Ramblin’ Prose

Daddy Dialectic: Black Dads White Dads
Barak Obama the man gives people a sense of hope in a way that I have never experienced in my lifetime. There are a lot of reasons for this phenomenon, and not everybody buys into it. But, as a father, I think I know at least one of them. It comes from things like taking a seat in my pediatricians waiting room the other day and seeing six black dads with infants in their laps, with no moms in sight. It comes from riding a crowded, lurching bus home one night, and sitting behind a young black man, in every appearance the image of a gang-banger, quietly holding a 3-year old girl as if she were a priceless piece of family china.

I planned a play date for Camille on Saturday with a friend from her school. It was my gift to her as well as to Susan, who desperately needed time, the whole day, for school work.

It was something I offered for a golf outing on Sunday. Usually, my golf outings require no more than a couple of hours because I’ve been playing a little par-3 course in Lake Brandt to get my game into shape. But Sunday, I’d planned to meet a friend and former colleague at a regulation course at Bryan Park.

The day began with a two-and-a-half-hour ordeal at the beauty school where the girls got their hair washed and braided. The girls and I brought lunch home, and we ate as a family. Then, Camille’s friend came over and I took them and Abby to the Natural Science Center for a few hours in the afternoon. After an ice cream at Chick-fil-A, we made our way home and the girls closed the doors to the den and watched a little bit of TV until we took Camille’s friend home.

At the science center, I was struck by the number of young black fathers and mothers walking with their infants and toddlers. Some of the fathers wore the baggy pants and extra large T-shirts. It was wonderful to see them cradling their infants, and they appeared as comfortable in that role as anyone could be.

It’s a world I haven’t seen in such a long time. My world has changed so much from the all-black neighborhood I grew up in, where the nuclear family was intact early in my life, only to be supplanted by the single-mom syndrome for decades. I saw first-hand how trying to raise a family as a single mom could be derailed by so many issues as cousins and aunts struggled to keep things together.

My surroundings have changed dramatically over the years. My life’s direction is more different than I’d ever imagined. But I’m given hope seeing that sense of family coming full circle, at least on this day. And in the signs portrayed in the blog post I quoted above.

I can’t say that Barack Obama inspired that change. But, as a black man, I long to see those signs of family more often.