PARENTING WHILE BLACK
By Mark Anthony Neal | @NewBlackMan
Wednesday, June 22, 2011.
I am
a better father, than I am a husband; or at least that is what has been
affirmed to me, if I am to gauge such things by the number of
compliments that I receive from friends and passer-bys. Indeed it’s
been so easy to believe the hype, as strangers react in amazement when
I show any hint of nurturing, affection or playfulness with my two
daughters. I used to strut around thinking I was doing something
exceptional; twelve years of parenting and decades of critical
attention to the discourses that frame contemporary Black masculinity
have taught me that such affirmation is borne out of a belief that
Black men play little role in the lives of their children. In a society
that expects so little from them, Black fathers often get celebrated
for doing exactly what they are supposed to do as parents.
I thought about all of this, when the Today Show
recently did a story about the positive impact of horseplay between
fathers and children. It’s not new research; I cited the decade-old
research of Ross Parke and Armin Brott (Throwaway Dads: The Myths and Barriers That Keep Men from Being the Fathers They Want to Be) in my book New Black Man
(2005), paying particular attention to the effects play with fathers
has on the self-esteem of daughters. I can’t think of a father that
doesn’t find such activity one of the most pleasurable experiences of
parenting, especially with young children; such play is still a vital
part of my relationships with both of my daughters. I can imagine play
with fathers becoming one of the pillars of a normative American
fatherhood, along with providing security and discipline.
Yet,
regardless of race, the expectations associated with fatherhood are far
less dynamic than those that we expect of mothers, so much so that
there are even institutional impediments that discouraged men from
fully engaging in parenting responsibilities beyond those that are
viewed as normal.
It
is only within the last decade, for example, that public restrooms
include unisex changing stations or changing stations in men’s bathroom
to accommodate fathers. In interactions with child-care providers,
teachers, and pediatricians, fathers continue to be treated as
disinterested on-lookers. Child-care providers almost never provided me
information about the kinds of days my daughters had when I picked them
up, without me making an effort to get such information. They would
freely share such information with my wife—and always with much more
detail than they shared with me. It has been no different with their
schooling, as teachers and administrators seem genuinely confused—or
even concerned for their safety—when Black fathers, in particular,
decide to be classroom parents or occasionally decide to visit, as if
we are all party to some on-going child custody case with our baby-mama.
And
if institutional forces didn’t do enough to discourage more engaged
parenting by fathers, popular culture has been a trusted source to
further dissuade engaged fatherhood. Indeed there is an entire comedic
tradition—a cottage industry really —built around fathers and
parenting. Films like Daddy Day Care (2003), Parenthood (1989) and Mrs. Doubtfire
(1993) and numerous television sitcoms have flourished by making the
clueless, ineffective father the regular punch-line. In early
television culture—and well into the 1980s—the comic image of the
father trying to survive the challenges of domestic life, where
countered by equally troubling comic images regarding women in the
workforce; I’m thinking specifically about a the highly influential I Love Lucy, which along with early sitcoms like Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie
(where the main female characters had magic powers) served as a
backlash to the influx of women in the workforce during World War II.
Indeed,
in our contemporary culture, the lowered expectations for Black fathers
are powerfully contrasted by expectations for Black mothers that adhere
to parenting standards that are almost impossible sustain, without an
engaged co-parent; mothers in general are given little sympathy when
they fail to live up the societal expectations of what a “true”
mother—woman—is supposed to do.
While
there are many criticisms directed at absentee Black fathers—and
legitimately so—very rarely is that level of critique extended to Black
fathers when they are present, even if they are engaged in abusive
behavior towards their partners and their children. Not so ironically,
there is a equally troubling discourse that blames Black women, their
ambitions, and their so-called attitudes for the failure of Black
fathers to remain in the home or as engaged parents. Such critiques
place a premium for fathers being present, often overlooking that what
many children need, is simply to have as many adults as possible
involved in their lives, regardless of gender or if they live in the
residence.
With
so many communities being challenged by chronic unemployment,
particularly among adult males, parenting and gender scripts are
seemingly being re-written as we speak. The Today Show feature that I cite above, as well as sitcoms like Modern Family,
is evidence of a culture trying to wrap its head around what fathers
bring to the table as parents—beyond traditional expectations—at a time
when many fathers have little choice but to take a hands-on approach to
parenting in order for their families to survive. It should not have
taken a national economic crisis for us to realize that in devaluing
the role that men can play in raising children, regardless if they are
parents or not, we are devaluing the lives of our children also.
***
Mark
Anthony Neal is the father of two adopted daughters, aged 12 and 8.
The author of several books, including the forthcoming Looking for Leroy: (Il)Legible Black Masculinities
(New York University Press), Neal also teaches African-American Studies
at Duke University and is the host of the weekly Webcast, Left of Black, produced in collaboration with the John Hope Franklin Center at Duke University. You can follow him on Twitter @NewBlackMan