My Black Fathers: Captain Fudge - A Super Hero

My mother has thirteen aunts and uncles, five of whom are still living. From them she has thirty-two first cousins, of which twenty-two remain. Before migrating North from Georgia, our family lived in sharecropping communities, where the nearest kin was never more than a holler away. In New Jersey, that dynamic didn’t change. Everyone resided in or near the Grant Court housing project, allowing cousins to grow up more like siblings. If you messed with one, you dealt with all them.

By the time I was born, my grandparents had acquired real estate and moved on up from the projects, but they didn’t go farther than walking distance. If anyone was in distress, a family member was never more than fifteen minutes away on foot. Like my great aunts and uncles, their children also have a special place in my heart and each has contributed to shaping my character. My cousin, Emmett, has had a profound impact.

Aunt Sarah gave birth to Emmett on Sunday, July 20, 1941 in rural, middle Georgia. She refers to her unplanned pregnancy as “my trouble” and blames family friend, Bessie Flowers, for dragging her to the dance, where trouble began. I’ve heard that his father engineered a quick escape, entered the military and left young Sarah to raise their child alone. Recognizing that opportunities were limited for an eighteen-year-old single mother with minimal education, she placed the baby in her sister’s care and joined the Great Migration.

“Up north” she earned enough to provide for her son’s immediate care and his future. My grandmother recalls clothes and money arriving regularly. She and Aunt Iola laugh about how his paternal grandmother, Ms. Belle, would come by with a handful of peas or a few ears of corn. “Just enough for the baby,” she’d say. In 1946 my grandparents married and arranged to move, with their infant daughter, to Long Branch, New Jersey, where family and friends were settled. Ms. Belle had plans to assume custody of “the baby,” but he was on a train north before she had a chance to get him.

In New Jersey, Emmett was reunited with his mother. Aunt Sarah worked as live-in domestic, two hours away, on Long Island. With a plan to eventually settle in Long Branch, she entrusted him again to the family and returned to work. She visited frequently, always arriving with food, clothes and money. When he was older, Emmett returned to Georgia for summer visits where he established a bond with his father and half-siblings. The bond is so tight; a stranger would never guess the siblings have different mothers.

He entered Winston-Salem State in the fall of 1960, becoming the first in our family to attend college. He embraced campus life and can tell amazing stories of integrating a Greensboro lunch counter and hanging out with Marvin Gaye. He also made Aunt Sarah a grandmother, but didn’t share the news until he was prepared to support himself.

His Education degree was less than two years old when I was born, in the midst of his carefree years. He had a good job; working with special needs children, drove a sports car and traveled extensively. He inherited his mother’s features; round face with high cheekbones, large bright eyes, a smile to light any room and a deep, dark, chocolate complexion, hence the name Captain Fudge. To this day he’s one of the most charming people I know, especially with children. He gains their trust and affection because he engages them and encourages expression to foster healthy development. He exhibits patience with even the most difficult child recognizing that, with the right amount of nurturing and guidance, they can grow into productive adults.

He is quick to recall when he noticed my verbal aptitude. I must have been about four years old and we were several hours into a family road trip to Georgia. I always paid attention to road signs and would try to read them to ease my boredom. While riding through Virginia, I made what I imagine was a crude attempt to sound out Appomattox as we passed a sign marking the civil war landmark. Of all the adults in the car, Emmett was the one who heard. From that moment to this, his praise for me never ceased. He always gave me the attention needed to foster a positive self-image and envisioned I would do great things. He did the same for every child in our family.

He furthered my intellectual growth through a series of firsts; my first Broadway play, my first horseback ride, my first overnight trip to New York. Most importantly, he introduced me to diversity by giving me access to people of every possible background and persuasion. He endured a great deal of criticism for crossing racial boundaries as early as high school, but was not deterred him from pursuing relationships with people regardless of race or ethnicity. His subsequent marriage to a white woman, though not a complete surprise, raised brows and set tongues to wag, especially on road trips to the deep south, but he stood tall, blazed a trail and demonstrated that human is the only race we should claim.

Never one to back down from a debate, he has always challenged ignorance, even the antiquated beliefs and practices of his elders. He may curse when angry, but tears flow as liberally when he’s hurt. His heart is big as all outdoors and just as fragile. I count it a privilege to know him.