I found a grocery list in my son’s backpack that was written in a hurry and included milk, cereal, diapers, and wipes. He is 17 years old. When I asked him about it, he flushed and said something about helping a friend. Later that night, I followed him across town and observed him knock on a door. “Papa!” yelled a little kid, and I almost fell off the curb.
I don’t move. Just standing there with my heart racing in my chest, behind a half-dead bush in front of the neighbor’s house across the street. The porch light hits my son’s face, and I can see how ashamed he is. His arms raise the little child up as if they were used to it. The woman at the door looks fatigued as she lays against the frame with her arms crossed and watches him bounce her and kiss her forehead.
I don’t know her. She might have been in her early twenties. She was wearing a huge t-shirt and leggings, and her long black hair were coiled into a bun. She isn’t mad. I’m just tired. This is how a single mother who hasn’t slept well in weeks feels.
I pull over, get into my car, and wait there with the motor off for a bit before anyone sees me. My fingers shake on the wheel. I don’t even know where to begin.
When he gets home two hours later, I’m pretending to watch a cooking show. He tries to sneak past with his shoes in one hand and his hoodie on.
I tell them to “Sit” without looking.
Then he falls into the armchair like a bag of bricks after freezing. His head hangs down.
“Who is she?” I ask. “And the little girl?”
He swallows hard. “Her name is Yessenia. The baby is Amina.
I slowly nod my head. “And is the father you?”
“I think so,” he says, almost in a whisper. “I didn’t know until a few months ago.”
I turn off the TV. “Nashir, you’re 17.”
“I get it.”
I want to cry, yell, or both. But I don’t. When I look at him, he appears like a kid again. He doesn’t look like a father figure. He hasn’t gotten there yet.
He tells me everything. said he and Yessenia hooked up a few times the summer before their junior year, but then they broke up. She went to a different school. A few months ago, she got in touch with him on social media. said they had an important message for him.
He says, “She didn’t ask for anything.” She didn’t ask for money or help. She just thought I should know.
But Nasir didn’t leave. He started to come. helping. He went grocery shopping with the little money he made working part-time at the car wash. Yessenia would rock Amina to sleep, change her diapers, and read her bedtime stories when her shifts were late.
“She calls me Daddy sometimes,” he says, his eyes now wet. “Mom, I don’t know what I’m doing. But I can’t skip it.
I’ve never been so proud and scared at the same time.
We talked for hours that night. I ask him what he wants to do in college and school, and how he handles everything. He says he is feeling stressed. His grades have gone down. He doesn’t sleep a lot. But he won’t give up.
He says of Yessenia, “She didn’t ask for that either.” “She is doing everything she can.”
I ask if she is related. He shakes his head. “When she became pregnant, her mother evicted her.”
I put my lips together. When someone you love is too young to be carrying this much, it makes you angry.
In the next two weeks, I meet Amina and Yessenia. At first, she is shy, polite, and quiet. We talk lightly while Amina sleeps. I bring food that is ready to eat. I bring a bag of size 4 diapers with me.
Yessenia finally lets her guard down. She was scared when she found out she was pregnant. She didn’t tell Nasir because she feared he would disappear like everyone else.
She admits that her mother told her, “You make me feel embarrassed.” “Made me go.”
Her plan to stay with a cousin didn’t last long. She stayed in a shelter for a while before getting a subsidized apartment through a program for teen mothers. She has two jobs. getting ready to take the GED.
While I was sitting there, I thought that this girl might be gone. It would have been enough to just remark, “This isn’t his problem.” But she didn’t. She let him be a part of Amina’s life.
But I’m worried. Futures are more essential than just money. University. Stability. Math is hard in life.
One night, I talk to my sister Lila, who is a social worker in Toronto. She just listens and doesn’t say anything. Then she tells me about programs for young parents in the region.
She says, “Help them before they break.” “Love is not enough if someone is drowning.”
So I help them sign up for a program that can help them nearby. I assist them get a caseworker, counseling, and parenting classes. Nasir and Yessenia start going out every Tuesday night.
At first, it is hard. Yessenia misses work, Amina becomes sick, and Nasir fails a history test. But they keep coming back.
Everything starts to bloom in the spring.
Nasir takes Amina to the park every Saturday. They start to come to our Sunday dinners. I help Yessenia get ready for her GED. She goes by.
I see this strange little family start to get used to their new life.
The twist comes next.
One night, Yessenia knocks on my door. Her eyes are red. She is shaking.
She continues, “I need to tell you something.” “It’s not fair to keep it in anymore.”
Once she comes in, we seat down at the table.
“I got a paternity test,” she continues, although you can hardly hear her. “Three weeks ago.”
My chest feels tight.
“The results were not good. Nasir is not Amina’s father.
I can’t talk.
“I was sure he was Nasir,” she says. The timing was off, but there was only one other guy. I didn’t tell him.
She goes crazy.
“I didn’t know how to tell Nasir. He has been great. There you go. Amina also thinks he is her father. I just—
I put my hand on hers. She glances up in shock.
I say, “You have to tell him.” “Tonight.”
I’m amazed at how effectively he deals with it.
He doesn’t yell. doesn’t leave all of a sudden. He spends a lot of time just looking at the floor. Then he says, “All right.” Okay. I’m not her real dad. She is still my little girl, though.
That night, he comes over. When he gets home, he is calm but quiet.
He says, “She cried.” “Both of us did.”
Then he smiled. “But I won’t go.”
He stops calling her “baby girl” after a month and starts calling her “Mina.” It feels more…deliberate in some manner. Like he would pick her. Not because they felt guilty, but because they loved them.
It’s time to graduate. I cry uncontrollably as he walks across the stage. Mina and Yessenia are the loudest fans in the stands.
He doesn’t go to a big college. Instead, he signs up for a two-year degree in early childhood education. He says he wants to work with kids.
I ask him why. “Because I know how hard it is,” he says. A decent adult can also have a big effect on a child’s life.
That’s all. I cry in my coffee.
Two years later, he gets his certification. Yessenia works full-time in a dental office. Mina goes to preschool. Yessenia and Mina think of themselves as a family even if they aren’t married. They choose each other on purpose and with full knowledge.
This is what I’ve found out:
Sometimes life throws us strange, unpredictable, and unexpected things. children who weren’t planned. Starts that aren’t stable. DNA twists.
But sometimes the real parents are the ones who show up nonetheless. They are the ones who stay, wipe away tears, reheat bottles, and say, “I’m still here.”
Biology is the start of life. But love? It is made with love.
So, if you’re ever at a crossroads and wondering if it’s important to show up, it is, I promise.