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.

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!