Fatherhood Freestyle: Are You My Daddy?

Let me start by saying God has a funny way of placing your anointing in front of you to remind you of the work still before you. I was in the beauty salon tonight waiting for my daughter to get her hair done. Second, let me say that by no means it was this the first time I’d sat and waited on a woman to finish something I had no interest in; getting hair done, shopping, talking on the phone. A good man will do it, but besides that, it’s my deposit for hoping for her to wait while I do something she’s not interested in; walking aimlessly through Best Buy or Home Depot; watching the game or talking about sports or video games; or on occasion my work; etc. etc. etc.

I’m always intrigued by the conversation that takes place when a bunch of women are talking. And as luck or fortune would have it, I was the only man in the salon. At times they were conscious of my presence, and at times they could care less that I was there. I am also a people watcher. Not in the weird perverted sense, just someone who is fascinated by human interaction and finds sport in imagining the life stories of the people I see. So, being in a salon with women and children, absent men to add a masculine presence, it was particularly interesting to see the various methods of discipline. Everything from yelling and screaming to the drag-off to the bathroom for the proverbial tighten-up!

As a Dad, I couldn’t help to realize and reflect for a moment that my 10-year-old daughter was experiencing something that will be a life-long ritual–going to the salon to get her hair done (did).  Along with several other observations, I could also sense that fathers in the lives of those children and good men in the lives of those women were a distant reality. It became overwhelmingly real for me when the little girl of a Mom, who spent the vast majority of her time yelling at this child, sat next to me and asked, “Are you my Daddy?” Stunned and overtaken, it took everything I had in me not to cry.  I could see the missing image of her father in her eyes. At 3-4 years old, she was already trying to fill it. Here I was, Mr. Responsible Fatherhood, and I had NO answer for her…and tragically enough neither did her mom.

As I stated before, what a way for God to remind me how critical my work has become. Statistically I know, anecdotally I know, clinically I know, but this child forced me to know on a whole different Godly level. In essence she was saying to me, “I don’t know who my daddy is, so what are you going to do about it?” And as she went back to play with the other kids, she left me perplexed and dazed. I had to stop the work I was doing, and as I watched her mother rise from the dryer, visuals told me a story that gave me little hope that this little girl would ever know who her daddy is.

To be honest, I am at a loss for words. Nothing gives me solace tonight that she will ever fill the hole in her soul created by a father who has left this beautiful Black child wondering and searching for a man who will probably never exist for her. Yet she will spend the rest of her life looking, hoping and possibly praying that the next man she asks, will respond by saying, “YES!”

Fatherhood Freestyle: Sober, Responsible Men and Fathers Please Apply

This post originally appeared on The Black Bar.

Historically, the role of Black men and fathers has been minimized by mainstream media and marginalized by society. Media assaults on the images of Black fathers have been well documented over the last 25 years. While several television examples of responsible manhood and Black fatherhood can be cited, including Sanford and Son, Good Times,The Jeffersons, The Cosby Show, Roc, The Bernie Mac Show andEverybody Loves Chris, the vast majority of images depicting Black fathers are devoid of any social or political responsibility as well as allegiance to our families.

Television shows like The Game, produced by actor Kelsey Grammer who starred in Frasier, continue a long legacy of portraying Black men as irresponsible and incapable of maintaining healthy relationships. The fallacy of shows like The Game is they fail to provide balanced perspectives of Black family life and culture. While The Game is merely entertainment to most, it continues to perpetuate destructive images about Black life and culture. Several parallels can be made to Zip Coon, a caricature that emanated from the Antebellum South. Zip Coon, an exaggerated figure, was created to depict Black men as lazy, easily frightened, chronically idle, inarticulate and unable to reason or comprehend.

 

The Game, which was thankfully canned by the CW Network, was subsequently picked up by BET as a result of millions of fans displaying outrage over its cancellation. Sadly, The Game debuted on Jan. 11, 2011, with more than seven million viewers glued to the tube. It saddens me that so many people – undoubtedly most of them African-American – got so outraged over the cancellation of a stereotypical television show when, by contrast, I bet if you go to any PTA meeting at virtually any school in this country you’d be hard pressed to find many African-American parents in attendance.

While the media plays a large role in shaping public discourse, our daily actions as men and fathers must be questioned. Indeed, we cannot be absolved of our culpability in some of the problems we face. According to a report disseminated by the National Fatherhood Initiative, the federal government spends about $100 billion annually on programs, policies and services related to absent fathers. The report, “$100 Billion Dollar Man,” is a glaring indictment of father absence and the toll it has on the larger family.

A growing segment of the population has become accustomed to not recognizing Black men and fathers as husbands, caregivers, and sober, responsible and spiritually guided men who are courageous pillars of their communities.

At some point, reclaiming the essence of responsible fatherhood in our community must become an agenda item. In fact, I argue some point is now! If the current trends continue, the alarming rates of violence and high-school dropouts among Black men will continue to plague low-income communities. It doesn’t take rocket science or an advanced degree from Harvard, Yale or Princeton to see the effects of absent fathers on the emotional, physical and spiritual essence of Black boys…

Read the rest HERE

MamaSpeak: Can You Be a Co-Parent if You’re not Co-Parenting?

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.

Co-Parent Meetups Coming to a Location Near You!

When WeParent first launched we tried to start a local Meetup…#FAIL.  But, fortunately, our friends at CoParenting101.org have inspired us to try again…and to encourage you to get involved, too!  They’ve sent out a call for people interested in organizing or attending a co-parent meetup in your area.  We’re supporting this effort in a couple of ways:

• We’re going to organize an Atlanta-area meetup, so stay tuned for details.
• We’ll post meetups on WeParent.com on our Events page, our newsletter, our Facebook page and Twitter to keep you updated.  So make sure you’re following us.
• If you’re interested in hosting or attending, you can fill out the short form below, and we’ll get it to Deesha and Mike at CoParenting101.

Fatherhood Freestyle: Fathers, Be Good to Your Daughters

Driving back to my home office after taking my 14-year-old son to school today, I was listening to my favorite sports radio station. The hosts, all about my same age and all with at least one young daughter, happened to be talking about Darius Rucker [formerly of Hootie and the Blowfish], who is now a country singer. The original question put forth had to do with whether they “bought” Rucker as a country singer. Yet the conversation quickly spun into a debate about whether his song, “It Won’t be Like This for Long,” was the best father-daughter song ever.

This got me thinking about my own favorite father-daughter song, “Fathers Be Good to Your Daughters,” by John Mayer. When I heard this song floating through the speakers in a Nordstrom store several years back, it felt like a lovely and particularly decent musical snippet of life in a time when the 24-hour media cycle was beginning to demand ever more lurid and inane content to spew onto any who would watch or listen. From the lyrics, to the guitar, to the breathy quality of Mayer’s voice, it seemed like one of those classic songs that would transcend most contemporary clamorings and forever define the father-daughter song category.

So cut to last spring. My family and I had traveled to Maryland for my sister’s wedding. Late one night, my wife and I walked into a Safeway grocery store to pick up a few things we could eat right then and also make for breakfast in the morning. After wandering for what seemed like endless, unnecessary minutes through a store with a layout foreign to us, “Fathers Be Good to Your Daughters“ started playing through the store’s sound system. I immediately begin humming enthusiastically, enthralled by the looks on the faces of both black and white shoppers who looked surprised to hear this Black man uttering this John Mayer tune!

Yet, as my attention shifted from those around me to the lyrics of the chorus—Fathers be good to your daughters / Daughters will love like you do / Girls become lovers who turn into mothers / So mothers be good to your daughters, too—I felt that proverbial lump in my throat, and I found myself fervently fighting back tears.

As I continued to listen, all I could think about was my baby girl, Laylah—she who is born at night; my dark beauty. I realized that though I had thought about the lyrics of that song many times since she had been born roughly 15 months prior, I had not actually heard the song played since before she was born. So this ethereal composition of words and melody that I believed poetically summed up my moral imperative as a father to Laylah was now wafting into my ears for the first time since having had memories of her birth, and feedings, and first steps, and first words; and since having had visions of what her life might ultimately become.

So now, while walking through the store and projecting this soundtrack onto the silver screen of Laylah’s life, my eyes welled up to the point where they were certain to spill their contents. Fortunately, I was able to discreetly dab my eyes before any tears rolled down my face and before my wife or any other shoppers could notice. Yet I could not shake how profoundly this song both moved me and so succinctly conveyed how imperative it is for men to be a loving presence in the lives of their daughters.

By the time we exited the store, I could no longer contain my tears. While laughing through the water streaming down my face, and simultaneously shaking my head at feeling ridiculous about being a grown assed man crying at night, in a grocery store, and over a song, I quickly and humorously explained to my wife what it was I thought I was experiencing. She seemed to vaguely understand and thought it was sweet, but somehow I think she still thought I was bugging.

Cut back to today. After getting settled in my office, I went to YouTube to check out the Darius Rucker song the radio hosts had been debating. Nice song. It definitely captures the idea of cherishing the moments a father has with his daughter because each magical stage of her life won’t last long. But there is just something in Mayer’s song about being good that I believe paints a gorgeous portrait of not just what to take from our experiences as fathers, but of what to give to those experiences as well—especially to our daughters. And for that reason, I cried again. I cried because I know that one day, as Mayer so aptly coined, daughters will love like we do.

In listening to this song yet again, I learned today that I probably won’t ever be able to listen to it without exhibiting some degree of unbridled emotion. I am certain there are multivalent reasons for this, my own “father issues” notwithstanding. But whatever the reasons John Mayer’s words and guitar licks move me to tears, I know that at the very least, the notion of having been given this gift of life so that I might give my daughter a pattern of love that will serve her for her own life is a notion that conjures both a profound sense of duty and a deep sense of joy. This is why both the effort and the tears fill my heart and fuel my smile.

These days, it has become fashionable to call a brother a punk simply for having the capacity to experience a range of emotions beyond anger or hubris. I shed some serious tears over a sentimental song sung by a pop culture white boy. This is true. That was me—the “strong” Black man experiencing a moment of genuine sentimentality. And yes, I would have been more than a little embarrassed at having been seen crying in Safeway for no apparent reason [let's face it, testosterone still runs through my blood, and a certain type of acculturation still guides how I comport myself as a man]. That being said, I can honestly say I don’t possess much concern for what anyone calls me, as long as Laylah can call me a loving daddy who’s always been good to his little, dark beauty.

Fathers, be good to your daughters.

MamaSpeak: Co-Parenting is the New Black History Celebration

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.

Co-Parenting Conflict from the Mouth of Babes:
Interview with Kara Bishop of Postcards from Splitsville

Months ago we had the opportunity to interview Kara Bishop, founder of  Postcards from Splitsville, a site that allows children of divorce to anonymously and creatively post their thoughts and feelings online.  We’re finally sharing it with you!

WP: Tell us a little bit about what you do and how you got involved in working in this area around kids.

Kara: I started dating a man who was divorced.  He had young children.  When the kids got a little older and were able to understand things, the ex-wife started letting information slip about how the marriage ended, why the marriage ended, adult information that these little kids really didn’t need to know about.

The 2 older children actually pulled away from the father, the younger one still needed the father’s affection; he was 10 at the time.  After he visited, he would go home and they would call him a traitor and try to convince him to not go anymore.  This this poor kid was just torn in half literally. He couldn’t stop loving his dad.  It just wasn’t possible.  But he didn’t want to betray his mom and the other members of his family.

The child and I were close, and we worked on a little book of promises for parents to make.  It got me really interested in what was going on.

I took the book to Dr. Frank Williams who runs a program here in Tucson called Children of Divorce.  It’s this fantastic 8-week program that kids and parents go through to help them cope.  I got involved with that, and I started working with the 10-12 year olds and was able to create some of the exercises for the class.

And…I’m a huge fan of postsecret.com.  Have you ever heard of that?

WP: I have, yes.

Kara: It’s just a site, very similar to mine, except it’s secrets that adults send in.  I thought we should do something like this for the kids, because one of the exercises we do is, if we can’t cope with something, we either let it go or write it on a piece of paper and burn it or something like that.

So, I thought let’s try this postcard thing, and the kids loved it.  The first couple of times that I did it, I was just shocked at how amazingly in touch with themselves these 10-12 year olds were as far as expressing themselves about how upset they were.

Oh, and I actually met Frank Warren [founder of postsecret.com] and got his blessing.

WP: That was very respectful of you to do that.

Kara: I tell people this is a site for kids to vent their feelings and then come and see that other kids have the same issues.  But really, I think at this point that it’s more for adults, so they can see the pain that their kids go through.

WP: It was really eye opening and impactful as an adult to see the creative expression of what they are feeling, so I can see how this becomes a site for adults.  I can definitely see that.

Kara: The letters that I get aren’t from kids.  They are from adults saying, “Oh, my God, I’ve actually heard these words from my kids and I never really understood.”  For example I get a lot of comments from parents about having said they wish they’d never met their ex, in front of their kids.  They say, “I’ve said that and now I just feel horrible.”

WP: I guess that the translation for a kid is, “You wish I didn’t exist.”

Kara: Right, and they don’t get that, yes, you don’t mean it, but that’s what the kid hears.

WP: When we are careless in how we communicate about the experience of a relationship ending and about the other parent, kids are going to fill in the gaps.  They are going to translate it.  They are going to make it meaningful in a way that they understand.  And in their world, a lot of times that’s scary.

Kara: Or the other effect that I’ve seen, too, is kids that are scared to death of being fired from their family because they have seen another parent fired.

You think the kids don’t know…and they probably don’t understand a lot.  But they try to understand in their own way, and they end up making up something that’s just so much more horrible than the truth.

WP: Let’s talk a little bit about the impact of divorce on children particularly when parents aren’t really handling the conflict well.  What have you seen in the work that you’ve been doing with children of divorce and through Postcards from Splitsville?

Kara: Well, the kids that I work with come to us within months of the divorce.  The impact, wow, it’s almost always devastating.

What I see that makes me upset the most is that a lot of the kids feel there is one person to blame for the divorce.  I think they do that, because somebody has to be the blame…and thank God it’s not them.  Very few of our kids these days think it’s their fault any more.  That used to be a huge issue when we first started, but now it’s not.

And, the whole needing to figure out why this is happening and then placing the blame on someone, I think is really hard on them; because it interferes with the relationship that they had prior to the divorce with one of the parents or both sometimes.

It just rocks their world.  These kids need a sense of stability, and all of a sudden, the most stable thing in their family, whether there was a lot of fighting or not, is caput. It’s broken.  And, it often involves the disappearance of one parent, and mostly it’s the father.

WP: Right.

Kara: And that changes a little here and there, because more fathers have custody of their kids now.  But mostly it’s still the mother.

I’ve seen how these fathers are just set aside, not every single one, of course, right, but it’s almost as if that was an extra piece in our life that we really didn’t need, like that third car or something.

WP: Like an extra appendage?  I wonder if sometimes fathers don’t see themselves that way, too.

Kara: I think they do.  For example, if the marriage ended because of an infidelity on his part,  the guilt there can be immense, and he might feel he doesn’t deserve the children because of what he did.  But, that’s where I would say, okay, but the kid still needs you.

Whatever you did wrong, you can still give love and support, and your child needs that to grow, needs that second set of love, the second opinion, the whole second part.

I think there needs to be a more intense education on how to raise your kids in this unique situation that people just wing.  They wing it, and they don’t understand how devastating almost every word can be.  These kids latch onto one sentence, and that’s the sentence that defines everything for them.

WP: How can an outlet like Postcards from Splitsville help?

Kara: Well again, I created it as a vent for the kids.  But the benefit is really for parents…just to make them stop and think and maybe put that anger in check, because your kids is listening and affected by it.

WP: Thank you for the work you’re doing and for sharing it with our WeParent family.

To learn more, browse postcards or download a postcard for a child to submit, visit www.postcardsfromsplitsville.com.

Fatherhood Freestyle: Speak Up on WeParent.com

We’re looking for a few good men…

Fathers, to be exact.  Black Fathers to be even exact-er.

WeParent is currently looking for new regular and guest contributors to write for our Fatherhood Freestyle column.  If you’re interested in telling your side of the story, send an email to info AT WeParent DOT com.  Be sure to follow these guidelines:

• Subject line should be:  Fatherhood Freestyle Submission–YOUR NAME
• In the email (not in a separate document)  include your submission which should be between 500 and 800 words.
• In the email (not in a separate document) include a 3 or 4-sentence bio
• A statement indicating whether you’re interested in being a regular monthly contributor or a guest contributor

If your submission is selected, we will contact you with additional details.

And, don’t forget to send in your submission for Fatherhood Freestyle:  The Book!  Get details here.