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!”

Related posts:

1. Fatherhood Freestyle: My Story….Not My Father’s
2. Fatherhood Freestyle: Not Your Average Baby Daddy, Part I
3. Fatherhood Freestyle: Mother-Love Makes a Man

This Sunday on Co-Parenting Matters we’ll talk about the challenges of father absence and father re-involvement with the children from whom they have been estranged. Our guests are, Tonia Grady, whose GradyGirl productions created the documentary short film, Man Up, a documentary short film exploring many of the facets of father absence in an intense effort to show the magnitude of this social epidemic, and David Miller, co-founder of the Raising Him Alone campaign and ChangingFatherhood.com. We’ll discuss the impact of father absenteeism on children, families and communities, and explore strategies for addressing this issue at the community level and one family at a time.

Join in the discussion this Sunday, March 6, at 9:30pm by calling into (646)378-0580 or following the live stream and chat room conversation on BlogTalkRadio.

Related posts:

1. Co-Parenting Matters This Week: Back-to-School Co-Parenting Tips
2. This Week on Co-Parenting Matters: From Ex to Next…Dating after Break-up or Divorce
3. Co-Parenting Matters This Week: Parental Alienation–A Family’s Heartbreak

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!

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?

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.

Related posts:

1. Fatherhood Freestyle: Are You My Daddy?
2. Fatherhood Freestyle: Mamas, Are You Getting in the Way?
3. Fatherhood Freestyle: Fathers, Be Good to Your Daughters

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!

Related posts:

1. Fatherhood Freestyle: Are You My Daddy?
2. Fatherhood Freestyle: My Story….Not My Father’s
3. Fatherhood Freestyle: You Are the Prize

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.

Related posts:

1. Fatherhood Freestyle: Mamas, Are You Getting in the Way?
2. MamaSpeak: When a No-Parent Co-Parent Finally Makes Contact–Part 1
3. Fatherhood Freestyle: Not Your Average Baby Daddy, Part I