I want to speak directly to the audience, to say, 'I'm like you

The late comedian Bernie Mac spoke with a voice that was both raw and tender, filled with the courage of a man who refused to wear masks before his audience. When he declared, “I want to speak directly to the audience, to say, ‘I’m like you – I’m frustrated, I’m not an expert, I don’t have a manual on parenting, I make mistakes, I’m selfish too,’” he was not merely confessing his own faults—he was shattering the illusion that parents must walk in perfection. His words remind us of an ancient truth: that true strength is not in boasting of wisdom, but in laying bare one’s weaknesses with honesty.

In these words, we hear the voice of one who understood that parenthood is a path walked in uncertainty. There are no sacred scrolls that map every trial, no divine scripts to guide every decision. Parents stumble, they falter, and sometimes they fall. But Bernie Mac teaches that in the confession of imperfection, there is a bond that ties parents together. For when a parent says, “I too am flawed,” they lift the burden from another parent’s shoulders, showing that to be imperfect is not to be unworthy.

History remembers such moments of humility. Consider Abraham Lincoln, who once confessed that he was often unsure of his decisions, bearing the weight of leadership in a time of war with trembling hands. His greatness did not lie in a false image of certainty, but in his willingness to admit weakness and yet continue onward. So it is with parents: their greatness lies not in flawless mastery but in the endurance to rise again after each error, and to love despite their failures.

Bernie Mac’s honesty strikes at the heart of selfishness, a truth many fear to name. Parents are not saints; they wrestle with their own desires, their longing for rest, their yearning for self-fulfillment. Yet it is in acknowledging selfishness that the parent becomes capable of rising above it. For to see one’s fault clearly is the first step in mastering it. The parent who pretends to be endlessly selfless grows brittle; but the parent who admits struggle learns resilience, and slowly shapes love into a conscious act rather than a hollow performance.

The frustration Bernie Mac speaks of is a universal fire. Every parent has felt it—the sleepless nights, the endless questions, the clashes of will. But he reminds us that this fire need not consume; it can refine. Frustration is the furnace where patience is forged. Just as ancient warriors trained under the weight of iron to make their arms strong, so too do parents grow under the weight of trial. The child unknowingly shapes the parent, just as the parent shapes the child, in a sacred exchange of growth.

From this wisdom arises a lesson: let no parent fear their mistakes. Instead, let them confess openly, seek forgiveness quickly, and walk humbly. A child does not require a perfect guardian but a human one, capable of love, apology, and laughter even after failure. The manual of parenting is not written in books but in the daily practice of showing up, of choosing love anew each morning, even when weary.

Therefore, take this teaching to heart: embrace imperfection. Speak honestly with others so that burdens may be shared. Laugh at your mistakes, and let your children see that mistakes can be healed by love and humility. In this way, your life becomes its own manual—a living scroll of resilience, honesty, and courage—that will outlast written words.

Bernie Mac’s voice, though now silent in the flesh, still thunders with the wisdom of truth: that parents are not gods, but fellow travelers on a difficult path. Let his teaching strengthen you, for it is better to be a flawed but loving parent than a false idol of perfection. The mark of greatness is not that you never fall, but that you rise again, speaking directly, honestly, and humbly to those who walk beside you.