This is what it’s supposed to be

Campus of John G. Riley Elementary School in Tallahassee, FL

Wednesday night, March 26, 2025, something special happened in the heart of Tallahassee. Not on a big stage, not on anyone’s national radar, but right where it needed to happen: John G. Riley Elementary School, 1400 Indiana Street. Smack in the middle of 32304, Florida’s poorest zip code, sitting right next to the Joe Louis apartments, also known as Springfield. If you know, you know.

It was called Gentleman’s Night, but it wasn’t just an event. It was a statement. It was a movement, reminder, a call-in, not a call-out.

Riley is a majority-Black school with a majority-Black staff. It’s the kind of place where the teachers are raising kids while they’re teaching them, because they have to. You walk into Riley and feel the weight of the world those kids are carrying… but you also feel something else…love…Real love. These are good kids. Kids who show up with wrinkled shirts and untied shoes, some on empty stomachs, but with open hearts. They love who loves them. And that’s why I had to be there.

Ofc. Hill reading to a group of Riley students in 2023

I was invited to speak at the event by Assistant Principal Ms. Calloway, a force of nature in that school. Our relationship goes back a few years. She ran a reading program that had officers come in and read to students. I was always one of the first to volunteer for that. So when she reached out about Gentleman’s Night, I already knew what time it was. I had to show up, and I had to show up right.

The room was packed, way more than anyone expected. Fathers showed up. There were father figures and mentors. There were hole groups of men who made the decision to be present and show their kids, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” That’s not a small thing. Too often we think our people won’t come out for something positive. But this time? Man, they showed out for the positive.

I got to speak to the room, to the men, specifically. I told them some of my story. Where I came from. What I had to push through. I reminded them that society doesn’t need perfect fathers. It needs present ones, active ones, the kind who make an honest effort and keep showing up. I told them that choosing your kids over everything else isn’t just the right thing, it’s revolutionary. Because when Black fathers stand tall, Black communities stand stronger.

What moved me most, though, were the little things such as a painting station. Yes, painting, where fathers sat side by side with their sons and created together. Somebody had worried that men wouldn’t go for it. Turns out, it was one of the most popular parts of the night. They leaned all the way in. They were smiling, they were focused.

There were workshops and activities, fitness sessions, young men teaching boys how to tie ties, community vendors offering resources and tools. But even more than what was happening, it was how it was happening. The energy in the room wasn’t forced. Nobody had to fake it. It just felt right. Like this is what it’s supposed to be.

And listen, there was this moment that really stuck with me. There were a few fathers standing off to the side watching their sons being taught how to tie ties, and then stepping up themselves to learn too. There was no pride or ego hindering this moment. It was just men humbling themselves for the sake of growth. You can’t tell me that’s not powerful.

A child is being shown how to tie a tie by a student from one of the local colleges.

I took photos all night because I wanted to document this for the world and my community. I wanted people to see these images and immediately feel something. I wanted them to be hit with a sense of pride, hope and reflection or maybe even a little healing. These weren’t just snapshots. These were love letters to our community.

Gentleman’s Night was BlackDad on steroids. A room full of stories happening at once. It was men and their sons, building legacies in real time. Love was in that room. God was in that room. A stronger tomorrow was in that room.

And for me, this work, BlackDad, my photography…it’s all tied together. It’s all about legacy. About being the bridge between who we were, who we are, and who we can become. It’s events like this that remind me we’re not just hoping for change, we’re building it, brick by brick, father by father, son by son.

Let’s do more. Let’s do it bigger. But most of all, let’s keep doing it together.