Do not fall for that trope that Black fathers are invisible and not good dads | Opinion

Father’s Day has always been kind of bittersweet for me.

As many of you know — from my often-told family stories in this column — I didn’t grow up with my dad in the home. He and my mom went their separate ways when I was 5, and my brother, Adam, was only 2.

But growing up, I had many friends who had loving dads in the home. Some like the late James Collie, the father of a dear friend and classmate Deloris Lockett, became a surrogate dad to me. Still, I longed to have a real dad in my life like Mr. Collie. For whatever reason, it was not to be.

Yet I grew up loving our dad. I believe it is because, in spite of the problems he and our mom had, Mom never taught us to hate him. So, while he was not in the home with us when we were growing up, my brother and I sought to have a relationship with him.

Before he died, at age 86 in 1999, my brother and I had made sure that we got to know him, and that our children got to know their grandfather. I also believe that my brother is the loving father and grandfather he is today because of the relationship that we had with Dad. My brother knows what it is like to have an invisible dad.

Speaking of invisible dads, I recently received an email about Chris Stewart, the CEO of Brightbeam, a nonprofit network of education justice advocates. Stewart wants the world to know that in spite of what is believed about the Black father deserting his children, he isn’t one of them. And there are plenty more out there just like him.

I know he is right. I don’t have enough fingers or toes to count all the good Black dads I know — young, middle-aged and old — who have always been there for their children. I could name some right here in this column, but I won’t for fear of leaving off some deserving Black dad.

In Miami-Dade, the Fatherhood Task Force is an excellent resource for dads, particularly Black and Hispanic dads, to get support in raising their children.

I couldn’t reach Stewart for comments for this column, but his office sent me a recent article he wrote, “The Story That Needs To Be Told Is About the ‘Good’ Black Father.”

He starts the article like this:

“I am Black. I am a father. I love my children like nobody’s business.

I will not be invisible.”

Stewart had me at those four short sentences.

He went on to say that he makes “this simple declaration because, even though involved Black fathers are the norm in the lives of Black children, we are dogged by a defamatory narrative about our supposed absenteeism.”

“Are there Black fathers not taking their responsibilities seriously? Of course. Does that mean that Black fathers overall should be stereotyped as irresponsible? Only if you’re detached from the realities and nuances of Black life,” he wrote.

As a Black mother who reared my sons as a single mom after the death of my husband, I know Stewart is right. To be “detached from the realities and nuances of Black life…” is to be detached from the spirit of “The Village,” where many Black fathers took the time to nurture children who were not their own.

I, for one, can never forget the “visible” Black fathers in my Village, who not only cared for their own children, but who found the time to become surrogate dads to children in the neighborhood who were being reared by single mothers.

I am a living witness to this.

Aside from Mr. Collie, there was also Mr. Lee Mikell, the dad of one of my brother’s best friends when he was growing up. Mr. Mikell took my brother under his wing and became a surrogate dad to him. Lee Mickell was a tall, imposing man. His son Alfred (now deceased) and my brother Adam were the same age and in the same grade.

My brother spent a lot of time at their home and Mrs. Mickell treated him like a second son. Mr. Mickell saw my brother as a youngster he could save from the streets. And he did, often taking him along with Alfred on road trips to New York they took during the summer. The role he played in my brother’s life, along with some of his teachers at Northwestern High School, surely helped to shape his life.

I thought of Mr. Mickell as I read Stewart’s story, in which he wrote, “Honest debate about us should start by admitting that the majority of Black dads — about 2.5 million of around 4.2 million — live with their children. And, of fathers who live with their children, Black fathers are the most involved.”

He said there are many factors to take into account before filing a missing person report on the so-called invisible Black dad.

“Less than half of the Black fathers not living in their children’s primary residence include non-custodial co-parents, stepfathers and adoptive fathers,” Stewart wrote, noting that many non-custodial fathers often fight in court for getting access to the children.

According to a 2014 study he cited, “non-custodial Black fathers are more likely to visit and spend time with their children than unmarried, noncustodial fathers of other races, [but they] must contend with the stereotype that they are Absent Black Fathers when they enter the courtroom … where there is a long-time bias toward sole maternity custody that has disproportionately pushed Black men into the sole role of financial contributor, rather than an active father,” he wrote.

Stewart said blaming Black people for the results of a racist and rigged economic, social and political system is not new.

“This type of gaslighting goes back to at least 1842, when the Rev. Charles Colcock Jones wrote ‘The Religious Instruction of the Negroes’ to provide a compensatory logic for white slave owners. In that work,” Stewart wrote, “Jones characterized Blacks as ‘proverbially idle,’ ‘improvident’ drunkards, thieves and worse. … In multitudes of families, both by precept and example, the [Negro] children are trained up in iniquity; taught by their parents to steal, to lie, to deceive; nor can the rod of correction induce a confession or revelation of their clearly ascertained transgressions.”

Stewart said nothing in his article would settle the debates about the existence of structural racism, white privilege or white supremacist systems.

“Frankly, I’m tired of the conversation because it’s full of noise and fog,’’ Stewart wrote. “Sadly, the headlock that anti-racism activists and system defenders are in probably won’t be solved in my lifetime. My purpose here is smaller in scope, which is simply to rescue the good Black father I’ve seen in my family, my community, and my professional networks from our accusers, who benefit from rendering us invisible men.”