I Used to be a Plant Dad

Before You, They Were My First Children

If you’re new to Raising Myles, Welcome!

I write letters to my newborn son, Myles, sharing my journey as a first-time dad and spreading the love I didn't experience myself. If you’ve been here before — thank you for coming back. If you’re new here, below are some good places to start:

• How I Met Your Mother

• A Letter From Your Mother

• Balm for Wounds: Apologizing in Advance

• Tell them Where You’re From

14 Months

Dear Myles,

Did you know,
before he made you and me, 
God made the plants and trees you see?

When trying to conceive 
took a toll on my mental health, 
I turned to plants 
tried to convince God 

I was worthy of growing life.

Bedstuy 2020

Before you, the Heart of Strings, the Wandering Jew, the Pothos, and Swiss plants were my first children.

I had all types in our small backyard. I named them after my friends: there were Jack, Francesca, Brandan, Connie, and others. It was during the pandemic, and I missed my people desperately. The Peace Lily felt most human; she’d droop her leaves like she was sad when she needed water. Once she had her fill, she perked right up. I loved the leaves of the Monstera deliciosa the most—how slowly they’d unfurl, like a hand learning how to unball its fist for the first time; I’d watch it every day for weeks—it was worth the wait.

It made me think how there must have been more than 24 hours in a day when God created the Earth. Who would rush this kind of beauty? But if His hours were the same as ours, I wonder if He ever thought twice about creating the world so quickly. In those seven days did He ever get to appreciate how aerial roots manage to find the soil? How the posture of a plant will change and almost about-face to reach its face to the sun?

In our small backyard, I battled the squirrels, the ants, and the elements daily.

My favorite was propagating. How beautiful it was to cut a plant right above or below its node, pop it in water, and watch it begin to take and make its own roots. Perhaps this is why Jay Z, the first and only botanist I ever knew, said in his dissertation, “Put me anywhere on God’s green earth, and I’ll triple my worth,” because I once cut a Croton I found near Flatbush, gently broke her right under a node, put her in a glass bottle, and placed her on the bottom floor of our Bed Stuy Brownstone window, and she too did just fine. I had small glasses filled with little saplings everywhere—my babies. I’d overhear your mother talking to her friends while I bottom watered and repotted in the bathroom, “yea..he’s outside with them plants again.” She didn’t know that I became my own Adam, and even though we were surrounded by concrete, when God said to fill and subdue the land, I knew now He meant to take care of what He had given me. I talked to those plants, and in their beauty they talked back. 

I tell you, in our small backyard, I battled the squirrels, the ants, and the elements daily because it gave me something to do. But truthfully, it occupied my mind as I walked through the second bedroom we secretly planned for a nursery every morning on my way to those plants.

When we decided to go to Ethiopia to leave the thought of having a child to God, I had to leave them behind too and give them all away—some to friends and even one to your grandfather. I did not ask about them and still do not now; couldn’t bear the thought that they were unhealthy or, worse, dead.

But I do take what they have taught me:

I thrive wherever I am planted.
Plants need water, and I need people. 
I am worthy of growing life. 

God didn’t need the convincing –  it was me
Because He blessed me
 with You 

I love you and there’s nothing you can do about it

Love, 

Daddy 

marc.typo

A post shared by @marc.typo

Throw back instagram post of me and all my chirren.

Appreciation time: I want to thank

Deesha Philyaw

and

Jacob Ames

for contributing your hard-earned money by becoming paid subscribers and supporting me as I save for Myles' college plan. I appreciate you. Thank you for seeing the value in this work.

These letters are a labor of love. All funds collected from writing these letters go toward Myles' college savings. A paid subscription also gives you access to all letters I’ve written to Myles, including these letters I write every other week or so, where I explore fatherhood more deeply, discuss my own upbringing, and reflect on what it means to be raising a Black son.

If you can’t commit to a monthly subscription, but still want to support Myles’ college plan, here is my Buy Me a Coffee page.

And if you are on Substack, please restack this letter and recommend it so I can share this love with the world.

Let me know your thoughts:

1. Were you ever a plant parent? Tell me about your favorite plant(s).

2. I became a plant dad during the pandemic. Who did you become?

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Looking for more writing from Black, Global Indigenous, and People of Color on Substack? Earlier this week Earlier this week, the Locked In community published its first issue of Unlocked | BIPOC Reads . This issue was beautifully curated by my friend

Noha Beshir

and edited by be and

Zefan

.

Issue #03: Unlocked

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Want more of Myles’ Letters?

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• A video about beautiful backgrounds: Tell Them Where You're From.

• Read about My Wife’s Love Affair - It’s exactly what you don’t think

• Have you ever been Cooking in the Bathroom kind of tired?

• Check out Carrying the Gift, Holding the Love