There seems to be some controversy as to who brought down Nidal Malki Hasan, the Fort Hood Shooter: the doe-faced white cop or the brother cop on-scene. Why is it that when you have two certified heroes -- one black, the other one white -- it always seems like we celebrate the white one first and loudest. I heard about Sgt. Munley taking down the shooter off the wire a few minutes before I did the "Barbershop" last week, but didn't mention her because I've learned to wait on better reporting around some incidents. Her face and her story seemed too made-for-TV.

This is the kind of thing that white people say doesn't matter, but it does. When there are two heroes and one of them is black, why can't we seem to get the story straight? Why does race color the narrative of a story? Why does it matter?

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

I'm a big fan of K. Danielle Edwards' blog, where she muses about black moms, black marriage and generally basks in the glow of her successful nuclear family. It's hard to hate on someone who has found love and can make it work -- I know Danielle, so I know she deserves it. But I was taken aback by her recent post where she tables the thesis that single dads are really just, you know, glorified babysitters. That they don't have to put in the time and effort that married men do.

I spend a chapter in my book "The Denzel Principle" on baby-mama drama and father's rights. I don't know how we quantify the worth of single dads to begin with, but let's give it a try.

If the measure is by quantity of time spent, I think her point is a no-brainer. You get to spend more time with your kid when they live in the house, obviously. But when you are the non-residential parent and have scheduled visitation or you have shared custody of your kid half-time, then the time you spend is more precious and meaningful because you don't take it for granted.

Not for nothing, the time you spend having to check up on the shack-ups, Penis-of-The-Week, other bedroom transients and step-fathers should also be figured into the equation. Sometimes, your child's mother makes good choices and the new person in her life becomes a valuable addition to the family structure. Most times, he is a crank who, at some point or another, will have to be put in check.

Also, glorified babysitters don't constantly have to have their rights enforced. Women think because they may have residential custody, that they have unilateral shot-calling capability. They don't. Often, they need to be dragged back to remind them that shared parenting is exactly that, and no one parent can call shots willy-nilly. When arguing about the children, married men don't have to do that. They just nod, say "yes, dear" and go pretend to fix something.

Single fathers also have to keep the child's school on notice, so they don't think you are one of those absentee black fathers that gets so much press. You end up dealing with their sexist and racist presumptions, having to constantly remind them to make sure you get a copy of report cards and the like.

When you take everything in total, small wonder single dads want to be recognized. Because married fathers are just live-in sperm-donors and nannys, biding time until they, too, are on the outside looking in.

Single fathers are not glorified babysitters. They are men every bit as worthy of the title of father, and they face a lot more obstacles and prejudices to be good fathers to their children.

We have a number of late-night contenders of color on the horizon, and it begs the question why people of color have been unable to keep a late-night show on the air for any extended period of time. It's probably got something to do with Da White Man holding us down or whatever, but Newsweek says it probably because black people aren't funny. Evidently, journalist/Negrophile Joshua Alston just landed on Earth and should be forgiven for his ignorance. To Alston's point, black people are not universally funny. Black comedians tend to broker in esoteric humor that requires that you have had a certain set of life experiences. We simply do not think the same things are funny. But that doesn't negate the fact that people of color can't find a home on TV after 11 -- what up wit dat?

Arsenio Hall found success with white America because he was the black friend every white person wishes they had: He was a deferential clown, an impotent, barking buffoon who racked quasi-racial quips but was not to be taken seriously under any circumstances. Not long after he tried to feign relevancy, he was off the air. Chris Rock was OK, until he tried to be seriously tried to be funny. He imagined himself as Bill Maher, black, not knowing that America is not ready for a black man to joke about serious matters in a way they actually have to weigh seriously. David Alan Grier, sadly, never even stood a chance. D.L Hughley just didn't get it -- as smart as he is off-script, on his show, he came across like an intellectual lightweight rewritten by people who didn't know how to write jokes. Some white people imagined Dave Chappelle to be the dangerous ghetto black person in the lunch room, too stupid to know they were laughing at him and not with him, until he showed them different. Some white people think blackness is funny because they don't know what else to think about it.

Many white people are trained to laugh at black people cracking wise about being black -- because not being able to get a cab is SO funny, right? The challenge going forward will be for Wanda Sykes and George Lopez and Mo'Nique to not let their color be the punch line. Their ethnicity can't be the entire gag. I don't beleive in a "post-racial" America, but if ever there was a time to elevate the discourse in this country, it's now.

So, the New York Times wonders how you could ever hope to have equality in a marriage when your husband is the President of the United States. The answer is that there is no such thing as equality in marriage, and most people who have been married know that. It's a test of wills, a trial of trust. You trust each other's dream. It isn't about who has the upper hand, because rarely does anyone have it for long. Power, if we want to call it that, ebbs and flows. There is no equality, just contentment with your position. If you are married for any period of time, it all evens out.

There is some vaguely feminist notions that equality is about who makes more than or as much as whom, who has more education, who washes the dishes on how many nights of the week. Whose dream is being fulfilled. Most of you know I think feminists are full of poi, because we all know who is suppose to pay when the dinner check comes, right?

Right.

If you and your mate are compatible even a little, then your dreams will find each other and fuse together seamlessly. Michelle Obama let her husband dream without (too much) guilt. And not no trite, rhetorical BS-type of dream to keep his mind pacified either, but a dream he could actually make into reality. Barack Obama knew if he failed, she, her love and all her sheepskin had his back. It wasn't a pissing match, because if it had been, she had him beat by miles. She let him dream, and she had him faded. But that notion seems antiquated to some strong black women. I get it.

This explains the faux-mysterious failure rate of most black marriages, because many people go into them with Candyland visions of a perfect union where everything is everything all the time, men wear bras and everyone lives happily ever after. Or it becomes some kind of battle for supremacy, to see who will best the other and come out on top. Ultimately, everyone loses.

What marriage teaches you, as I note in my up-coming memoir-ish tomeThe Denzel Principle, is that people are hopelessly, tragically flawed. You have to decide upfront to accept your loved one's imperfections or move on and resign yourself to a life of multiple cats and loneliness. Sometimes, he snores. Sometimes, she farts in her sleep. More often, she makes more money than him, or vice versa. Maybe he spends money foolishlessly on comics, rare books and video games. Like me. This is Life.

What about Michelle's dream?  Good question. I wonder if any black woman ever had the audacity to dream of being First Lady. So maybe by letting him dream, he gave her more than she could ever dream of. They may not be equals. But they are together. Look what his dream did for them.

Think about it.