Brent Love is a Communications Consultant specializing in digital storytelling, engagement and brand experience.

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We voted!

Holding My Breath on Voting Day

There are a lot of reasons voting matters. Think of your own. What do you fear? What do you hope for? Today, my fears and my hopes have so taken hold of me, I feel like I’m holding my breath, like I’m waiting to exhale. I’m watching social media to see people calling friends and strangers to remind them to vote. I see so many ‘I Voted’ stickers. They are like little lighthouses along a coastline I hope is approachable by tomorrow morning. In my neighborhood, this morning, when I went to vote, the volunteers were all smiling. Most were…

How I Felt On My First Father’s Day

She’s officially seven months. Sunday was Father’s Day. It was my first Father’s Day as a father. Today I saw her sit up on her own for the first time. She sat right up. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t celebrate. She didn’t look at me for approval. She didn’t cheer with glee. She simply just sat right up. Then she grabbed a purple block from a collection of blocks and stared at it. She is marvelous. She doesn’t know it, of course. She doesn’t know that when she sits up my heart completely stops, shatters into a million pieces,…

8 TV Moms This Gay Dad Wants His Daughter To Know

I recently started watching old episodes of Roseanne. I put my iPad up on the kitchen shelf and listened to their raucous household rumble through bad grades and teen smoking and the honeymoon they never had. I was all warm fuzzies about it, ready to slowly make my way through Conner family history until this last week. Last week I gave up on Roseanne. I’ll let you google that if you need to know why. However, it got me thinking about moms. My baby girl doesn’t have a mom. She has two amazing dads, and I know without a doubt…

Wear the Speedo

Last week I took my daughter to a lake in the city, and as we parked, a man walked by. He older, perhaps close to 70. He was wearing the shortest shorts I’ve seen since the summer began. I was startled. The shorts creeped up his backside, and in long, spindly strokes his legs stretched ahead of and behind him, making his way toward the lake. His faded blue jeans were ragged at the edge where a pant leg could have begun had there been any leg to these pants at all. In the place of the legs were merely…