MamaSpeak: Honor Thy Absent Father

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.

MamaSpeak: Stop Wishing Me “Happy Father’s Day!”

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.

Fatherhood Freestyle: My Story….Not My Father’s

I love women. I can find something attractive on almost anyone of them. It could be their eyes, their smile or the way they carry themselves with confidence. I don’t have a particular type or shape or color preference. Long hair doesn’t turn me on more than short, curvy bodies more than straight, tall over short. Intelligence and a sense of humor goes a long way though..

I was raised by women, have raised women and some of my closest friends are women. I’ve worked as the only male in treatment center for females and survived and thrived. Women have shaped my life, contributed to the man I’ve become and the values I have.

Whenever I would envision the way I would begin the story of my life it always began this way, with most of these words. For one thing, the words are true; women have played a huge role in my life. And I am clear that another reason why is my father.

My father and I have never lived in the same house, have never played catch, shared a joke or a laugh. We have never watched a sporting event, taken a walk or watched a cartoon together. And while many adults could make the same claims for many reasons: “my father died when I was 2” or “he ran away when I was born” or “my mama wasn’t sure who my daddy was”.. I do know who he is. I know his name and occupation and where he lives. His physical absence from my life played as big a role in my shaping as the women who were present. And notice I said his physical absence; emotionally he has been and remains one of my major influences.

As the women in my childhood taught me and scolded me and fed me, my father’s effect was subtle, almost unnoticeable until my teenage years. This increased as I grew into manhood, became a tidal wave as I became a parent to my daughter, and exploded in a crescendo as I became a father to a son. I can remember the joy and wonder I felt as I looked into my daughter’s eyes for the first time, the pride and relief of knowing she was safe, healthy and whole. The comfort I felt in feeding her, changing her and making her laugh. To this day she still takes my heart to the top of the clouds just to be in her presence. The birth of my son added a new wrinkle and sense of wonder; while my daughter was clearly related to me, my blood, my offspring- my son was a mini version of me. We shared more than similar physical features, he wanted to play sports, to wrestle, to fight, to play catch. We used our fingers to hold objects in the same way, crossed our legs and hummed while eating something special. And as I became more aware of these similarities and shared traits, that’s when my father’s presence or lack of had its biggest impact; I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t understand how he could leave, how could he know I existed and not been in my life. How could he not play catch, take a walk or share advice with me? Whereas not having my father in my life growing up was accepted as a fact by me, an unalterable truth, becoming a parent and seeing my son and knowing how I felt about both my children, that fact became absurd, insane, truly, beyond any words I can use.

And I have tried desperately to understand. I have thought and thunk, asked friends and strangers, spoken to clients and read books. I even went to my father and asked him directly. “Well, your mother didn’t want me around” was the first deflection, followed by “and to be honest with you, I’m not even sure if I am your father”. And that was the beginning of my enlightenment and release. At that moment, the utterance of that blatant and obvious lie, I realized that whatever I was looking for, I would not find it in him. There would be no guidance, no embrace, no shared experiences; as alike as we were in appearance, our build, our hands and that slightly up tilted Bob Hope nose, we were completely different in our hearts, our view of ourselves. Whatever motivated him to speak those words, fear, guilt, shame or ignorance, I’ll never truly know (and I can only wonder if he knows). As the father to my kids some of my biggest fears have been ‘Will I be good enough? Can I give them a different life from the one I had?’ Only time and their testament will declare the truth of that. But I know that my children and I share things he and I will never have. The memories of stitches and casts, cakes and wrapping paper and the swell of pride as they walked across various stages marking the advance of their own lives and accomplishments. When I look at them I feel a peace in knowing these are my children, and I am their father.

Fatherhood Freestyle: Mamas, Are You Getting in the Way?

About two weeks ago, it was close to midnight and I was getting some food on my way home from the office. Because it was late, I was the only customer and while I waited a young man with a bandana over his face, busted in and robbed the spot. The young robber pressed the gun to my head and demanded that I “get down!” I continue to be shaped by that evening.

After that incident, a good friend suggested I spend some time with my daughter and really just love on her. My daughter had no idea what happened to me and I will not tell her until she is much older. No need to give her unnecessary anxiety. However, my friend encouraged me to really connect with my daughter, because although she had no idea what happened, she almost lost her Daddy.

So, I took the advice and that Friday, after my daughter’s half-day, I picked her up and told her, “Today is all about you Babe. Whatever you want to do, we’re gonna do.” And, we did. We spent a day filled with dad-n-daughter activities that eventually left us exhausted and ready to relax in front of the TV show of her choosing. There we were relaxing and watching T.V., when the doorbell rang.

After not having seen him for eight years, I was shocked to see my father standing at my doorstep. And, after having the gun at my head just a week earlier, this surprise visit added to my surreal experience and caused me to ask, “What is the Universe telling me?” I was not only surprised by this unexpected visit…I was confused.

I let him in. We talked. He met his granddaughter. He had met her when she was three, but she didn’t remember and I don’t think his memory was much better. Nonetheless, he stayed with us for a few days and then took the two-day journey back home.

It was in those three or four days that my Dad and I reconnected, While we did not dwell on the past or his extended absences in my life, we did touch on the topic. And, I learned some things about his perspective that I certainly did not know. While I may have disagreed with many of the decisions my father made while we were growing up, it turns out that he may have made a real effort to be a presence in our lives, and that perspective had never been shared with us. He explained the difficulties he encountered with my mother as he tried to have a presence in our lives. He told me of the times he would drive to our school and watch from outside the fence as my brother and I played at recess. He told me how he would “cry like a baby” while he watched us from a distance. I never knew this, and learning about it at age 38 gave me a new appreciation of my father. I am not taking a position on whether he should have or could have done more to be present in our lives, but I now know he did try and had the desire. I am also not taking a position on how difficult or easy my mother made it for my dad to have a place in our lives.

I simply learned an important lesson from listening to my Dad’s saga. This is a message for my sisters out there. I know you may be hurt. I know separation is hard. I know you may have been wronged by the father of your children. However, you still have a lot of influence over whether your child’s father is present or absent in that child’s life. I am by no means excusing any lack of self-responsibility; but, I have seen too many men making sincere attempts to have a place in their child’s life only to be thwarted by an embittered and hurt mother. I want to encourage you to get through your pain so that you can create a situation in which the father can stay present in the child’s life.

I have not reached a conclusion, but I wonder if my mother prevented my father from having more of a presence in my life. My father’s absence was a significant experience for me and one I spent a lot of time reflecting upon and absolutely ensuring would not be repeated. If your child can avoid the questions he or she may have because of an absent father, so much pain and confusion will be avoided. For your child’s sake, create an environment that allows the father to be involved with the child.

Jerry Maguire may have said it best, “Help me help you!” Help the father, help the child!

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.