughed and pointed, while she told the story, it reminded me how much the meetup is as much for him and me as it is for the other dads.

I started a new job this past week. The kind of job where I have to clock in and out now, the kind of job where I remember why people are so thankful for Fridays—and now I’m just as grateful for them too. Time feels different because I’m not able to drop him off like I used to, and sometimes I’m not able to pick him up from school either. After my first week of coming home every day, I sat in the car a little longer, trying to prepare myself to give him and my wife everything I had left in my tank, even though I felt empty. But as he laughed in my lap while Ms. Carla told the story, I felt full. The kind of full where the exhaustion briefly melts away and you hear Lauryn Hill in the background singing “Nothing Even Matters.”

After the story, the kids played and the dads talked. And even though this meetup was probably the smallest, it was exactly what it needed to be. Because dads weren’t too worried about their kids wandering off, we actually got to sit down and play a board game. I think back to how much I worried all month about what I was going to do for this meetup. But the meetup took care of itself. Sometimes we just get to show up and be a part of something. And maybe that’s my role in all this. Having a desire for something doesn’t mean I have to be the sustainer. What if I just get to show up, and people like Ms. Carla, who set up the space for us, or the dad who brought a game, or last time when a dad brought coffee—what if people are actively waiting to help us? The meetup is a beautiful reminder that we never have to do anything alone.

If you are a dad reading this, you’re doing a great job. You matter so much so much to world, but especially to the little person who calls you Dad.

Thank you for showing up. And if no one has told you they love you today, I do.

The next meetup is on April 25th and I can wait.

See ya’ll soon,

Marc

Read about the last meetup here

I want to tell you I love this kind of wonder, a child who acts like every morning, the light that bleeds into his room is something he sees for the first time, but truthfully, I wish he would just stay in bed a little longer. We were up late last night because we had friends over. And every time, where our logic says if we sleep late, he will wake up later, toddler logic says “na.”

As soon as our friends left, my wife started the bedtime routine, and I ripped open a pack of thank-you cards I got from the dollar store earlier that day. For weeks, I had been trying to figure out what to do for the next dad meetup. Again, the same thoughts that circled around my brain last month came up. How do you plan something that will keep a bunch of dads engaged—especially with a bunch of toddlers running around?

Earlier in the week I began thinking about what I needed in this season of fatherhood. I thought about how hard some days feel: working full time and trying to be a present father, husband, and friend . I thought about every time we thought we had potty training down pat, wet underwear reminds me just not yet. I thought about the kind of math that happens when 1 +1 becomes 3, or how when my son was born I started to feel like I didn’t matter as much to anyone anymore, and how I wish someone told me I wasn’t alone. How I started to process this shift by writing to my son, when I really just needed someone to tell me “it’s going to be okay.”

Last night, after our friends left and my son and wife were asleep, I sat down with those thank-you cards and began writing the notes I wish someone would have taken the time to write to me—reminders of worth, reminders that fathers are loved even when they do not feel like it, reminders that sometimes showing up gets to be enough. I wrote that we are good fathers, even on the days when we struggle to believe it. I finished writing around midnight, and for the first time in weeks I slept through the night.

When Myles and I got to the library that morning, Ms. Carla was beaming. She was excited to see me, and even more excited to see Myles, who had missed the last meetup because he had a fever.

“Is this the famous Myles I have been hearing about?” she said, and Myles ran and hugged her like he had known her his whole short life.

If a good library is hard to find, a good librarian is even harder to come by—Ms. Carla is a gem. She told me she was going to reserve a room for us for the rest of the year, just for us. And something about that still warms my heart as I write this.

To be honest, I didn’t know who was going to show up. Only three people RSVP’d, and four of my friends who came last time said they weren’t able to make it. I usually leave the RSVPing to my wife, and I thought to myself, this must be what karma feels like.

But to my surprise, dads started rolling in—a couple from the last meetup, and mostly dads I’d never met. One came with a friend he’s known for twenty years. Another came with his daughter and son, who could’ve easily been the babysitters. Another brought coffee (thanks, Dan). Another, my neighbor, came with juice boxes and squeezes. And of course, every dad showed up with a little version of himself.

I smiled because I knew my letters weren’t going back home with me.

The space was filled with the smiles of fathers and their children, and the fatigue I had been feeling just melted away. I felt light. The conversations I overheard and the ones I was a part of reminded me that dads are looking for both care and community.

About forty-five minutes in, I asked the dads to introduce themselves, their kids, and to share a dad win. Some shared about finally getting their kids to use the toilet instead of diapers, while others said simply getting to the meetup on time was a win. I forgot to share mine, but I knew I did’t have too, because I was standing in it.

I thanked the dads for sharing their wins and told them I also knew there are moments that feel like wins but carry the weight of tough losses. Like when your child won’t go to sleep, or throws a tantrum because you won’t let them make snow angels in Target, or when you have to tell them they can’t wear the same underwear they wore yesterday.

I handed each of them a card and told them there was no money or gift card inside, but what it did hold was a note from a dad who wished he had received one of these on a hard day. I told them it was cheesy, barely legible, but it was for someone who knows what it feels like to sometimes feel invisible—someone who is always questioning whether they are a good father.

My favorite moment from the meetup came from a dad who had just wandered into the library with his family—let’s call him D. Carla was telling D about the meetup and when she made eye contact with me, she signaled me to come over. I told D what we were doing, and something about the questions he asked and how he stayed for the meetup let me know I was going to see him again. My last thank you card in my bag went to D, and as I handed it to him and explained what it was for, he smiled.

Saturday was a reminder that showing up in your truth gives others permission to do the same.

If you are a dad reading this, you’re doing a great job. You matter so much so much to world, but especially to the little person who calls you Dad.

Thank you for showing up. And if no one has told you they love you today, I do.

The next meetup is on March 21st and I can’t wait.

See ya’ll soon,

Marc

I’ll be using this part of the newsletter to share some recaps from the monthly meetings. Don’t worry, you’re already subscribed. You’ll continue to get the letters I’ve been writing to Myles, and now you’ll also get an update from the Birmingham Dad Meetup once a month.

If you’re a dad who happens to be in Birmingham, AL, or nearby at all, join the meetup page to stay connected about the monthly gatherings.

As always, thanks for being here.

Read about the last dad meetup here

This past weekend, I hosted the first official Birmingham Dad Meetup at the Avondale Library. The night before, my son, Myles, became sick, and I considered canceling. I wondered how I could show up to a dad meetup without my son. My wife encouraged me to go anyway, and instead of my son in tow, I showed up with a box of coffee and creamer, hoping it would make up for his absence and for asking a group of dads to meet a stranger at the library the day before the weather was supposed to be horrible.

To my surprise, dads actually showed up. Because it was the library, some were already there, not for the meetup but for their kids. As a few dads who had actually signed up for the event began to roll in, I felt grateful that I had listened to my wife, but sad at the same time Myles couldn’t be there. There’s something about seeing men I have never met gathered early on a Saturday morning, with little versions of themselves trailing behind them or in their arms. It’s hard to believe that just a few months earlier, I had made a post on Reddit, created a meetup group, and hoped for the best. And there it was: five other dads with their beautiful children, searching for what I had been searching for since moving to Birmingham, community.

The teacher in me worried about having a plan. My biggest concern was how to have intimate conversations with men I’ve never met while also making sure no toddler attempted a five-star splash off a library bookshelf. But it happened exactly the way it needed to.

The little ones tore through the library, not a toy left untouched, and the librarians were wonderful. They brought out extra toys for us, the good stuff, the kind they don’t usually leave out - puppets, marble runs, and a Toniebox playing the latest and greatest kid tunes. They even played with some of the little ones that tried to wander off as the dads talked – thank you Ms. Carla and Ms. Mcayla!

While we were only there for an hour and a half, dads shared this space was exactly what they needed. A place for them to hang out with their kids, give their partners a break, and just to be in a place where there are other men in the same season as them.

When a dad asked why I started this, I shared that when my son was born, I was not only in a new place, but I think I was also dealing with depression and was desperate for connection. I told them that most of the content I came across about fatherhood made it feel like being a dad was a standup comedy routine or an act of magic, where fathers were expert magicians who disappeared from the picture. But I knew that wasn’t true. As I dug deeper, I found that dads were present and overjoyed by fatherhood, and at the same time, many felt alone and struggled with how to handle the shift that comes when you bring a child into the picture. I told them I started writing letters to talk through what I was experiencing, and eventually I wanted something more: to meet other dads in real life who were going through the same thing.

And as I shared my story, they started to share too. Stories about feeling guilty for wanting more time for themselves, guilty for feeling like they weren’t good enough, and lost because they did not know that such joy could come with such weight. My favorite moment came from a dad with seven-month-old twins, who shared that this meetup was the first communal thing he had done since moving to Birmingham. As he talked about his journey and how emotionally hard it’s been, I knew this meetup that had been placed on my heart wasn’t just for me, it was for all of us. Even though there were not many of us, the space felt full, and my heart felt light.

I think back to this past Saturday and how much work it must have taken for each of those dads to get up, get their kids ready, load strollers, and drive or walk to a library early on a cold morning. They set aside the nervousness and all the other things that so easily get in the way. Race. Politics. Opinions. All the reasons it can feel easier to stay home.

Saturday was a reminder of how beautiful the world can be when we center and show up for what matters most — our children.

If you are a dad reading this, you’re doing a great job. You matter to so much to the planet, but especially to the little person who calls you dad. Thank you for showing up. And if no one told you they loved you today, I do.

See you at the next Meetup!

Best,

Marc

I’ll be using this part of the newsletter to share some recaps from the monthly meetings. Don’t worry, you’re already subscribed. You’ll continue to get the letters I’ve been writing to Myles, and now you’ll also get an update from the Birmingham Dad Meetup once a month.

If you’re a dad who happens to be in Birmingham, AL, or nearby at all, join the meetup page to stay connected about the monthly gatherings.

If you’re not interested in getting these updates about the Birmingham Dad Meetup, you can unsubscribe using this link here.

As always, thanks for being here.

If you have been following this newsletter for a while, you know my story.

Since my son, Myles, was born, I have been writing him letters to process the love I didn’t necessarily experience myself.

You know the story about meeting his mother on the subway platform in Brooklyn, NY.

You know that after two years of trying to conceive, we moved to Ethiopia, we did our part, and God did His, and in time my wife finally got pregnant.

You know how something changed in me when he was born, and that Raising Myles has been healing for my own inner child.

You know how much I think about even if he’s just two what it means to be raising a little Black boy in this world that may never love him back.

You know how love can make you move mountains, so we moved to Birmingham, AL, where his mother is from, and how hard it was and is to make it feel like home, because home isn’t just a place; it’s the people who make you feel at home.

This past month, I’ve been thinking about how to make a place feel like home, not just for me, but for other dads who are looking for a place to gather, love, talk, and celebrate the joy and hardships of being fathers, a place where dads can feel held, understood, and at home together.

In the new year, I am putting together a monthly gathering called The Birmingham Dad Meetup. It is exactly what it sounds like.

Fatherhood can be beautiful, but it can also be lonely. I am committed to making fatherhood a space grounded in care, community, and commitment.

I’ll be using this part of the newsletter to share some recaps from the monthly meetings. Don’t worry, you’re already subscribed. You’ll continue to get the letters I’ve been writing to Myles, and now you’ll also get an update from the Birmingham Dad Meetup once a month.

If you’re a dad who happens to be in Birmingham, AL, or nearby at all, join the meetup page to stay connected about the monthly gatherings.

If you’re not interested in getting these updates about the Birmingham Dad Meetup, you can unsubscribe using this link here.

As always, thanks for being here.

Love,

Marc Typo

This past Saturday, I got a group of dads together who I admire for our first meetup. It was beautiful.