The Day After Father's Day: Thoughts from A Fatherless Son

Before I begin, I guess I should just start with this caveat/disclaimer that it is not my intention to upset anybody who may read this, but sometimes folk can get a little uneasy about telling public secrets. I would just say this: I'm not ashamed of my past, and simply, "it is what it is."

It is fair to say that I grew up primarily without my father for a variety of reasons.  Some of which being that my parents had a very traumatic divorce, my foster grandparents thought he was a bad influence, and he was just generally negligent.  I can't say that he didn't try, because he paid child support regularly.  And, there are a few snapshots in my childhood and adolescence that I remember quite vividly.

While I don't remember him being present for any birthday, I do remember him bringing presents to my foster grandparents house, and being turned away on sight. And when I asked who that was...they replied, "Some man who had the wrong address."  While he never attended one graduation (and I have three collegiate degrees and HS diploma), I do remember him bringing clothes to my mother's house in preparation for school, at which my mother said, "Sean doesn't need those cheap hand-me-downs."  While my father has never seen me preach, he once came to church to hear me sing (and he has never been the church type).  Even though he did not attend my wedding, I did stay with him for a summer when things had gotten to a breaking point with my mother...but you know how people like child support checks. LOL  What I'm getting at is that there were places in my life where my father was present.

Unfortunately, we've had much longer stints of absence.  Until my mother's passing in January of 2009, I had not seen or talked to him since 1998...more than twenty years had passed.  I'm not passing any kind of judgment, but needless to say, Father's day is kind of well...hard.  

Don't get me wrong, I am thankful that I know my father, and that I have moments that I count as positive memories/encounters.  But, I must admit that I'm like a lot of Black men and women I know who struggle with how to handle Father's Day (and honestly life).  Some of us, who had really amazing mothers, are thankful for those sacrifices!  Others of us, had amazing grandparents (me included), and so we can't imagine a life without them.  And with some disappointment, I have friends who only have friends, that they consider to be stronger then any blood relationship.  If I'm talking about me, it has been a mix of deceased loving grandparents (maternal and foster), amazing aunts and uncles (maternal), and "ride or die" friendships that often makeup for delinquent parents.   Unfortunately, sometimes there are still deep crevices where pain exists...

When people say, "it takes a village to raise a child," I know firsthand what that looks like!  But, I also know that when father's (and mother's) don't seek to raise their children, it creates strain on all relationships, inhibits esteem, and provokes a sad resignation built on unknowing.  What I mean by this is that when children don't have relationships with their father's, they must come to depend on other family members to learn and grow and be supported.  And when this happens, Uncles and Grandparents and Brothers often take up the slack, creating dynamics that often result in unintentional consequences between family members.

As the oldest of seven, I have often had to play the role of provider, disciplinarian, and fixer for my siblings, which has meant that our sibling relationship isn't always one of confidante and friend and adviser...because they are trying to hide things from me.  They love to call me when they are in trouble...and these roles are traditionally things I would attribute to the role of a father. 

Too, I have an uncle who has been my biggest advocate...who I talk to before I make any major decision.  I know that there have been times when he has stepped in on my behalf, creating some challenging family dynamics between I and my cousins (his children) and my mother too.  It's definitely all love now, but when we were younger...we had sibling rivalries like the ones you find in the Bible.  I can’t imagine from his vantage point how hard it was to explain to his family why he was taking me to college, paying for plane tickets home, allowing me access to his house and cars, and just being there faithfully, when his own children needed him.  I can't imagine being in their shoes either.  If the shoe were on the other foot, I wonder would I have been as gracious.  But if he had not been there, I would have been lost!!!!

As great as my uncle is, it doesn't replace the areas where he just couldn't go. He couldn't tell me about my father's family (which I'm now trying to find and learn).  He couldn't tell me how he fell in and out of love with my mother.  He couldn't share with me how to rebound when a girl doesn't like me...or to teach me all the signs of when she does indeed like me.  He couldn't show me how to shoot with my left hand (because, I like my father, am left handed).  He couldn't help me develop the kind of esteem that is necessary for living in this world.

Many a brother (or a sister for that matter) learns their value from fathers.  And when they are absent, sporadically present, or emotionally unavailable, we learn some very unhealthy coping mechanisms.  We learn not to ask for help when we are struggling, because no one is there to help. We learn to over-invest in relationships/people who show us just a modicum of love and support, even to our detriment.  Some of us learn to be cocky and arrogant in response to having no one: it literally is "Encourage Yourself" on crack.  And, some of us learn to give up before we've even started.  I believe all of us get upset when we are made aware of the difference for us and the rest of the world.  It's little things like not being able to ask for advice, not being able to participate in father/son days, its the “in spite of attitude” that has gotten us through lack.  For me its been when I've needed a provider, supporter, confidante, and mentor with just a bit more wisdom and investment in me that I've been so very angry and distraught at an absent father.  And, it's Father's Day.

Not that I think Father's Day should be abolished, I just wish that there were more Father's I could celebrate.  I really wish I could celebrate my own father.  But his living and making me isn't enough to make me call, send cards, and buy gifts...all of those things I love to do.

And, I think its hard for many a man-child to come to terms with this kind of loss and grief.  So many of us have never been to the movies with our father, or had him play games with us, or had him cook for us, or shared anything other than the occasional monetary provision.  So, I mourn the loss of my father even as he lives.  I grieve every time he failed to be present for me…because I just believe I would be a better, more whole man, had he been what God called him to be...and who God called him to be.  And, it is very difficult to put in words the kind of grief and loss I am feeling.

One time, my pastor Charles Goodman, sought to explore the grief and loss of a living father on youth Sunday, as he explored the narrative of Abraham and Ishmael.  While his words pierced the air, the emotion beneath the words for many of us began to pierce our hearts. I had been directing the teen choir that Sunday, and I can remember at first tears began streaming down the eyes of every youth in the choir, and then there was moaning because my youth began to see themselves inside the story.  As parents struggled to comfort those kids that morning, all of sudden, the men of the church began to cry and weep openly.  I suspect that some of us found ourselves as abandoned sons like the Old Testament's Ishmael who was banished and abandoned in a wilderness.  And, others found themselves to be Abraham, one who had forsaken his firstborn.  But men and children, in particular, were weeping at the loss of relationship.  Until that moment, I, among them, had never cried openly about what, I too, was feeling about my own father.

I remember the language not being clean and neat, but the message being tough, real, and life-changing.  This is the story of a fatherless son...for there is no easy language for children who have lived (and made a life) in spite of a father.   And, when people tell you with all that beautiful God-conscious rhetoric, "but you have a Father in heaven," it can sometime seem like an oppressive statement that really says, "Shut up, and stop complaining about your lot in life."

I just hope that I'm not one who says such things, when I consider my own experiences, even when I know those words to be true.  I believe that the messiness of life can't be easily explained in 7 word retorts, because restoration doesn't happen with seven words.  It happens in chapters of life.  It happens when people are allowed to grieve and love.  It happens when people are allowed to share their story, and their journey, and their hurt and eventually their healing.  It need not provoke a spirit of pity; however, it should invoke a spirit of understanding.  And we should be encouraged to remember on days like Father's day, that there are quite a few children  (young and old) struggling with how they should make sense of this kind of day.  I don't know what to say, but I'm hoping God's paraclete - God's Holy Spirit - knows how to comfort on days like that...and how to comfort on the day after.

Don't Go Crazy: Advice for HBCU Presidents From A Staff Perspective

A few years ago, one of my friends and colleagues suggested that the office of HBCU presidency seems to drive those in that seat crazy.  He remarked, "I've seen colleagues lose their mind when they become president!"  A few weeks back, I happened to be reading Charlie Nelms' Huffington Post argument, "20 Things Every Aspiring HBCU President Should Know." After reading it, I noticed the comments section and saw some unfavorable commentary that suggested college presidents often forget their staff and faculty in their analysis.  While I agree that Dr. Nelms can offer a world of insight into what it takes to run an HBCU, I also think that there is a lot that a President can learn from the people who work with them.   

While I don't currently work for an HBCU, I have worked and attended HBCUs.  Some places, I wish I had more time to do some things or a different position in which to effect change.  And other environments, I am just glad that its over.  What I've learned in each of these environments is that HBCU Presidents have an unusually high bar (responsibility) in shaping the environment.  I'm not sure if its culturally motivated, but there seems to be a fair amount of "Cult of Personality" driven presidencies that lead to the success and failure of institutions.

In my opinion, an awful president is moody, dictatorial, and crisis-invoking, reminding me of Meryl Streep's Miranda Priestly in "The Devil Wears Prada." A good president seems to be thoughtful, gracious, supportive, intellectually perceptive, and a head-hunter.  And, the reality is that either can be charismatic. Either can have vision. Either can have results. Either can be resolute, but only one of them will attract new, thoughtful leadership that can create positive change, empower growth, and develop continuity for years beyond their time in leadership. 

In this day and age where college professionals have a lot of options, HBCU presidents make major missteps when they don't seek to create a work environment that models the kind of thing they want students to embody.  What I mean to say is that if HBCU presidents want a learned, dynamic, spirited, globally-thinking environment, you might want to make sure that all of your staff has opportunities to live into these ideals, and thereby model this for students.  It simply means that there are opportunities for growth, collaboration, and education at every level of the institution. 

Unfortunately many HBCU presidents, don't fully understand this when they model dictatorial behaviors that often times have a trickle down effect on the rest of the community.  If you talk to your staff without a modicum of respect and decorum, why do you expect faculty or deans to talk to students with respect or vice versa?  And such deplorable working conditions make it hard for faculty and staff who really are committed to stay at places whose missions are beautiful, but whose agents of change are derelict. 

In the main, I do believe that there are a cadre of brothers and sisters who would love to have long, continuous, fruitful careers in HBCU education. Thus, I am always saddened to see really gifted brothers and sisters leave HBCUs because of presidential leadership.  As such, our Brother/Sister Presidents must value the work that we have all been doing has educators, librarians, food service employees, student affairs staff, etc at the HBCU of our choice. And, they must remember this one important fact: "You are not in this thing alone."  It was a collective agenda that brought HBCUs into fruition, and it will be a collective agenda that will empower them through the twenty-first century.  If HBCU presidents will value staff contributions, engender education at every level, and cultivate a non-hostile environment more professionals would be willing to stand in battle against the other variables that seek to destroy institutions that made it possible for all of us to "Find A Way Or Make One!"

Finding Kanye Through The Wire: Celebrity, Grief and Yeezus

I can remember the first time I heard his voice as I walked along the gray concrete of Clark Atlanta University's Campus.  I was passing Hale-Woodruff library (club Woody as we call it) when Kanye's voice and lyrics first found my ears.  I remember hearing it blare out of one of those cars that had implications of an alternate economic reality (the drug game ya'll).  And, I can remember wondering what was that?  Who was this new voice who had interrupted our "Get Krunk with Sizzurp and Weed" manifesto in Hip-Hop?  Who was this new voice whose lyrics said something about falling down, Versace, and freedom in the same breath?  

It was Kanye West who spoke the language of every angsty Black male student who was sitting somewhere writing papers, and at the same time dreaming about the kind of lavish lifestyle we were promised for going to college, rather than running to the streets.  Scratch that, Kanye West spoke to my spirit because I was one who was writing a thesis, going through hell, and shelving clothes at the local J.Crew.  I know, I know...Kanye was at the Gap...but in Lenox Mall, J.Crew and the Gap are about a stones throw away from each other.  But I digress, this Kanye seemed to put into words every thing a Black kid at CAU, "grinding" in grad school could think. 

He rapped effortlessly as he explored conspicuous consumption in "All Falls Down," without sounding too preachy.  He took me to church (even though we didn't stay there very long) and took me to the streets with "I'll Fly Away" & "Jesus Walks With Me."  He gave us a song about the NPHC greeks and a bedroom mix to round the album out (sounds like college to me). And then, "Through The Wire" was as much a gospel song and testimony as it was anything else.  Kanye rapped about his car accident and believing in himself, and I sat in my room in my fraternity's New Residence Commons (Room 101) and reflected on rising out of the ashes of child abuse, foster care, and a broken marriage.  Kanye seemed to have more hope than I did.  His "College Dropout" was literally a reprise of School Daze in musical form.

Kanye was smart, perceptive, hopeful, lavish, well-rounded, and most of all gifted!  Kanye was me, and I was Kanye's dropout! And then something happened!  Slowly and over time, this Kanye who once said what any young brash thinker would say when we all watched Black poor suffering people during the Katrina tragedy.  Gathering his courage he said, "George Bush doesn't care about Black People." After which he was promptly sensored and called a "reverse" racist.  These are definitely something to contend with.  After all, I know a little something about both of those.  But, the tragedy of his mother passing is quite another kind of life changing-experience. 

There are a few interviews where Kanye blamed himself for his mother's passing, because celebrity is not something we can all handle without cracking.  His intellectual mother was undergoing plastic surgery to fit in, in his world.  But the world in which Kanye moves, has high costs, even for those who have read Angela Davis, DuBois, Morrison, Newton, and Hurston.  Kanye lost his mother to the glamor of fame...and the kid who had made it through the "wire" began to implode.

It seems, that since her passing, Kanye's musical works have become dark and dank and a bit sad, albeit some of it is still good.  But none of it captures what Kanye once could present so effortlessly.  And this is so very sad for us, because Kanye's perceptive voice now seems to have drifted over the waterfall into the abyss of all that is normative in commercial Hip-Hop.  Life seems to have knocked the wind out of Kanye.

Mainstream media would have us believe Kanye is an egomaniac, who can't really be trusted.  But what I see, is the same thing I see with Chris Brown, Lauryn Hill, and many others who live in the spotlight. I see a brother who can't heal.  After all, a grieving Black celebrity isn't afforded the opportunity to sit and be still...and be healed.  They must keep going (less they face obscurity).  And money covers a multitude of sins.

When I look at Kanye, when I hear Kanye, when I listen to him, I find myself whispering a strange thought: "You are better than this Kanye." I want this Kanye to not be our next Whitney or Michael or Chris Kelly.  And actually, I'm tired of watching black people implode and/or explode across HDTV and Twitter. Iyanla may be trying to fix lives, but this world seems to be tearing them apart at a much faster rate.  

Partly, its because we lack a culture and/or an ethos of Sabbath.  My grandmama Lucy would tell us grand-kids when were doing too much, "sit yo' tail down somewhere!" This insight is actually helpful because sometimes we all need to go somewhere and sit down.  We need to rest our bodies from stimulation (of all kinds).  And, we need to reflect on what has happened like Abraham who built altars everywhere he went (as reminders for what had been done).  We need to mourn, we need to laugh and we need to rest.  Most of all, we need to resist the urge to be turned into a product as though we were something to be bought and sold - and thus not human. 

We must also be careful, because rest is different from isolation.  Rest can actually be done with others who know and love you...and want nothing from you.  I can only imagine what it would be like to find people like that as a celebrity in a reality tv world.  And, I imagine that many a celebrity has resorted to turning rest into isolation - the kind of isolation that had a crazy man wondering around tombs and cutting himself in the New Testament.  I imagine when every one appears to be extractors of your product, and the one's you loved are buried amongst the tombs, that the cemetery can seem like a beautiful place to wander. It's quiet, and no one will bother you at night.

The only problem with this, of course, is that only dead things dwell in dead places.  And sooner or later, if you stay there too long, you can begin to resemble the dead.  This is what I think is happening with our beloved Kanye. I say, let the wandering Kanye, cry out "Yeezus," because uttering a close proximity isn't about ego.  It's about trying to find a way out of death to grab hold of the source of life. It's an attempt to marry the human to the divine so that life can begin anew, and the demons can be cast into pigs.

Grief is like dwelling among the dead for a while, and many of us are blessed to have Jesus pull us back from building houses on sacred dead ground.  Many of us don't have to do this in the lime light, but Kanye does.  And having lost my mother, I pray that the he has what I had when one Sheila Palmer was called home - a seminary/school full of loving and supportive friends, colleagues, and classmates who let me rest.  They prayed while I cried (and still cry).  While I have been able to grieve with God showing himself through my amazing friends, I think that Kanye needs the industrial size version so that the brother will find his way back to his black righteous home.  I believe that when you cry out for Jesus, even when it sounds like "Yeezus," you can make it through the wire!

The Stakes Is High: Mourning St. Paul's College

In 1996, De La Soul released an album with the header "The Stakes Is High."  After learning recently that yet another HBCU is unable to keep its doors open, I am reminded of some of the lyrics in the De La Soul's title track, "Let me tell you what it's all about, a skin not considered equal. A meteor has more right than my people."  This line in itself is compelling in Hip-Hop as lyrics like the fore-mentioned are now the stuff of archives, replaced for things that proceed from the mouth of Drake.  But if we are "starting from the bottom, and now we here," its time to reflect on where we might be.  If this "here" is better, than once was, we might not be paying attention to all that is around us because the stakes "is" high when we see the dismal state of resources for HBCUs in comparison to their colleagues - PWIs.  Even from African Americans, there seems to be an inability to grasp the simple importance of closing schools that create access in the wake of the ever developing prison industrial complex.  This simple truth seems to be lost as I hear my colleagues rationalize that every HBCU failure is a result of mis-managment of funds, lack of alumni support, unprepared students/faculty and poor leadership.  While I would never want to underestimate those particular variables, I often have to remind my colleagues that HBCU inequities are also influenced by the hand of institutional racism that smack the face of places like St. Paul's College.  

What I'm simply saying is that the inability to have the same access to the resources that PWIs have been getting all along compounds HBCUs problems.  Many intentional governmental policies have crippled the kinds of work that HBCUs could do. Secondly, the mass exodus of black intellectuals/students to PWI space with the mindset that what we are getting is superior to the inferior "little black school down the street," is yet another major ontological hurdle.  And if that's not enough, there seems to be no intentional resources for educating capable students from low income socioeconomic backgrounds, and for those schools who seek to make that the heart of their mission (even though we all agree that wealth and education go hand in hand).  Beloved, there is no money for education...but there seems to be "plenty money" for incarceration. Seventeen years later, De La Soul is still right, "The Stakes Is High."

HBCUs suffer because the stakes are high, and we are unaware of the work that they do and have done.  We are unaware that they are most likely to produce Black scientists of all sorts.  We are unaware that many of these schools create the next set of educators for public schools.  We are woefully unaware that these schools nurture artists, activists, and entrepreneurs from a vantage point of history, culture, and hope.   We are are unaware of how we all benefit from St. Paul, Tougaloo, Rust, Paine, Meharry, and Livingstone's legacies.  The deficiency really isn't about any of these schools, the deficiency lies with a world community who believes that what was bequeathed to us by our ancestors is inferior in a world filled with "superior" options.  And now I'm back to something that my pastor Otis Moss, III said to a congregation a few years back: "You can't want your child to be a black doctor, and not patron black doctors because you think of them as inferior."  This is exactly the conundrum of HBCUs in a world community. 

Recently a colleague who runs a Black organization said to me casually about the HBCU, "Sean, we should just close these schools down, and just make them really good high schools."  I looked at that colleague, and said, "You know, I bet that someone is saying the same thing about the organization you run."  All of that is to say that if even people who run/administer/preside over all things black don't see the need in what an HBCU can do, we don't just have an external problem...we have an internal one as well.  The STAKES IS HIGH!