Please join WeParent and the Raising Him Alone Campaign for a f*r*e*e tele-conference call on Wednesday, April 13 at 8:30pm ET.  We’ll be discussing the benefits of co-parenting to raise healthy & productive boys.  Our own Talibah Mbonisi will be leading the call and sharing the WeParent mission to support parents in working out their differences so they can raise healthy boys who will become men.

Often the issues between parents prevent boys from growing up in an optimal home environment. Whether it’s decisions about religion, extra-curricular activities, punishment & discipline parents who are on the “same page” increase the success of their sons.

WeParent is one of the Raising Him Alone southern based strategic partners.

Be sure to RSVP here.

605.475.4000 (8:30 p.m. EST)
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Please submit questions for the call via email at info@raisinghimalone.com.

Related posts:

1. Co-Parenting Matters This Week: Parental Alienation–A Family’s Heartbreak
2. Tonight on Co-Parenting Matters: Raising Him Alone…Single Mothers Raising Sons
3. MamaSpeak: Is Co-Parenting Really Worth All the Effort?

I had never heard of co-parenting until I was smack in the middle of it. Many different reasons lead to my daughter’s father and I ending our relationship. For a while after our relationship ended, I still acted like we were together. Assuming he would be as involved as when we were together. Assuming I could just go over and hang out at his house. Assuming that the feelings he had for me were still there. Guess my head gets stuck up in the clouds sometimes.

It took a long time for me to accept our situation and even longer to view it as a co-parenting situation. I was bitter, and I was downright mad at the situation. I was angry that we weren’t still together and that when it came to our daughter, we had two varying opinions. I said left; he went right. We didn’t talk to each other. We barked. We scowled. We yelled. I was so sure that my way was the best way. I mean, I’m her Mother. I was the one who carried her for 9 months, breastfed her, read her bedtime stories, did her hair in the morning, knew she liked her apples cut in thin slices not thick. And what did he know? Nothing…if you asked me back then. I didn’t value his place in her life, and it all comes back to me being bitter and angry that we weren’t together.

I couldn’t harbor all those negative emotions inside of me forever. It wasn’t healthy for me or my daughter. It was draining all of my energy being so mean, so I had to let it go and embrace the idea of co-parenting. I had to accept him as her Father and her Dad and an equal being in our daughter’s life. Because she isn’t just my daughter, she is our daughter; and we both have a responsibility to keep her healthy, safe, and happy.

Co-parenting matters because my daughter’s happiness is my number one priority. She and her Dad have this unbreakable bond that I don’t understand at all. But I have learned that I don’t need to understand their bond. That’s something special that only they share. When I see them together, when I see my daughter’s face light up as she yells, “Daddy”…well, that’s why co parenting matters. My daughter is lucky and has two parents who think she is the most precious thing on this planet and want nothing more than to see her smile every day.

I want us to be able to have a pleasant conversation, I want us to be able to all go out to dinner together and laugh and have a good time. I want to be able to call him without it being a yelling match. And I want our daughter to know that Mommy and Daddy are ok with being around each other. We owe that to her.

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: The Non-Custodial Other
2. MamaSpeak: Guess Who’s Not Coming to Dinner
3. MamaSpeak: Setting Single Moms Up for Success

I have to admit, I’m a bit obsessed with celebrity gossip. I browse through gossip magazines while I’m waiting in line at the grocery store, and I follow some gossip sites online. One of the things I’ve noticed is the trend of glamorizing celebrity single moms. I find this mind blowing, because regular single moms like myself don’t get the same treatment day to day.

From Sandra Bullock to Kate Gosselin to Halle Berry, there is tremendous support from society backing these celebrity single moms as they make their way through single mommyhood. They are splattered on the covers of InTouch and UsWeekly, sharing their heartaches, their struggles with trying to live a normal life. We see them on Oprah talking about their journey, and we get sucked in. We buy their magazines, we go see their movies, we subscribe into the glamorization. Why can’t this same support be had for non-celebrity single moms? Are we not good enough?

I’m a single mom, a younger-single-minority mom to be exact. Society sends the message that young-single-minority moms won’t be successful. They won’t attend college. They won’t secure a steady job. They won’t make enough money, so they will have to depend on the system. They are immature, irresponsible, and should have waited to have a child. These messages are constantly relayed through movies, magazines, books, and TV. You always hear about the plight of a single mom, the hardships she’s been through as she struggles to find stability. I’m not ignoring this fact, but where are the stories that speak of single moms graduating college or buying their first home? Where are the stories highlighting single moms starting their own businesses or volunteering within their communities? Does society not think that these stories will attract enough attention? Are these stories just not interesting enough?

I’m not ashamed that I’m a single mom, and don’t know why I get the sideways looks when I tell people I am. Maybe it’s because I don’t fit the mold of what a non-celebrity single mom looks like. I am enrolled in college, I have a car (old but running most of the time), I have a steady job, and my own apartment. I struggle with being a single mom, but I want no one’s pity or sympathy. I don’t need anyone in my ear telling me I’m doing a good job, but I would like to see my demographic positively acknowledged within society. The messages I come across don’t support me along my journey. In order to obtain resources I have to be a poor single mom. What’s up with that?

We support these celebrity single moms and tell them they can do it, no problem! Why is the message we send to non-celebrity moms so dissimilar? Why do we tell them they will fail?  Why can’t the message be the same regardless of celebrity status?

All mothers-single, young, old, married, or widowed-should be respected and supported in our society. The amount of support we give Mothers should not be dependent on how much money they earn.
My life is by no means glamorous, nor does it need to be. What is most important is the love I have for my daughter. What I would appreciate is if society would respect and appreciate me as a Mother.

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: Setting Single Moms Up for Success
2. MamaSpeak: Co-Parenting is the New Black History Celebration
3. MamaSpeak: Is Co-Parenting Really Worth All the Effort?

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 met Tammy during her freshman year of high school. She showed up at my apartment one Friday after school when she rode the bus home with my daughter. And, in typical teenage fashion, she had not made plans for how she would get home.

I was cold. I was tired. And all I wanted to do was turn up the heat, throw on some sweats, and curl up under my electric blanket. But, my plans were thwarted when my daughter came dashing out the patio door before I could open it. “Mom is it okay if Tammy spends the night”?

“Britt, who is Tammy, and what have I told you about having people in the house when I’m not here”?

As it turned out, Britt had met Tammy that day, and decided that, as new friends, they should hang out together after school. “She’s not in the house; she’s out in the hallway.”

As badly as I wanted to lay into my first born, I knew this wasn’t the time. But I cut her a look that let her know I would deal with her later. As a mother, my first priority was to get this child—somebody’s daughter—inside. My second order of business was to contact her parents to make sure they knew where she was.

As Tammy stepped inside, I immediately noticed her stoic demeanor. She wasn’t disrespectful at all, just reserved and standoffish. Little did I know there was so much more going on with her, but I wasn’t able to connect the dots. When I asked about her mother, she politely, but firmly stated that she was not in the home right now, and that her grandmother could pick her up in the morning. I then told her that I needed to confirm that with her grandmother, and asked for a number, for which she obliged. Tammy’s grandmother informed me that due to her eyesight, she didn’t drive at night and wanted to know if it was okay for her to stay with me, and she’d come get her first thing in the morning. We agreed that Tammy could crash at my place, so I made sure the girls had what they needed for the night, and I turned in.

The following morning I was well rested and better able to process the previous night’s events. I still wanted to know what “my mother is not in the house right now” meant. Was she serving overseas in the military, working out of town, or on vacation? No. She was none of the above. She was serving time in prison. Wanting to respect Tammy’s privacy, I didn’t probe, but my daughter told me when I grilled her about this new friend. That moment marked a turning point in my life. It is when I accepted my role as den mother, something I had resisted for years.

For some reason, my kids’ friends always warmed up to me. Many of them called me Ma and loved having an adult who would listen to them, something they didn’t get at home. They saw my home as a place of refuge where they could come after school to do their homework or a place to hangout on the weekends. I admit I wasn’t always comfortable acting the role of “play” mom. I was barely 30, and saw it as a position more suited for someone more matronly than myself. I also felt like the real moms needed to step up to the plate and connect with their children themselves.

Tammy changed all of that. I learned how to reserve my judgment until after I knew at least part of a child’s story. Some of them had a mother or father in prison, while others had mothers who were deceased. Like Tammy, some were being raised by their grandparents, while others were being shuttled from house to house in the foster care system.

They say that people come into our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. Tammy came into my life to teach me compassion. Looking back, I’m happy to have played such a significant role in these kids’ lives. All of my children and their friends have reached that adult milestone of 18, and many of the kids still see me as a surrogate mother, of sorts. They take me to out to eat, and invite me over for Christmas dinner when I’m in town. I have also earned the title of “Grandma Lisa,” to more grandchildren than I can count.

They say that parenting locks you in for 18 years, but I say it’s like serving 25 years to life. Once a mother, always a mother, even if you didn’t birth the child.

Related posts:

1. Being Right or Having Peace
2. Fatherhood Freestyle: You Are the Prize
3. MamaSpeak: Is Co-Parenting Really Worth All the Effort?

I believe that the most important step in moving forward is accepting where you are. In the mid-1990’s, as a young African-American single mother, I found myself having to do just that. I was twenty-something with limited education, income and resources, caring for a young son whose father was largely absent. Fed up with constantly trying to force my ex to accept his share of the responsibility, and frustrated with trying, unsuccessfully, to secure child support in a system several states away, I felt that there had to be a better way. Sitting in my tiny apartment one night, crying and overwhelmed after another fruitless attempt to track down my son’s father for help, I finally accepted the painful truth: I was alone in accepting the responsibility of raising and providing for my son. What began as one of the most frightening moments of my life became one of the most empowering. The decision to accept full responsibility for the parenting and well-being of my son caused an immediate shift in how I viewed my situation: I was no longer a victim “left holding the bag”; I was now the owner of a set of personal circumstances that I had the power to overcome.

If acceptance is the first step in moving forward, then knowing where you’re headed is the second. Along with accepting sole responsibility came the commitment to providing my son with the upbringing every child deserves. I felt strongly that being raised by an African-American single mother did not mean that my son was damned to becoming a statistic. Instead, I would guide him to becoming a well-adjusted, focused, and educated young man with hopes of a bright future and the determination to get there. I believed that in order to get him to where he deserved to be, I had to be able to consistently provide the love, safety, stability and healthy-parenting that enable children to thrive. Chartering my son to a future filled with hope and promise meant giving myself a better present.

The chasm between life as I knew it and the life I wanted was abysmal; but I decided that building a bridge between the two was my only option. If the first step is acceptance, and the second is direction, then the critical third step is belief in one’s ability to reach her destination. Not knowing how I would do so, I knew that I had to expand my capacity to care for my child. I had to transform the emotionally fragile, depression-prone, uneducated, low-to-moderate-income-earning young mother into a healthy, focused, and disciplined woman to whom education and livelihood were paramount. Though the task appeared daunting, and the woman I envisioned becoming a complete stranger, I knew deep inside that I could do it; and that the woman who seemed like a distant stranger was just a more mature, future version of myself that I could one day meet if I were willing to put in the hard work.

Committing to doing the hard work was the first step in what has now become my life’s purpose: the capacity building of the African-American single mother. Almost a decade-and-a-half after the heartening acceptance of my role as a single mother, my goal is to help other young mothers begin the same journey that changed my life and has placed my son on a path to becoming a success instead of a statistic. My non-profit organization, Single Mothers for Success, and its flagship program, DumaVillage, aim to ensure that single mothers have the tools, information, resources and networks of support necessary for success.

Single-parenting is far from the ideal situation for any child or parent. I pray that the work my organization does will one day render it unnecessary. The ultimate goal is that all African-American children will have access to the development and opportunities that condition them to make life choices that move them away from lives of poverty and struggle and toward prosperity and fulfillment, making single parenting the exception and not the rule. But, as with the organization’s clients, we as a community have to take the first step: acceptance. We first have to accept the fact that close to 70 percent of African-American children are born to unwed mothers. We then have to (step two) decide where we’re heading. I’d venture to say that most prefer a place where African-American single mothers are not the norm. And (step three), we all have to believe that as a community we can get there.

Related posts:

1. MamaSpeak: So What if I’m not a Celebrity Single Mom
2. MamaSpeak: Stop Wishing Me “Happy Father’s Day!”
3. MamaSpeak: Is Co-Parenting Really Worth All the Effort?

Join us tonight for an engaging discussion about the “Raising Him Alone Campaign” and the experiences of single mothers raising sons.  David Miller, co-founder of the “Raising Him Alone Campaign” will be joining us to talk about the campaign which is dedicated to supporting the social well-being of single mothers raising sons. And, along with David, we’ll have Sheron Smith as our guest. Sheron is the mother of Grammy-nominated rapper and actor, Mos Def. She has a powerful story to share about being a single mother raising a highly successful son in a toxic environment.

Call in to (646)347-0585 to join in the discussion.  Or listen to the live stream at www.blogtalkradio.com/CoParentingMatters.

Be sure to check out the interview with did with David about the launch of the campaign last Spring.

Related posts:

1. Support for Single Moms Raising Sons: Meet David Miller of Raising Him Alone
2. Co-Parenting Matters March Line-up
3. Father Re-involvement…This Week on Co-Parenting Matters