Equal Time

With the release of Our Black Fathers: Brave, Bold & Beautiful!, I’m compelled to consider the “fathers” that were instrumental in my development. For the book, I wrote about my maternal grandfather, who took on the role of daddy in the absence of my biological father. I was excited when I read the call for submissions because I already had something prepared; remarks I’d presented at his home going. Everyone in attendance was moved. The accolades were astounding, which made me think it would be accepted for inclusion.

I submitted the piece and was mildly surprised when I received a critique, telling me I had much work to do. Even more surprising was that I wasn’t upset about the criticism. The editor did a great job of letting me know that I had submitted something written for a familiar audience to someone with no prior knowledge of the subject. The goal was to present a portrait of a very complex individual in 1400 words.

The process was amazing. In describing him to strangers, I became acquainted with my grandfather all over again, remembered some things I’d forgotten and a gained a new appreciation for him. The book has accomplished something even greater. Through its pages I’ve learned that just as I have several mothers, I have a few dads also. I’ve spent a great deal of time on stories about the women in my life. The brothers deserve equal time.

I have always given much deserved credit to the women who raised me. They nurtured, protected and loved me, but I often failed to recognize the men who did the same. The primary reason being they were often demonized. From the earliest age I was privy to conversations where the sins and failures of the fathers were put on blast. Perhaps the men were having similar exchanges, but they had enough respect for or fear of those women, that those conversations did not take place where children could overhear them.

“Black women are mean,” a friend said to me today and I thought yes, they could be, especially when one fails to live up to, sometimes, unreasonable expectations. I’ve lived long enough to understand human frailty and recognize that it knows no gender. We are commanded to honor our parents. In that spirit, I am proud to present my Black fathers.