On Being Absent…

I was 22 when I became a father on the eve of my graduation from college.  The birth of our daughter was a mixed blessing, shrouded by uncertainty and disequilibrium: how was I going to afford myself, much less a baby without a career and no savings? After college graduation most people have a brief
incubatory period where they return home for a bit before making the next
power move: job interviews, applications to graduate school, and what have
you. I didn’t quite have this option. The thought of returning to my
family’s crowded two-bedroom apartment in White Plains, New York was beyond
unbearable. I needed a job fast. With a degree in English I had two available options: I could go directly to the Department of Education in New York City
and get a job readily, but it wasn’t likely that I would be able to afford
an apartment and utilities on my own in NYC. The next best option is the one
I took – I applied to Teach For America, a national teacher
recruitment organization that places teachers in historically hard-to-fill
teaching positions in urban and rural communities nationwide. I went to
Houston, Texas, the summer after my graduation to train with TFA. Then I began
teaching middle school in Baltimore, Maryland that Fall.  My daughter, just a
few months old, lived in New York with her mother.

Yes, I had made the
decision to be an absent father.

My daughter’s mother and I separated before she was born. We tried briefly
to rekindle our relationship for the sake of our child, but this was an act
of foolhardy aspiration at best. We barely knew each other, dated only a few
short months before we got pregnant and separated immediately after.

I never imagined that I would ever make the decision to separate from my
child’s mother, because I had been raised in a single parent home and had
vowed early on in my life to not repeat this pattern. My mother was the first born in a solid, Pentecostal marriage. I was determined to build a good life for myself, imbued with the values and commitment that I witnessed in my grandparents’ marriage. 

My father was absent my entire life. I knew him, saw him
often while I was growing up in a small village in Nassau Bahamas. I bore
his name, knew where he lived and knew all of his children–my half -brothers
and -sisters. One hot, Summer’s day in August, 1986, I saw my father’s truck
lazily crawling up a street where I was sauntering home after work. I was
twelve and worked as a “packing-boy” at a local grocery store. I hurriedly
crossed the street before his truck reached me, anticipating that he would
see me, stop his truck and maybe…. I didn’t need money, I just wanted …?

He didn’t stop. He drove right past me, leaving me behind in a cold cloud of despair, which quickly dissipated, with a violent surge of rage that took years to squelch. This single life event propelled me to excel in school and to pursue an upstanding life with inexorable tenacity. I aimed to recover my self-respect, to create a person in myself who was worthy of a
father’s love.

With this experience in my package, how could I then choose to take an absent role in my child’s life? I didn’t quite have an option. My daughter’s mother had flatly stated, “We come as a package deal. You can’t have one without the other.” She was embittered by the dissolve in our relationship and was determined  to make me pay. Immediately following my graduation, before I had even landed my first job, I was in family court establishing what my bi-weekly child support would be. When I arrived in Baltimore, Maryland, my very first paycheck reflected a 17-percent deduction for child support–and every check since. Although this presented a serious financial strain, it neither demoralized me nor keep me from legally pursuing my rights as a parent. 



My daughter is now 13 years old. We have a strong relationship that has survived some hardships– some of which I’ll share in the future. In the coming months I’ll continue to share some of the difficult decisions that I made, including being absent from my daughter’s life for months at a time. Ultimately, I hope to express one value–when parents separate, it is exceedingly important to put their children first, even if they don’t
particularly like each other. Everybody looses if one or both parents is unable to keep the focus on providing the best possible nurturance  they can for their child/ren.

The best part of my story is that despite our hardships, my daughter is emotionally and academically sound. She is my only child and I am exceedingly grateful that I had the good gumption to fight for my place in her life.

Dorald Knowles is a poet, artist, father, son, brother, uncle and Principal in the Boogy Down Bronx. When he isn’t writing for WeParent, he is raising the level of student achievement in a small middle school in the Boogy Down that he loves beyond words.

Read more articles by Dorald Knowles