We’re waiting for our African American fathers…

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DISCLAIMER! This post is not intended to single out black men and portray them in a negative light. It's sole purpose is to explore how a random phrase can resonate so strongly as a means to prepare you for life's boomerangs.

“We’re waiting for our African American fathers” rang down a hallway of anxious actors awaiting an audition for a cold medicine commercial. The production assistant needed to make that clear as there were a number of black boys without adult black males to audition with them as the father figure. When I responded, “Aren’t we all?”, the room fell silent like Mos Def for what felt like an hour before uncomfortable laughter filled the room like an elephant in a powder room. I jokingly said it to my friend under my breath, but was instead heard by a room that looked like a Benetton ad who found the whole moment odd and uncomfortable, yet… true. Like something they know black woman feel but would never want to be heard saying around the water cooler. Oddly, I was about two months pregnant and my response even surprised me. The father of my child to be was excited about our little bundle of joy and was stockpiling documentaries on childbirth and parenting. So what compelled me to say such a thing. Black folks don’t let something like that slip out in mixed company and even though I tried to come back with something witty, the word was out. Sistas are still in the trenches… alone. When the assistant blushed and insisted she didn’t mean it like that, I said either did I… but I was lying.


My son is 6 weeks old. Healthy. Gorgeous. And sleeps through the night! I look at him, examine him and I’m so humbled GOD chose me for this assignment. After 10 months of baby books, interviewing mid wives and birthing centers, insurance companies and a set of amazing boobs, he’s here! Reality sinks in along with other people’s horror stories and my own demons, of which are trying to sit at my table for tea and tell me how inadequate I am for the job. For many dad’s, the excitement turns to anxiety, the passion turns to passive and the “I’ll step up to do what I need to do”, turns to, “Women have been doing this for centuries, why you trippin’?”
Waiting for anything can bring on a slight panic. Waiting for a bus has you looking down the street as if doing so will make the bus come sooner. Waiting on a check only gives you more time to be reminded it still won’t quite cover your bills. But waiting for our fathers is like anticipating the after shocks post a 5.2 earthquake. You know you can grab a hold of something, but you’re not sure it’s strong enough for the blow. My late father, was a great, funny and witty man. But those layers are for another blog, actually a book would better suit our journey. I waited for him for as long as I knew what waiting was. He would always make an appearance filled with expensive clothes and promises that held as much weight as Mary-Kate Olsen. I thought I was done waiting once I became an adult, but I’m still waiting and you know how I know? I’m certain I’m at the right bus stop in life, but I’m steady looking down the street. There’s money, but something ain’t adding up. And my son’s birth has had the impact of a beautiful LIFE quake and yet I feel like the aftershocks could be devastating.
So the phrase, We’re waiting for our African American fathers feels like a foreshadowing of sorts. Like that assistant took the red pill in the matrix and I had to bear witness. Because I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but I’m certain, without a doubt... I’m waiting!