Wakime Hauser's Blog – Page 21 – Just another WordPress site

Men healing – Round 2
- June 26, 2025
Shades of a Man (Podcast)
- May 30, 2025
Growth takes time!
- May 14, 2025
Men’s deserve to heal
- April 25, 2025

- Photograph
- March 12, 2024
Good Morning

Good Morning Opening your blinds Sun rays beam across the light dust Another day in heaven Her hands reach for,...
- Uncategorized
- June 15, 2024
The little loud ROCK 🪨

While in Vermont, my friend Alexx and I were driving up a gravel road toward our lodging.. The tranquility of,...

- Life Style
- December 20, 2022
Start, Struggle, Survive and Succeed
NO Child left behind!!
- February 20, 2025

The skin I am in!

I started writing poetry over 40 years ago. This is a poem I wrote…

Half a Mint

I had to be about 20, maybe 21 years old. I don’t remember the…

Back Yard Buddy

When my family moved to Greenwich CT in 1983, it was a culture shock…

Your character is naked!

As I argued with my best man (Brandon, my oldest son), I was reminded…

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Uncategorized
December 26, 2023

Born in Yonkers, New York, in the 1970s, I’ve always seen myself as a New Yorker. Besides attending Yankees or Knicks games, I rarely visit unless it’s for a family engagement or a funeral, as I now live in Connecticut. My childhood experiences in New York were anything but boring, except when I was being punished or at church. Additionally, I witnessed numerous illegal behaviors considered normal in my hometown. It wasn’t until I moved to Connecticut that I realized fighting wasn’t acceptable. I was taught never to let anyone bully or put their hands on me, and surprisingly, I rarely got into trouble for fighting in or out of school in New York—only a swat with a yardstick in school, which just stung briefly. However, adjusting to life in Connecticut proved challenging for me as a kid and teen. I seemed to always be in trouble. North Carolina became my sanctuary, where I forged lasting friendships from my youth. Each visit fills me with emotional memories. In North Carolina, I learned various skills like riding a motorcycle, landscaping, gardening, driving a manual car, handling and shooting rifles, playing basketball, and swimming. It provided an overwhelmingly positive experience for me,...

Uncategorized
February 6, 2023

The luck of the Irish ☘️ or NOT 3/17/1998

On Saint Patrick’s day of 1998, my first born son was born. At least that is what I THOUGHT. During labor, I was kicked out of the room because I was watching the Georgetown Hoyas Basketball game the night prior when my son’s mother began to have contractions. It was the NIT and they lost to Georgia Tech, I believe. I was given the gift of a healthy baby boy. I cried for two reasons: 1) I was a father 2) I was scared to death. I had started a full time job 3 months prior and was dealing with a paternity case at the same time, as If that was not enough. I was out of control mentally and, in my opinion, my son’s mother was not much better. Before he was even born, the arguments were out of control and I was headed for a domestic case. That eventually happened and to be honest, I could and should have been arrested more times than I was. I was too weak to leave and had such a large ego that I couldn’t allow someone to disrespect me. I do not know how I survived this relationship without doing some,...

Life Style
August 30, 2024

Men Matter

Growing up to this day I am faced with one consistent question. What is your nationality? I have been asked if I was Jamaican, Dominican, Mixed black and white, Puerto Rican and mixed Puerto Rican and black to name a few. I was always told that I was black. I believed this most of my young life. I recall in 5th or 6th grade doing a family tree. My father directed me to my grandfather and he gave me a history dating back to the early 1800’s. This information was accompanied with stories. I really felt like I knew my father’s side of the family. As a child we had family reunions and I would meet relatives from all over the United States. My great aunt’s and uncles would display so much pride in their heritage. My Grandfather was from the south and experienced racism in a different way then I did as a kid and adult. He was not fond of white folk, but always informed me that my family had white blood. It was not very clear to me the source of the white blood but I understood it as a woman had kids and may have even,...

Uncategorized
March 27, 2024

Brown Paper Bag

Reflecting on childhood memories often brings to mind simpler times, like the excitement of packing a favorite lunchbox for school. For me, it was a toss-up between my Superman and Hulk lunchboxes – iconic symbols of my youthful enthusiasm. Do you recall your cherished lunch containers? The tradition of packing lunches might seem like a relic from the past, especially in today’s fast-paced world. Yet, I can still vividly recall the care my mother took in preparing my midday meal. Deli sandwiches were a staple, adorned with a choice of condiments – mustard for liverwurst, ham, and bologna, and mayo for roast beef and turkey. However, nothing could surpass the timeless appeal of a classic peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The jelly flavor was inconsequential; it was the creamy peanut butter that always won my heart. When a warm meal was on the cards, my mother’s ingenious solution was Campbell’s chicken noodle soup or Chef Boyardee, packed snugly in an insulated canister to keep it piping hot until lunchtime. While my school offered hot lunches every Friday – a treat I reserved for occasions like meatball grinders or pizza – I mostly stuck to the home-packed goodness. Trading snacks with,...

Uncategorized
April 25, 2025

Men’s deserve to heal

It was a cold, rainy Saturday morning, and my schedule was already stacked. But I agreed to squeeze in a men’s group session—not because I had the time, but because my brother Kevin wanted to be there. Sometimes that’s all the motivation you need: a brother asking you to show up. And when a man asks you to stand beside him in his healing, you don’t think twice—you show up. I figured I’d walk in 30 minutes late and slide quietly into a seat while the session was in full swing. But to my surprise, the session hadn’t even started. The brothers were just sitting around, talking, laughing, vibing. It wasn’t formal, but the energy in the room was sacred. I walked in, shook every hand in the circle. Kevin, Keith—men I’d met before on a previous retreat—were already posted. Each handshake I exchanged carried this silent power… it wasn’t just grip and release. It was firm. Gentle. Restorative. Each one felt like, “I see you, bro. And I’m glad you made it.” The purpose of the gathering was simple: Men. Healing. Together. That’s it. No performance. No pretending. Just honesty and the presence of God. God was there. I,...

Men healing – Round 2
- June 26, 2025
2
Shades of a Man (Podcast)
- May 30, 2025
Growth takes time!
- May 14, 2025
Men’s deserve to heal
- April 25, 2025