Fatherhood Freestyle: Not Your Average Baby Daddy, Part I

My mother raised me and my older sister by herself. We had little means, lived in public housing, and like all parents, she always wanted and expected more for us. Throughout my childhood, I observed my mother as she ripped and ran, worked up to three jobs simultaneously, and developed no healthy romantic relationships (that I can remember, anyway). So as a kid, I made a commitment to myself that I was never going to be anybody’s “baby daddy.” Oh, how the universe has a way of telling us that we are so not in control. Well, kinda.

At 31, I am a single dad, but my story has a twist –a twist that has statistically become more common these days. I am the ballet and gymnastics dad, a man in a room full of middle-aged suburban moms who drive minivans. I set up play dates, I help other parents (usually moms) pick up their kids, and I arrange that expensive, draining, and anticlimactic birthday party every year. Hell, I even brought my daughter to get her first pedicure and sports bra….and I did this all as a full student struggling to make ends meet. Yup, these experiences as the custodial father of a nine-year-old girl have truly given me insight into my mother’s life as the prototypical single mother.

Although I am extremely comfortable in my role as a single father, there is one question that I am inevitably asked and still makes me squeamish: “So, what happened to her mother?” And, of course, there are always those who declare, “I do not see how a mother could leave her child. A little girl needs her mother.” Now, as a PhD psychologist with a dissertation on and specialized training in nontraditional parenting and youth development, I have plenty to say to those who truly believe daughters need their mothers more than their fathers, but I will refrain from doing so for the time being. Instead, I’ll tell the story about how I became a single dad, and why the process has made me a better man.

Imagine a 20-year-old black male studying abroad in the Dominican Republic with one more year of college. Now imagine this guy in what was supposed to be a fling with an American woman. That woman becomes pregnant, and now this man is less than a year away from becoming a “baby daddy”. That wasn’t me, only because I refused to be the average “baby daddy.” The rest is definitely me. However, my plan to avoid being labeled had one huge snag — I wasn’t in love with her. I told myself I would do anything short of marrying her in order to keep my promise to myself, even if it meant being in what I knew would be an unsatisfying relationship that was destined to deteriorate over time. So, she graduated a semester early, moved to the South where I was working on my Bachelors degree, and we shacked up while I took classes. A few months later, our baby was born, a beautiful little girl with an instant bond with her daddy.

I must admit I was a great father, but a horrible boyfriend. I was a willing participant in multiple “minor indiscretions,” and I was dismissive and uncaring toward her. I graduated soon thereafter; and even though I was not happy, I dragged her to a different state so I could attend graduate school. Our relationship suffered for a year or so and shortly after being laid off, she finally decided she’d had enough. She lacked emotional and social support, and she wanted to “be around family and friends” back north (her voiced desire to be closer to “family” is still quite ironic to me). Ever the negotiator, I convinced her that our then two-year-old would be better served by remaining with me. After all, I had purchased a home, my daughter was attending a great Spanish immersion preschool, and we were becoming part of the community. Furthermore, we both knew my daughter had a stronger bond with me. The feelings of elation and freedom I experienced as she walked to her car to make that long trip back home remain salient to this day. Also, I will never forget my daughter (what appeared to me to be) gleefully waving goodbye as her mother drove off in a packed car, only to turn to me and say “Daddy, I hungry” as I closed the house door. At that point, it seemed clear to me that my daughter could still have a “normal life” with me as the primary parent. In fact, I’d argue that she is much better off not having to grow up in a house where unhappy and unhealthy relationships are normalized and modeled. It was just my daughter and me, and I was excited to be the best dad I could be.

It is now 2009, and I cringe as I sit here writing about how I was in the relationship with my daughter’s mother. I have apologized, and sometimes I believe she forgives me. At other times, I am sure she hasn’t. After countless hours of reflecting over the past seven years, I have learned so much about myself — the good, the bad, and yes, the ugly. However, I believe I am a much better person, father, and partner because of it. And my daughter? Well, she is a well-adjusted, self-possessed, and opinionated “normal” nine-year-old girl.

As I navigate through single fatherhood, I realize it has been anything but easy. However, I am happy I can tell this story and confidently inform the naysayers that little girls need their fathers too.