[Current Condition: I Neglected You]

When I was 21, I used to desire to be a father so bad. I was desperate to become a father. I wanted to be in charge of someone’s life. I wanted to hear a baby’s cry, and hold that baby in the middle of the night and tell that baby, “It’s okay, daddy is here.” 

I knew that my chances of me becoming a father were slim to none, so what did I do. I pulled a very psychotic and yet mental thing. I created an imaginary child named Imad (pronounced em mahd).

As interesting as it was, I didn’t even want a son. I feared of having a son. I always felt as though by having a son, he would turn out to be gay or bi-sexual, and I didn’t want my son to have to go through that like I have. I knew I would be completely clueless to manly things. I never learned how to work on a car so how the hell would I teach him something I don’t even know? I wouldn’t be able to play any sports with him, because I know nothing about them. I would be a horrible father to a baby boy, yet, I created an imaginary baby boy. 

I never told anyone about him, because I knew people would think I was bat crazy, so it was my best kept secret. I used to keep a notebook, where I would write him letters as if he was looking at me from heaven. I referred to him as my unborn child, and I would tell him everything, and as weird as this sounds, it helped me get through a lot in my life. Now that I look back at that notebook titled “Letters To Imad”, I realize that I wasn’t crazy at all. I just had a very interesting way of dealing with my issues. Those letters revealed that I would make a wonderful parent, and that despite what I believed, I would make a great father to a baby boy.