【正文】 her grew up in the south, in a very poor family. he came of age during the depression and his own father, who struggled to feed his children, showed little affection towards his family and raised my father and his siblings with an iron fist. who could have imagined what it was like to grow up a poor black man in the south, robbed of dignity, bereft of hope, struggling to bee a man in a world that saw my father as subordinate. i was the first black artist to be played on mtv and i remember how big a deal it was even then. and that was in the 80s!
　　my father moved to indiana and had a large family of his own, working long hours in the steel mills, work that kills the lungs and humbles the spirit, all to support his family. is it any wonder that he found it difficult to expose his feelings? is it any mystery that he hardened his heart, that he raised the emotional ramparts? and most of all, is it any wonder why he pushed his sons so hard to succeed as performers, so that they could be saved from what he knew to be a life of indignity and poverty?
　　i have begun to see that even my fatheramp。t understand it or know how to deal with it. but he did know doughnuts.
　　and when i allow the floodgates to open up, there are other memories that e rushing back, memories of other tiny gestures, however imperfect, that showed that he did what he could. so tonight, rather than focusing on what my father didnamp。t want to ruin the magic for fear that he would never do it again. my father had to leave them secretly at night, so as no one might catch him with his guard down. he was scared of human emotion, he didnamp。 just the doughnuts. it was like santa claus.
　　sometimes i would think about staying up late at night, so i could see him leave them there, but just like with santa claus, i didnamp。 no note, no explanation amp。 we all did. my favorite food was glazed doughnuts and my father knew that. so every few weeks i would e downstairs in the morning and there on the kitchen counter was a bag of glazed doughnuts amp。s just being human.
　　and when i think about this, of how i hope that my children will not judge me unkindly, and will forgive my shortings, i am forced to think of my own father and despite my earlier denials, i am forced to admit that me must have loved me. he did love me, and i know that.
　　there were little things that showed it. when i was a kid i had a real sweet tooth amp。s child, and we know that despite the very best of plans and efforts, mistakes will always occur. thatamp。ve made, and will certainly continue to make, in raising them. for we have all been someoneamp。
　　i hope that they will always focus on the positive things, on the sacrifices i willingly made for them, and not criticize the things they had to give up, or the errors iamp。our daddy did the best he could, given the unique circumstances that he faced. he may not have been perfect, but he was a warm and decent man, who tried to give us all the love in the world.amp。t we given an average childhood like all the other kids, they might ask? and at that moment i pray that my children will give me the benefit of the doubt. that they will say to themselves: amp。t always go to a park or a movie with me.
　　so what if they grow older and resent me, and how my choices impacted their youth? why werenamp。s how kids are, the little things mean so much to them and for me, that one moment meant everything. i only experienced it that one time, but it made me feel really good, about him and the world.
　　but now i am a father myself, and one day i was thinking about my own children, prince and paris and how i wanted them to think of me when they grow up. to be sure, i would like them to remember how i always wanted them with me wherever i went, how i always tried to put them before everything else. but there are also challenges in their lives. because my kids are stalked by paparazzi, they canamp。t miss a step.
　　but what i really wanted was a dad. i wanted a father who showed me love. and my father never did that. he never said i love you while looking me straight in the eye, he never played a game with me. he never gave me a piggyback ride, he never threw a pillow at me, or a water balloon.
　　but i remember once when i was about four years old, there was a little carnival and he picked me up and put me on a pony. it was a tiny gesture, probabl