I started having kids of my own at age 16. I never went to college, and by the time I was 24, I was a father of three by two different women, neither of whom I married. If that doesn't sound like the opening lines of a Maury Povich episode, I'm not sure what does.

Fortunately, I kept my head from launching itself up my own butthole (mostly), and worked that same ass right the fuck off to get a decent job and provide for my family. Which is good, because -- surprise! -- I ended up separating from my youngest kids' mom about a year after my last child was born. What started as jointly shared custody gradually turned into me having primary custody, which is where my experience of single parenthood began.

Now, I'm not writing this to tell you how I struggled with schedules or housework or money or picking out professional wrestling outfits. Everybody knows that being a single parent has a difficulty level that goes beyond Expert and into Juggling Feral Cats territory. But what I didn't know, at least until I lived it, is ...