Back when I was a child
Before life removed all the innocence
My father would lift me high
And dance with my mother and me and then
Spin me around till I fell asleep
Then up the stairs he would carry me
And I knew for sure I was loved.
— Luther Vandross, “Dance with My Father”
As a Black father and educator, I want all of my children to attain college degrees. I want them to see themselves traversing the halls of academia. I see it as my duty to uplift the scholar in them. If the world tells them they cannot, their Daddy must tell them they can. I know first hand how education, specifically a college degree, can drastically improve your ability to earn a living. For this and other reasons, I’m vehemently opposed to raising anything but intelligent, Black educated children.
When I was a child, I spent my summers at my grandparents house on Long Island. Each summer my grandfather would make my cousins and I read before we could go outside and play. I enjoyed reading and felt good at it, so this wasn’t an arduous task. At a certain point I began to see reading as a recreational activity. For years after, and even to this day, I still read for leisure. Due to our socioeconomic status and the fact that my father worked for the NYPD, I was afforded the opportunity to go to private catholic schools from kindergarten through high school.
A Black Boy’s Journey in Education
It was in high school where I saw a difference between the education I was receiving and what my relatives had access to. In my school no one debated if they would go to college. The only conversation being had was which college you would go to and what you would study. The idea of dropping out was unheard of at my school. Years later as an adult, I’d reflect on how my school experiences shaped me. I would compare them to the experiences of my close relatives. I realized that I wasn’t more brilliant or extraordinarily gifted, but I was fortunate. My parents could afford to send me to a school with a college-going culture. Now in my late thirties, I can boast about having multiple degrees and a career which places me in the top 15% of wage earners who look like me.
This is not cause for celebration. Now, as a Black father myself, it is cause for concern. I think about my path and how immensely blessed I was. I think about how my grandfather made me read before fun, and how my Dad paid for my education. I think about how my father instilled a desire to be educated in me. I remember him saying that I was born Black and male and thus began with two strikes in the game of life. He would (and still does) admonish me that to be stupid would be a third strike.
My Dad, who now holds two doctoral degrees, was always studying. He is a minister, so as is the way of clergy, he’s always reading the Bible, and as is his way he’s always reading something else, too. I remember that the push from him and my grandfather was always for me to be cerebral. In hindsight my natural inclination toward books probably was as much nurture as nature. Nevertheless my grandfather would tell me, “Control yourself and you will control everything around you.” I was taught that education is a way to control yourself. The more you knew, the less your own impulses and others could fool or rule you. So as a young Black boy I decided that I must be smart, I must learn, and I must do well in school.
Notwithstanding this legacy of Black intellectualism, I still fear for my children. I fear like all parents do, that they will not make poor choices, but will excel in life. I fear like all Black parents do, that the lure of street-life or police violence will not cut their lives short. And I fear like Black fathers do, that they will surpass not only I, but whatever the world thinks of them. I know the path of education, so I believe if it worked for me, it may also work for them.
‘America’s Schools Are Racially Stuck in the Past’
It’s been 70 years since Brown v. Board of Education, when America decided to legislate the integration of its schools. My education is as much the product of that integration as it is the product of capitalism. It appears that my choices as a parent to educate my children are bound to the reach of my wallet. Decades after the Brown decision, many Black parents are facing a similar dilemma. We are also faced with whether to put our children in schools with students who share their racial and cultural identity or with higher performing schools where they will be tokenized.
I was in the minority within my Catholic high school. My children who range in ages attend both types. This is the legacy of Brown v. Board of Education. Now 70 years later, schools are still segregated in this country. Between 1991 and 2019, Black-white segregation grew 25% in our schools.
During the 2016-2017 school year, almost 48% of public-school students throughout the nation were identified racially as white. However, those white students went to schools that were almost 70% white. Segregation in America still means that the majority of students go to schools that are made of the same racial group as them.
Despite the prevalence of research that points to the benefits of diverse classrooms, many of America’s schools are racially stuck in the past. Black students typically go to school with Black students and have very little exposure to white students. As a Black father, I have no deep yearning for my children to attend predominantly white schools. There are benefits to being socially involved with people who share your identity and those who do not.
The unfortunate fact for Black families is that to attend Black schools is to attend high-poverty schools. These schools are under-funded, under-resourced, and often under-performing. Many have to choose like my father did, to spend money (if you have it) to send your child to “good” white schools. The National School Boards Association reported that 45% of Black students attended schools with high poverty levels in 2017. As a Black father who values education, these statistics don’t leave much choice.
The Presence and Love of Black Fathers
Contrary to my truth, the prevailing stereotype that I’ve heard my entire life is that Black men don’t raise their kids. I could never reconcile this foolish trope with my actual experience. The Black men in my close family loved, supported, nurtured and raised their children. I learned what it means to be a man and a father from present Black men. I understand the burden we carry. We must set an example for our immediate children and family while our very existence is the counter-narrative railing against who society says we are.
Even when we succeed on the small scale of our lives, we are treated as if we’ve lost. Stereotypes are easier to believe, but lies don’t hold up under the pressure of truth. 70% of Black fathers participated in these tasks compared to 60% of White fathers, and 45% of Hispanic fathers each day. The truth is, Black men choose to be present fathers. This is true for Black men who live inside the home, are stepdads, or live outside of their children’s home.
America doesn’t love Black men and thus doesn’t love Black fathers. George Floyd was a Black father. Like all parents we desire to be involved and want the best for our kids. This does not mean that every Black dad is present. However, there are many of us who are.
I recently attended a “Donuts with Dads” engagement event at my children’s school. My family is fortunate to have access to a high performing school that continues to be a safe space for Black children. Schools host these sessions as a way to encourage parent involvement, and as the name would suggest the purpose of this event was to get the involvement of male parental figures. My children go to a predominantly Black elementary school. So, the fathers, “dads,” who were expected to attend were Black.
In one day, I attended three sessions of the event for my four children that attend the school. Each time, I struggled to find parking. Black men waiting to attend packed into the standing-room-only school lobby. Upon entry Black men sat in the school’s multi-purpose room, eating and talking to their children and the school’s staff. It was a tangible reminder that there are many men, Black dads, who are present and involved in their children’s lives. It was a moment I will never forget in which I felt seen and valued as a Black father.
When thinking of where to put my children in school, it matters that they’re close to home, it matters that they receive an exceptional education, and it matters that their identities are affirmed. Although reasonable, the combination of these desires is very rarely realized. As Black people we benefit from the presence and love Black father’s offer despite a world telling us they don’t exist.
This MFP Voices essay does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to azia@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.
