That was when the world wasn’t so big and I could see everywhere. It was when my father was a hero and not a human. Markus Zusak
No one ever thanked him. Robert Hayden
Boys are beyond the range of anybody’s sure understanding, at least when they are between the ages of 18 months and 90 years. James Thurber
I’ve learned a lot about how the male mind works, and as a result I’ve been having nightmares for months. Yvonne Collins
Boyhood, like measles, is one of those complaints which a man should catch young and have done with, for when it comes in middle life it is apt to be serious. P.G. Wodehouse
A boy’s will is the wind’s will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
An emphasis on fathering is necessary because of the enormity of its absence. William Paul Young
He’s still her dad. The rest is just geography. Jennifer E. Smith
As most of you know, today is Father’s Day, at times replete with awkward moments where, in my family at least, we struggled with perfunctory gift giving to men who had become used to not being thanked for the many subtle and even anonymous things they did for others, men who generally did not offer discernable clues regarding things they might like to have or if the day even had any meaning for them, men who often ended up picking up the check for an erstwhile “Father’s Day” dinner held at a restaurant they would never have chosen on their own.
As fewer of you may know, today is Juneteenth, a day of marking the effective end of trans-Atlantic slavery, an effective end to men and their families chained inside the hulls of boats making the torturous and often fatal transit across unforgiving seas, the “reward” for survival being sold at auction, separated from loved ones, and now facing an ultimate test of preserving some semblance of the humanity that the brutality of “owners” and the circumstances of enslavement were conspiring to break down altogether.
Father’s Day indeed. Even the simple recognition that those working in the fields were of greater value than the horses and dogs that roamed the property was often more than anyone could expect. After all, once such value is acknowledged, it becomes morally problematic, even for the most abusive, to see slaves as mere conduits for sexual satisfaction or a bumper crop at market.
In this precarious time, it would be reasonable, if a bit cheeky, to start drawing lines, the ones that bind ingratitude to grievance, and then to disinformation and then to hate speech, and then to discrimination, and then to outright brutality, sexual violence and even enslavement. These lines are not tight but neither are they irrelevant. We reap at least some of what we sow in this life, and much of what we sow now is with inattentive, ungrateful and self-interested hands. Gratitude, whether to fathers, other family members, or the wider community of interests which sustains our complex lives, remains the first principle in diverting those aforementioned lines towards more productive and dignified sojourns. It is now a principle too-rarely grasped.
But not only now. When I was younger it seemed commonplace to blame mothers for all that was wrong in society, all that was wrong with children who had strayed from whatever path was deemed normative within the family and the wider community. Having so strayed myself, it was indeed difficult to face a bevy of challenges I was largely unprepared for without casting blame on one or both of the parents to whom I was biologically and culturally tethered. But there was little doubt in that time that mothers bore the brunt of the liability for who and what their children were to become and that much of that was unfair, in part the consequence of some overly-enthusiastic male psychologists who forgot to remove their own blinders before issuing their pronouncements.
In more recent times, certainly within the policy bubbles which I find myself, while individual males could be honored for their accomplishments, their bravery, even their humanity, the notion of “male” itself has taken a serious hit. At the UN, the amount of time spent on issues of women’s participation and violence committed against them is quite formidable, not inappropriate at all given levels of abuse perpetrated against far too many women and girls in conflict settings and given the backhanded manner in which the guardians of patriarchy dole out their concessions to women who have in many, many instances outgrown any need or desire for such patronizing largesse.
That said, there is little spoken in UN policy spaces about men and boys, even less that is as thoughtful as it is critical. For the most part, we don’t have “gendered” policy interests at the UN. We have women’s interests. And while the unmet needs of and abuses experienced by men and boys are slowly re-entering the discourse – including surprisingly this week at a good UN event on sexual violence in conflict – we have a long way to go to replace the stereotypes which are now, in my view at least, actually impeding the arrival of a time when the daughters and sons of fathers can make their way in this wildly unequal world with some hope of finding meaning, purpose and accomplishment during their time on this earth.
It is worth noting here that in the search for quotations for this post, it was necessary to wade through many which were alternately bastions of sentimentality or “clubs” of incrimination, and more of the latter than I might have expected. Indeed, many of the quotations uncovered ostensibly focused on boys were actually offered by young women communicating in one way or another their “nightmares” courtesy of a male mindset which, I suspected at least, they had invested little in understanding beyond how it impacted them. Let’s be clear. When fatherhood is interpreted through the lens of an absentee and boys are equated with sleep disorders or communicable diseases, whatever pathologies are being cleverly “exposed” are only likely to spread. After all, most of us of all genders and backgrounds have a hard enough time weaning ourselves from the expectations that others have of us.
As some of you know, though it is not much in the grand scheme of things, I’ve been funneling money in modest increments for years to organizations accompanying farm workers through their difficult and compromising labors, providing assistance for health and legal access needed to sustain themselves and their families. I love the painting by Munch adorning this post because, despite current stereotypical limitations, it captures the essence of so many parents I know, so many fathers and mothers who work themselves to the bone in exchange for the affection and respect of their children, conveying an herioc promise to them each day that they will return to the sometimes-dehumanizing fields and factories, even to zones of conflict, to ensure that they have enough, that they are safe enough, that they can navigate the world well enough, that they are loved enough in terms both sentimental and (especially) practical.
Just as I know many boys undeserving of even an analogical whiff of pathology, so I know many fathers who remain resolutely present and active, who strive however they know to keep their promises to their children; to do what they can and guide as they are capable in order to ensure that the “long, long thoughts” of their progeny can lead to dignified and sustainable futures as we pass through these multiply undignified times. I honor those efforts on their face, but also in the hope that such honoring can lead to a more abundant replication of the best of what I know fathers to be and do.
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