Fatherhood

The Weight of White
Arthur rolled onto his back. The ceiling was just a deeper shade of black than the rest of the room. Two AM. Always two AM. Always the damn ticking of the old grandfather clock downstairs, a rhythm that used to annoy Martha but now just felt like the only thing keeping time in a house that otherwise forgot what it was. He sighed, a raspy sound that snagged in his throat. Couldn’t sleep. Not with the wind scratching at the windows like some starved thing wanting in.
By HAADI9 days ago in Men
The Deepwater Palate
Elias felt the cold long before he opened his eyes, a damp chill that permeated the thin walls of his shack, seeped into his bones. It was four in the morning, same as always. The gulls hadn't even started their squawking yet, just the rhythmic, indifferent sigh of the sea against the shingle outside. He swung his legs over the side of the cot, the springs groaning in protest, a familiar complaint. His bad knee cracked like kindling, every morning a fresh reminder that time wasn't slowing down for anyone, least of all him. He pulled on his thick wool socks, then his rubber boots, the same pair he’d had since Martha bought them for his birthday, God, must be twenty years ago. The rubber was cracked, patched in places, but they still kept the wet out. Mostly.
By HAADI13 days ago in Men
The Last Car to Nowhere
The platform was concrete dust and shadows, the kind that cling to forgotten places. A single bulb, caged and grimy, buzzed overhead, doing little to chase the heavy dusk. The sign above the track, its paint peeling like sunburnt skin, read: ‘Track 9 – Final Boarding.’ No destination listed. Just that. Final. A few men huddled, shoulders hunched against the biting wind that whipped through the station’s skeletal frame. They didn’t talk much, just eyed the track, eyed the horizon that promised nothing but more of this bleakness.
By HAADI14 days ago in Men
The Weight of Moonlight
Elias usually slept like a stone, the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that came from years of hard living, hard work, and not much thought about what might lie beyond the next sunrise. But tonight, sleep was a cruel joke. The bed felt too big, the sheets too cold, and the air, usually thick with the faint scent of old wood and Martha’s lavender sachet, was just… empty. Two years gone, and sometimes it still felt like yesterday, sometimes like a lifetime.
By HAADI19 days ago in Men
The Weight of White
The house groaned, a settling sound, deep in the gut of the night. Frank heard it, even through the double pane, even over the quiet sigh of the furnace, because everything else was gone. Swallowed. The snow had done it. Not just a dusting, not a polite flurry. This was a goddamn smothering. An inch an hour, the radio had droned, before he’d turned it off, before the world went quiet.
By HAADI21 days ago in Men
A Certain Shade of Bitter
Arthur always knew the exact moment the color blue would hit him. It wasn't the kind you saw in the sky or on a painted wall. This blue, it was a taste, something that settled on his tongue like dust, then seeped into his molars, down his throat, and straight into the pit of his stomach. It wasn't bitter, not like coffee left too long on the burner. More like… metallic. The tang of old pennies. The flat, dull ache of a winter morning when the light was grey, not even proper white, just endless grey-blue stretching out to nowhere.
By HAADI23 days ago in Men
The Backward Tick
Arthur didn't notice it at first. Not really. The old grandfather clock, Thomas's clock, had stood in the corner of the living room for fifty years, ticking with the measured, steady rhythm of a man who knew his place. It had been his father’s; a hulking, dark oak beast, a wedding gift from a cousin in the old country. When Thomas died, the clock just kept on, a constant presence, a silent sentinel in the house Arthur now rattled around in alone. For weeks after the funeral, Arthur had barely heard it, lost in the fuzzy quiet of grief and cheap whiskey.
By HAADI28 days ago in Men
The Ledger of Unsaid Things
Arthur’s knuckles were bone-white as they gripped the mahogany railing, worn smooth by a century of hands. Not fear, not really, just an old man’s stiffness, the cold bite of autumn through the ancient stone walls of the University Archives, seeping into his joints. The air in here, it was a thick, velvet shroud, smelling of dried ink, brittle parchment, and something else—a faint, metallic tang, like old blood, or rust, or maybe just the relentless passage of time eating away at everything. He came here Tuesdays and Thursdays, religiously, for years now, ever since Thomas… well, ever since.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Men
🇺🇸 On The Nature of Truth and The Truth of The Individual
🇺🇸 On the Nature of Truth and the Truth of the Individual (A Parable in the American Philosophy) A daughter sat before her father while he ate his supper.
By Chase McQuade2 months ago in Men
Rebuilding Reciprocity
Truth alone can heal what pride has broken. The war between men and women is not natural. It is manufactured by a culture that rewards resentment and mocks responsibility. Men are not the enemy of women, and women are not the enemy of men. The true enemy is the spirit of division that turned cooperation into competition. To rebuild what was lost, both must return to the principle that made civilization possible: reciprocity.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast2 months ago in Men
Taquarius Kaream Ford: A Devoted Father and Leader
A Heart Anchored in Family Taquarius Kaream Ford is more than a name he is a symbol of strength, love, and leadership. A devoted father and an inspiring leader, Ford has built his life around faith, family, and service. His journey is not about titles or achievements alone; it is about the lives he has touched, the values he upholds, and the example he continues to set for others.
By Petslify2 months ago in Men
The Asymmetry of Consequence
A society cannot survive when truth applies to one group but not another. Every civilization that endures is built on shared accountability, equal justice, and balanced consequence. When one group is shielded from correction while another carries the full weight of judgment, corruption takes root. Today, that imbalance has become deeply gendered. Men are punished for failure, while women are protected from it. Men are held to the standard of results, while women are measured by intentions. The scales of consequence are no longer even, and the results are visible everywhere.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast2 months ago in Men