I can’t count the number of times a frustrated parent has lamented to me, “You can’t be a co-parent, if the other parent won’t.”  Yeah.  I feel you.  And, really, I get it.  It’s a reasonable perspective.

But, it’s only one perspective.

There’s another that asserts that who you are and what you do doesn’t have to be contingent upon what anyone else is doing or being.

Yeah, maybe I can’t actively co-parent (the verb) without someone with whom to do it.  But, does that mean I can’t be a co-parent (the noun)…just without a partner?  Call me crazy, but I think it’s possible.  (Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout, Willis?)

It’s all about who you say you are; What you’re committed to; who you’re willing to be for the sake of your children…and your integrity.

See, for me, a co-parenting is kind of like a religion…and I strive to be a faithful follower…a devoted co-parent.  It frames how I choose to be in this world, in my relationship with my child’s other parent.  It isn’t relative, my sense of myself as a co-parent, because I stand committed to it regardless.

There are many times when I fall short.  I’m no co-parenting saint.  In fact, I admit to being a backslider.  But, there is a force larger than me, greater than any co-parenting sin I might commit—my love for my child—that gives me the strength to forgive my transgressions, to stand and step forward again believing that the journey will be worth it in the end.

When my son’s father fails to follow one or all of the Co-Parenting Commandments, it doesn’t change the fact that I have chosen to be a believer and to adhere to the tenets of my faith.  It does not mean that it is acceptable for me to treat him as anything less than a parent of my child; one who is human, and fallible, perhaps even a non-believer…and who despite it all, is loved steadfastly and unconditionally by our child.

See, for me, co-parenting is all about what I believe in, what I choose to be committed to, what I will stand for even in the face of apparent impossibility.  And defining myself as a co-parent is all about who I choose to be.  It’s a state of mind; a way of thinking about myself and my child’s father that guides me in being the best parent I can be for our son–independently of what his father may or may not be doing or being in any given moment.

It’s also a commitment.  A beacon of light that illuminates the steps to take along a sometimes treacherous path.  A lighthouse that stands unmoved by the ebbs and flows of my co-parenting relationship, pulling me back on course when I have lost my way.

Sure, I have crises of faith.  Welcome to the human condition.  Whether it’s faith a higher power, in ourselves, or in humanity, doubt will creep into the cracks, leading us to wonder if it’s really worth it, if our faith-guided actions really make a difference, if what we believe in really even exists.

And, the truth is, we don’t really know.  We have no guarantees.

The skeptics may be right.

Still, I remain a faithful, committed co-parent.  Amen.

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: 10 Lessons I’ve Learned about Co-Parenting
2. MamaSpeak: Ending My Maternal Martyrdom
3. MamaSpeak: Stop Wishing Me “Happy Father’s Day!”

As the daughter of a Black Studies pioneer and a history major, myself, the study of Black history has always been an integral part of my life.  It was all around me, on the bookshelves of my parents’ home, in the framed art on their walls, in the lessons my father taught to college students.  It just was.  No special month required.  So, despite the identity crises resulting from being raised in a lily white college town, I was well-versed in the proud heritage from which I sprang…kings and queens of African nations, revolutionaries and activists, heroes and sheroes whose names were rarely found in any of my school books.

In the past few years, though, “Black History” has taken on new meaning for me.  Thanks to my father’s interest and commitment to doing genealogical research on his family, I have been blessed with a more intimate connection to the history embedded in my biological and cultural DNA.  And, learning that history has influenced my story about myself in ways that no knowledge of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh ever could.

For much of my life my story has been about fear—fear of failing, fear of succeeding, fear of looking like an idiot, fear of getting hurt…you name it.  You’ve felt it.  At so many points in my life, I have been confronted by this paralyzing thought that I can’t do it (whatever it is). Whatever the ingredient was that makes some people do it anyway…I believed I didn’t have it.  It just wasn’t in my genetic code.  And, it cost me.  I mortgaged some valuable opportunities and hoarded some important contributions that might have made a difference somewhere to someone.  But, that was my story, at least the first draft, and I was sticking to it.

But, inspired by his research, my father started to share new stories…well, old ones, really, but, new to me.  And, those stories inspired a new draft of my own.  The heroes of these tales include an Uncle who won the pardon of his brother after decades of hard labor on a Mississippi chain gang for exacting his own sense of justice with a shotgun at a time when and a place where there was no justice for a little Black girl, his daughter, who had been raped.  And, also among them are landowning freedmen from Virginia, brothers, unjustly enslaved and sent to Mississippi after the Dred Scott decision, only to reemerge there as freedmen and landowners again decades later; a feat as impressive as turning water into wine during that era.  My father’s interest has connected us to the Bubi people of Bioko island, known for overcoming their own incessant internal warfare when necessary to collectively kick the assess of slavers who attempted to set foot upon the shores of their island.

The moral of these stories for me is that I come from some fierce stock.  My people, my kin, were determined, justice-loving, do-or-die, nuttin’ nice kind of folks both on the continent and on the plantation, and that is the blood that flows in me.  The closeness of some of this history, the specificity of it, has reshaped who I know myself to be in many ways.  It has given me certainty that the immediate past is not all that defines me and that I have a direct and traceable connection to some bad ass Black folks.  And, though it is difficult to explain, it is empowering for me to be able to say with certainty that I, too, am a bad ass Black woman…and I get that trait from my great-great-grandfather on my father’s side.  So, as I enter into the second half of my life, I do it armed with the second draft of my story…one that serves me more fully than the first.

And, I wish that for every Black child.  If I could give each of our children one Black History Month gift, it would be the opportunity to say with certainty, “Yeah…I am [insert word of power here], and I get that from my mother/father’s side.”

Of course, because our lineage as African people in this country is difficult to trace, there are barriers.  But, perhaps the other part of that tragedy is that because our families have been disconnected by the conflict that often accompanies divorce, separation and never being married…with kids…most of our children never get a true appreciation of the blood that flows through them.

I understand that you might not be enamored with your child’s Mama or Daddy today or ever, but what we have to understand as parents is that our children’s stories don’t start with us.  Many, if not all of us, have hearts that pump blood infused with the inspiration, determination and genius of a line of survivors, strivers and thrivers.  Our shortsightedness, the Baby Mama/Baby Daddy drama that we allow to be insurmountable, denies them their rightful access to a connection that could be the healing potion for the parts of their stories that blind them to their possibilities.

Giving our greatest effort to co-parenting and learning and sharing the truth that the weave of their DNA is strong, the reach is deep and the rich blood of both sides of their family flows unhindered within them could be the salve that soothes the pain of the story they carry…and exposes the illusion that because their parents have separated, their family is broken.

Related posts:

1. Black History Month Giveaway: Family Passes to “Let Your Motto Be Resistance”
2. MamaSpeak: Can You Be a Co-Parent if You’re not Co-Parenting?
3. MamaSpeak: Too Much Unfinished Business

I recently heard a phenomenal sermon relating to grieving. The sermon focused on getting through and past the 3 stages of grieving. They are:

• Numbness
• Disorganization
• Reorganization

The first step, numbness is a state of severe shock and denial of the death. Life and everything in it seems unreal, like you are living a dream. A really bad dream. You may distance yourself from people and life and be stuck in your emotions and thoughts.

Disorganization is next and is surrounded by emotional chaos. You may feel irate, annoyed, relieved, panicked, or devastated. If the death was sudden and tragic, you may feel like you need to seek revenge. Depression kicks in as you realize your loved one is gone, as well as fear, and physical agony.

The last stage is that of reorganization. In this stage you reorganize your life and learn to live with the loss of your loved one. You learn to readjust and become more emotionally stable.

After you’ve gone through these stages, a new you emerges. So they say.

After hearing this powerful sermon I realized that I am grieving the end of my relationship with my daughter’s father and our new co-parenting situation.

I’m currently in the disorganization stage and am an emotional wreck. Even though we ended our relationship two years ago, I am still in a state of severe disorganization. I am an uncontrollable emotional being living in a state of constant chaos and confusion. I am devastated we are not together; I’m angry, fearful, anxious, panicked, depressed, lonely, and unwilling to move past my own grief to reorganize my life. I don’t know how, I can’t imagine my life being reorganized, can’t imagine it someday being ok that we are now co-parents and not soul mates. I’m so stuck on him and what was, than I cannot accept and appreciate what is and what is to come. I know that in order to be emotionally free I need to find a way to push through this disorganization phase, regardless of how much it hurts. Regardless of how many tears I shed. Regardless of how long it takes. Of course I don’t want to be living in this stage for the rest of my life, but I’ve come to realize and respect its time in my life. I am grieving, and I need to allow myself space and time to grieve in my own way. Though I do realize that the sooner this phase ends, the sooner I can reorganize my life.

No related posts.

One of the most challenging situations confronting single parents is that of visitation and interacting with the courts.  In The Myth of the Broken Home – Guidebook for Single Parents, one of the most delicate chapters for me to speak on is “The Non-Custodial Other” as it stirs up many emotions for me.

During this time, my daughter, Tamara, was about five years old, I was coming out of a domestic violence situation, and my daughter had become accustomed to seeing her father on a daily basis.  He was in her life from the time she was born, whereas my son knew little about his dad because we divorced when my son was about a year old.  Soon after my first divorce, his father, in the military at the time, was relocated to the east coast.   So basically I had very little control over whether or not he chose to see my son.

I vividly recall my daughter’s terrifying scream when departing from her dad at the storage place where we met to retrieve our items.  Upon entering, when she saw him, she was elated and played as if nothing happened.  But that’s expected of a five year old child, and it also displayed the love she had for her father, particularly since soon after the domestic violence occurred, she would sit in the back of the car, yelling in her little voice, “I hate my daddy.” I would tell her, “You do not hate your father, Ta’mara, you hate what he did”.  My babies hurt, and I saw them hurting, however, I refused to allow my children to become embittered by the situation that could affect them for the rest of their lives.  The forgiveness and the healing were not for him but for my babies.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I was not going to put her in harm’s way, but for two years he refused to see her.  He made promises and did not comply with the court order, and on many occasions I drove her to his house.  I despised him during this time as I watched him hurt my daughter over and over again, but inside I knew she needed him in her life.  As my son grew up, his father swore I was trying to keep him away, and I said, “I can’t wait until he gets of age so you can see that it’s not me.”  “If you were in his life like a father should be, there would be nothing I could do to keep him away from you.”  His accusations upset Jamal, because it was I who often encouraged Jamal to contact his father.   Although he is now a young adult, I continue to encourage him to send his father a card or to call.

As a society, we often talk about the importance of boys having a positive male role model to aid them towards developing into men, but that is equally, if not more important, for girls.  The dynamics that exist in a relationship between a male and female are innate, and it doesn’t matter if it’s mother-son or father-daughter; these relationships are pertinent for our children’s emotional development.

Today our girls are grappling with their identity, aimlessly searching for someone to show them affection and approve of them.  Again, if they don’t have a positive male role model during their stages of development, they will by means of their own understanding fill that void.   My son, who is 9 years older than his sister, was a big support and continues to be a very influential male in her life, especially when her father was not there.  As I sit and reflect back on these times, I begin to cry because I am so thankful, so grateful, for how far God has brought us and that he is allowing me to share with others how we all can make this work together.  Don’t get me wrong; it is tough as I still remain pretty protective over her, but today Tamara and her father have a wonderful relationship.  Just because he and I were at odds does not mean it will be the same with him and his daughter.

Visit www.nobrokenhome.com
to learn more about
The Myth of the Broken Home – Guidebook for Single Parents

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: Stop Wishing Me “Happy Father’s Day!”
2. MamaSpeak: Is Co-Parenting Really Worth All the Effort?
3. MamaSpeak: When a No-Parent Co-Parent Finally Makes Contact–Part 1

SPOILER ALERT: This is the second in a 2-part series.  Click here to read Part 1…

I drove to work Wednesday morning, the day I decided to make the call, struggling to imagine what the conversation would be like. Having no contact with my child for more than a decade is so incomprehensible and far removed from who I am as a person, that I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it. What could he possibly say? What would I say? How would I say it? Does he deserve decency and respect, or am I well within my rights to cuss him out? How do I explain this to my son? Does my son even want this? What do I expect from him? What kind of relationship would I be comfortable with them having? What if my son treats him like a “Dad”? Would I consider that a “slap in my face”? Will his father be consistent? How would I react if my son started acknowledging him on Father’s Day?

This loop of questions ran over and over in my mind and would not end. I felt tormented. I really wished he’d stayed away. Fortunately, this wasn’t about me. And further, I was confident that the young man my village and I raised was fully capable of handling this reunification, no matter how shocking, difficult or brief.

After spending the majority of my work day tortured by the thoughts of calling this man, I finally decided to do it during my drive home. When he answered the phone I felt my body tense with anger.

“Hi, this is Leida, my cousin Ken gave me your number and said you wanted me to call you.”

“Yea, um, how are you doing?”

What? How am I doing? What does it matter to you now that your son is legally grown? You didn’t care how I was doing the whole time I had the responsibility of raising him. Don’t you WORRY about how I’m doing!

After my internal 20-second rant, I continued the discussion:

“Look…do you want to talk to Toris, your ADULT son? I’m assuming this is why you wanted me to call you.”

“Um yea, how is he?”

“He’s perfectly fine. He’s starting college in a few weeks.”

“Oh, where’s he going…Is he staying in the dorm?”

“Look, this is what I am willing to do…I will talk to him and let him know you want to talk to him. I am NOT giving you his cell phone number…HE will decide whether or not you talk…NOT YOU! Goodbye.”

Later that evening I was cleaning my bathroom when my son came home. As always, he joined me where I was so that we could have our normal evening chat. He gave the usual run down of his day and I followed with mine.

“So, yea, I talked to your dad today.”

“Huh?”

“Yea, he wants to talk to you, how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. It’s cool, I guess. He called you?”

I then explained that he’d reached out to my cousin several days ago and passed on his number, and that I’d called him.

“Oh. Well, OK.”

“Look, Toris, you do not have to call him. This is completely up to you. As far as I’m concerned, you owe him nothing and he owes you everything. Do you want to call him?”

“Yea, I’ll call.”

“OK. You don’t have to. And even if you decide to, you can change your mind. Do you have any questions for me before you call him?”

“What do I call him?”
“Whatever you want to call him. Whatever you’re comfortable with. You owe him nothing. “

I felt so relieved to have had the conversation with my son. He deserved the option. I knew he could handle whatever happened between him and his father.  More importantly, I was happy that he would finally have an opportunity to have his say.

The following day I called his father to let him know that I’d had the discussion with Toris and that he may be calling him. I also requested that he keep his word with him and not make promises he had no intentions of keeping.  As quickly as I’d made the request, I wished I could have retracted it or, better yet, that I’d never made it. Toris , now 18 not 8, could handle it. I didn’t need to.

I’m no longer part of the equation. My conscience and I are free! I could walk away with the pride of knowing that I’d never spoken a single ill word about his father to him. I could walk away knowing that I’d always kept the door open for his father and never denied him access to his son, for any reason. I could walk away trusting that, though difficult for him on multiple levels, my son was grateful for this day. I could walk away knowing that my son was armed with the most powerful compass he could possibly have for navigating the terrain he was about to embark upon: the Truth (and the full support of his Mom).

And I did…I walked away.

That chapter is finally closed.

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: When a No-Parent Co-Parent Finally Makes Contact–Part 1
2. MamaSpeak: Honor Thy Absent Father
3. MamaSpeak: Let the Celebration Begin!

This is the first in a 2-part series.  Enjoy Part 1 and then check out Part 2 here.

2008 was a great year for me. My son and I were celebrating exciting milestones: his 18^th birthday, high school graduation and entrance into college. By early August we’d already celebrated the birthday and graduation and were preparing for his move into his college dorm when I got the call. His father – who had been absent from his life entirely since the age of 5, who had never, EVER paid a single dime in child support, sent a birthday card, or even picked up the phone to call to say “hello” –  contacted my cousin requesting my telephone number.  Now understand that this is the same man who refused to help me when our 6-year-old son was sick and in need of financial support to pay for prescriptions. The same man who for the first 4 years of his son’s life lived less than 5 minutes away from him, and it would not take both hands to count the number of times he bothered to see him. The same man who, because I decided to end the relationship with him and not tolerate his constant cheating, decided to end the relationship with his son and not look back.

My cousin could tell I was shocked. It must have been the constant bumbling over phrases like “I can’t believe this,” “you have got to be kidding me,” and “are you serious?” that gave me away.  He tried to preempt my launch into anger: “Well, you have to forgive,” “Just hear him out,” “Think about Toris…” I accepted the number and ended the call still in total shock. Nonetheless, I’d made the commitment to consider making the call. That was Sunday afternoon.

By Tuesday night I was seething. I’d spent the last several days reliving the last 18 years in my mind. I’d recalled every painful discussion I’d had to have with my little boy about his father’s absence. I remembered all of the confusion his and his family’s absence created for my son and how I struggled to explain inexplicable.  So, yes, by Tuesday I was downright mad!

During my 48-hour trip down memory lane three incidents in particular stood out for me:

The first was when my son was in 4^th grade. I’d bonded with several of the parents through school-related activities, events, and our attempts to nurture our children’s friendships outside of the classroom. During one school event I was chatting with a parent who shared with me that my son had told classmates that his father was dead, and proceeded to give her condolences. I was extremely alarmed that my son had decided to deal with his father’s absence by declaring he was dead. Up until that point, I had not discussed his father’s absence with him, nor had I encouraged him to talk to me about it. That would eventually change.

The second was when my son was in 6^th grade. He was spending the night with a classmate whose parents had taken them all to a relative’s home for a gathering. The relative, who had met me before, for some odd reason, proceeded to ask my son who he looked like, insisting that he did not look like me. My son fell silent, somewhat confused by her question. She then asked him whether or not he looked like his father. My son, in his innocence, replied: “I don’t know.” After all, he had not seen him since he was 5 years old, and his memory of how he looked had faded. When Toris shared this experience with me, I was not only devastated, I felt ashamed. I was the mother of a child who didn’t even know what his father looked like. What type of woman was I?

The last incident was on Father’s Day following his 6^th grade year. With the previously described incident in mind, I asked my son if he felt he was missing out on anything by his father not being around. He said yes and that he really wanted someone to help him get better at basketball and that he didn’t like practicing in the driveway alone. I experienced an instant shift. I realized my son needed a space where he could safely express himself around this issue. I felt enlightened.

As I thought through these incidents and how I eventually decided to handle them, I realized that a beautiful tradition was born out of them. I began to use some of our “dinner dates” as an opportunity to create the space for my son to talk about his father and his absence if he wanted to.  He owned this space and began to bring his father to life, into his life, through our regular sharing.

Recalling the tradition, I realized that I’d intentionally put forth the effort to help my son create and hold a space in his life for his absent father. It was now time for me to give him the option of deciding whether or not he would allow his father to step into it. My heart still ached for the 11-year-old who deserved to know if he looked like his father.

I decided to make the call…

The story’s not over! Read Part 2…

In the meantime…
What would you do or have you done in this situation?

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: When a No-Parent Co-Parent Finally Makes Contact–Part 2
2. MamaSpeak: Honor Thy Absent Father
3. MamaSpeak: Let the Celebration Begin!

I had never heard of co-parenting until I was smack in the middle of it. Many different reasons lead to my daughter’s father and I ending our relationship. For a while after our relationship ended, I still acted like we were together. Assuming he would be as involved as when we were together. Assuming I could just go over and hang out at his house. Assuming that the feelings he had for me were still there. Guess my head gets stuck up in the clouds sometimes.

It took a long time for me to accept our situation and even longer to view it as a co-parenting situation. I was bitter, and I was downright mad at the situation. I was angry that we weren’t still together and that when it came to our daughter, we had two varying opinions. I said left; he went right. We didn’t talk to each other. We barked. We scowled. We yelled. I was so sure that my way was the best way. I mean, I’m her Mother. I was the one who carried her for 9 months, breastfed her, read her bedtime stories, did her hair in the morning, knew she liked her apples cut in thin slices not thick. And what did he know? Nothing…if you asked me back then. I didn’t value his place in her life, and it all comes back to me being bitter and angry that we weren’t together.

I couldn’t harbor all those negative emotions inside of me forever. It wasn’t healthy for me or my daughter. It was draining all of my energy being so mean, so I had to let it go and embrace the idea of co-parenting. I had to accept him as her Father and her Dad and an equal being in our daughter’s life. Because she isn’t just my daughter, she is our daughter; and we both have a responsibility to keep her healthy, safe, and happy.

Co-parenting matters because my daughter’s happiness is my number one priority. She and her Dad have this unbreakable bond that I don’t understand at all. But I have learned that I don’t need to understand their bond. That’s something special that only they share. When I see them together, when I see my daughter’s face light up as she yells, “Daddy”…well, that’s why co parenting matters. My daughter is lucky and has two parents who think she is the most precious thing on this planet and want nothing more than to see her smile every day.

I want us to be able to have a pleasant conversation, I want us to be able to all go out to dinner together and laugh and have a good time. I want to be able to call him without it being a yelling match. And I want our daughter to know that Mommy and Daddy are ok with being around each other. We owe that to her.

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: The Non-Custodial Other
2. MamaSpeak: Guess Who’s Not Coming to Dinner
3. MamaSpeak: Setting Single Moms Up for Success

I have to admit, I’m a bit obsessed with celebrity gossip. I browse through gossip magazines while I’m waiting in line at the grocery store, and I follow some gossip sites online. One of the things I’ve noticed is the trend of glamorizing celebrity single moms. I find this mind blowing, because regular single moms like myself don’t get the same treatment day to day.

From Sandra Bullock to Kate Gosselin to Halle Berry, there is tremendous support from society backing these celebrity single moms as they make their way through single mommyhood. They are splattered on the covers of InTouch and UsWeekly, sharing their heartaches, their struggles with trying to live a normal life. We see them on Oprah talking about their journey, and we get sucked in. We buy their magazines, we go see their movies, we subscribe into the glamorization. Why can’t this same support be had for non-celebrity single moms? Are we not good enough?

I’m a single mom, a younger-single-minority mom to be exact. Society sends the message that young-single-minority moms won’t be successful. They won’t attend college. They won’t secure a steady job. They won’t make enough money, so they will have to depend on the system. They are immature, irresponsible, and should have waited to have a child. These messages are constantly relayed through movies, magazines, books, and TV. You always hear about the plight of a single mom, the hardships she’s been through as she struggles to find stability. I’m not ignoring this fact, but where are the stories that speak of single moms graduating college or buying their first home? Where are the stories highlighting single moms starting their own businesses or volunteering within their communities? Does society not think that these stories will attract enough attention? Are these stories just not interesting enough?

I’m not ashamed that I’m a single mom, and don’t know why I get the sideways looks when I tell people I am. Maybe it’s because I don’t fit the mold of what a non-celebrity single mom looks like. I am enrolled in college, I have a car (old but running most of the time), I have a steady job, and my own apartment. I struggle with being a single mom, but I want no one’s pity or sympathy. I don’t need anyone in my ear telling me I’m doing a good job, but I would like to see my demographic positively acknowledged within society. The messages I come across don’t support me along my journey. In order to obtain resources I have to be a poor single mom. What’s up with that?

We support these celebrity single moms and tell them they can do it, no problem! Why is the message we send to non-celebrity moms so dissimilar? Why do we tell them they will fail?  Why can’t the message be the same regardless of celebrity status?

All mothers-single, young, old, married, or widowed-should be respected and supported in our society. The amount of support we give Mothers should not be dependent on how much money they earn.
My life is by no means glamorous, nor does it need to be. What is most important is the love I have for my daughter. What I would appreciate is if society would respect and appreciate me as a Mother.

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: Setting Single Moms Up for Success
2. MamaSpeak: Co-Parenting is the New Black History Celebration
3. MamaSpeak: Is Co-Parenting Really Worth All the Effort?

Another Father’s Day has come and gone, and judging by some of the blogs and message boards I read, this was one of the most controversial ones I think I’ve ever experienced. From mothers not wanting to be wished a Happy Father’s Day (even if it’s just to say have a happy day), to religious teachers spreading the Good News that the Word of God forbids us from calling any man father, to adult children lamenting a father’s absence during their childhood. There’s one thing for sure, the day set aside to honor dads doesn’t come with nearly as much pomp and ceremony as the one when we honor moms.

So, why is it so hard for many of us to wish the man whose DNA is woven into the fibers of our being a Happy Father’s Day? Why can’t we just do it? I wish I had an answer, but I don’t. My best guess is that some daddies are just easier to love than others. For some, that may have something to do with the fact that he stayed. While, with others, it may have a lot to do with the fact that he left. Either way, there’s no denying the effect his absence–or presence–plays in our lives well into adulthood.

My father was one of the ones who left. And to this day, I love him truly, madly, deeply. But, admittedly, there was a time when that love came from a sense of duty I felt for his being responsible for my existence. As I’ve evolved in love and as a person, I now know that I love him just because. I love him because he’s not perfect—and neither am I. I love him because he’s made mistakes—and so have I. Nevertheless, having his blood running through my veins never generated an automatic emotional bond or connection to him. That probably explains why when it comes to determining who I’ll send a Father’s Day greeting to, I find myself bypassing him, and going straight for the men who have had the most influence on me: brothers, cousins, uncles, ministers, co-workers. It’s never a conscious effort to omit him. It’s just that when I think of fathers, these are the men that come to mind. They’ve mentored my children, stepped in to be a surrogate dad in the absence of my own, and modeled the behavior and attributes that I want my husband to possess.

I called and sent text messages to all of them, while my father received nothing. And I’m okay with that, because I’m over the emotional tug-o-war of should I/shouldn’t I: Should I let him walk me down the aisle? Shouldn’t I have called him on his birthday, even if I didn’t remember? Whether my decision is yes or no, neither is an indicator of whether I love him or not.

I harbor no anger or bitterness toward him for anything that he did or did not do. Love does not demand its own way, and it does not keep a record of any wrongs. I hold him in high respect, which doesn’t include the Father’s Day fanfare of greeting cards and ties. I love him the way that I choose. And that’s more for me more than for him. And it’s because of this peace that I’m able to give and receive Eros love with a mate in spite of not having grown up with my daddy.

I know how difficult it can be to honor an absent father. We must all love and honor them in our own way. And our decision can’t be based on a scorecard that we’ve been tallying all the hurts and wrongs on. Honor him by letting go of the fact that he wasn’t there. If not for him, then do it for you.

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: Stop Wishing Me “Happy Father’s Day!”
2. Can a Father Get a Little Positive Reinforcement?
3. Fatherhood Freestyle: My Story….Not My Father’s

It’s a blessing to have loved ones who support and encourage you through life’s biggest challenges. My gratitude for this blessing runs deep. My understanding of how sincere and well-intentioned their actions have been – complete. Nonetheless, there is one day of the year when well-meaning gestures create such dissonance within me that I dread to see it coming: Father’s Day.

It never fails. Every Father’s Day at least three people will wish me a Happy Father’s Day. I am not a father. I can’t ever be a father. There is nothing I could ever do to completely take the place of my son’s absent father. And I’ve never tried. I simply accepted the fact that my co-parent chose to be an absent father, and vowed to be the best mother I could be. I also prayed that, in terms of developing my son into a healthy, productive contributor to society, everything I and others who cared for him could give him would be sufficient.

Looking back on it now, raising a son with an absent father has been a chronically painful experience. While there wasn’t an urgent, intrusive or even daily awareness of it, the hurt was always there – subtly woven into the backdrop of my experience as a mom. We all want our children to have everything necessary to support their healthy development, and I knew my son didn’t have a father. I also knew that on some level he had to hurt, too; which was at the root of my own pain. He grew up with a diverse group of classmates and friends and most of their fathers were present and active. The same was true for the friendships developed through athletic and extracurricular activities. I was always fearful of how he felt, and to be honest, how they felt about him. I never wanted him to feel as though he was lacking because of what his father chose not to give him. Nor did I want him to be judged as “missing something in his home” by the parents of his friends and peers because he was being raised by a single mother. A lot of fear and pain colored my experience as a mother with an absent co-parent. But, fortunately, love, commitment and determination dominated it.

I’ve been many things to my son: mom, tutor, confidant, friend, etc.; but never a father. I hated the fact that my son was growing up without one. However, I refused to hide from it and, instead, acknowledged the void it created in his life and knew there had to be alternatives to filling it. The value that having a loving and engaged father adds to a child’s life is priceless and irreplaceable; however, I’ve learned that there are alternatives that offer some of the “essence” of that experience for children with absent fathers.

Mothers, we have to build a village. We have to create a network of support around us and our children that includes family, friends, neighbors, educators, mentors, coaches…the list goes on. We have to expose our children to positive male figures who genuinely care about their well-being and success, and who are willing to invest something in our children to prove it: The uncle who talks to and embraces him as his own; the basketball coach who is committed to showing up for practice every day because he is passionate about the sport and the young boys who want to learn it; The friend’s dad who invites him to a movie and a day of refining his basketball skills with them; the science teacher who tells him he’s smart and should consider a career in science. All of these, and countless others, are examples of small deposits men have made into my son that have made a big difference in his life and mine.

But I had to show up. I had to make the effort to expose him to the passionate coach by signing him up for the sport and getting him to practice and games. I had to help facilitate the friendships with classmates and peers whose parents served as positive role models and took an interest in him. I had to show up for teacher “meet and greets” and PTA meetings and show teachers and administrators that I was an engaged parent and expected the same from them as educators. And I just happened to be blessed with the best brother any single mother could have who has invested so much love, time and money in my son that I could never repay him.

I’m not a father, so please don’t wish me Happy Father’s Day. I praise the men who are loving and committed fathers and know that I could never be them. I’m just a mother who recognized the void an absent father created in her son’s life and invited a village to stand with me in the gap. A mother who made sure there was no shortage of love.

Related posts:

1. Can a Father Get a Little Positive Reinforcement?
2. MamaSpeak: Honor Thy Absent Father
3. Fatherhood Freestyle: Mamas, Are You Getting in the Way?