Why Father’s Day is a Time of Self-Reflection
Over the past six years, Father’s Day has become my flat-out favorite holiday of the year. That’s right. I wrote that. On my calendar, it’s more enjoyable than that Thursday in the fall when we celebrate thanks and gluttony. I’ve even come to appreciate the third Sunday in June more than the December holiday that for many has become about conspicuous consumption. No, it’s not because last year my six-year old son picked out the snazziest of sport coats for me or that my three- year old daughter has already promised an epic breakfast in bed. It’s the day of the year when I honestly take stock of how I’m doing. Am I being a good example with what I say and how I’m saying it? Am I doing a better job of being present when they’re telling me something? Am I being too hard on them? Not hard enough? But I also spend part of the day reflecting on the specific and many ways Delano and Sybil already make me proud–the way she gives it right back to her big brother at every turn; the way his genuine curiosity leads him to ask “why” even more than his father reportedly did at a similar age; and the way both already feel things so deeply.
Like all our children, their ability to adapt has been tested over the past few months, and they did it better than their parents. They called it “mommy-daddy’ school but make no mistake, it was mommy doing the bulk of the teaching, and daddy’s role was to facilitate the occasional Zoom call or make sure the distance learning apps weren’t being closed, and Youtube opened. The pandemic forced many dads, especially this one, to figure out how to be more helpful. Then something else happened that’s forcing us to figure out so much more.
So far, I’ve justified not talking to them about race because they’re just so young and they really don’t seem to see color, although I know it’s just a matter of time. Plus, I’d convinced myself they’ll be so far ahead of most of their peers because dad is black and mom is white, so they’re exposed to two sets of families and surely that would inoculate them. Maybe I wouldn’t have to have some of the same talks with them that my parents had with me. My children were going to be post-racial even if their society wasn’t there yet. Then I was dispatched to Minneapolis, in the wake of George Floyd’s death; Washington DC, to cover the thousands demanding his death lead to measurable change; and Houston to bear witness to what I firmly believe is the start of a new chapter in our country’s quest to fulfill the most elusive of its promises: all men shall be treated equally.
Covering the events of the past few weeks has changed me as a Black man, a journalist, and a father. Over the years, when I’ve covered stories involving race and unjustified death, I’ve thought, “there but for the grace of God, go I.” I could’ve been George, Ahmaud, or Rayshard. Now I know that Delano could be Tamir or Trayvon, and Sybil could be Breonna Taylor. For many, it’s a haunting reality no matter how great of a father you are. The stark reality is that for Black fathers, there’s only so much you can do to protect your son or daughter in this country.
While this is true, I’ve also seen streets filled with mainly young people of all races shouting Black Lives Matter and demanding equal treatment under the law. I was heartened by their voices and stories and thought more than once how proud I would be if any of them were my children. Seeing them angry, sad, insistent but oh so hopeful, actually gave me some semblance of peace amidst the chaos; peace knowing even though my fatherly protection may only take my children so far, they are learning and growing in a country that’s going to get it right. So, when I sit down to talk to Del and Sibby about race in America, my hope is not that they’ll live in a post-racial society, but in one that sees their diverse racial background and still makes sure theirs is a life of endless possibility. In fact, that is my hope for all fathers today.
This essay was featured in the June 21st edition of The Sunday Paper. The Sunday Paper inspires hearts and minds to rise above the noise. To get The Sunday Paper delivered to your inbox each Sunday morning for free, click here to subscribe.
