An idea with potentially strong anthropological consequences has been knocking around in my head for a number of years now. But it’s no doubt so controversial that I’ve avoided putting my thoughts down on paper — that is, until now. The reason being, the concept goes against many of the tenets upon which western society, Judeo-Christian religion and custom rest.
A desire to avoid opprobrium, ridicule or censure can act as a powerful incentive to not put one’s head in the lion’s mouth of criticism (lest it be bitten off), and I perhaps was thinking that I would be better off waiting until I had a wider audience and more support of me as critical thinker before putting forth the idea. But then a couple of thoughts changed my mind.
One, if I’m not considered a serious writer and thinker by this point in my career, I never will be, and two, the situation that I’m going to write about is becoming more critical by the day. Therefore I need to get my thoughts and opinions out there because I full well know that implementation of what I’m about to propose will take years, if not decades, to even be modestly accepted and thus implemented or utilized.
I’ve beaten around the bush just about long enough. It’s time for me to strap my nuts on and get cracking at it.
A month before I got out of the joint for the last time in 1995 I promised myself, the good Lord, and two or three other white folks, that I would never again run afoul of the law — and I haven’t. I was past my 50th birthday, but it wasn’t very long before women (fairly young, financially stable and most often attractive) began almost throwing themselves at me. My ego shot through the roof.
“It must be that I’m giving off some kind of primal signal that I’m on the hunt for a mate,” I thought. In point of fact, I was as thirsty for a good woman as a Lobo wolf is for a cool drink of water on a scorching hot day. I was getting invites to dinner by women of substance — at their homes, no less, where they demonstrated their domestic and culinary skills. And then it finally hit me.
It wasn’t that I had all of a sudden turned into a carbon copy of Denzel Washington, no. What I eventually figured out was what these women all had in common: A son, or maybe two. What they were interested in was a strong, sober, reasonably intelligent black live-in father figure to mentor their man-child.
And of course they were right: If there’s one thing in this life I’m good at it is turning boys into men. Indeed, I came by the skill in the best way possible — I was blessed to be raised by a man I still believe to be the greatest dad the world had ever seen.
Interestingly enough, on more than a few occasions, while comparing notes with other black men returning from a period of incarceration, it became evident that I wasn’t the only one being sought after to serve as a live-in role model.
Certainly, some women do an excellent job of raising their sons, and I take my hat off to them. Often they have the assistance of a grandfather, uncle or some other male role model, and if that is the case they are indeed blessed. However, the overwhelming majority of the violent actors in the black community (as well as the white community) are fatherless; in some cases, it appears as if they were raised by wolves.
Granted, there are strong programs run by the Boys and Girls Club as well as other organizations that do a magnificent job of mentoring. But in spite of their best efforts, we are still losing too many young men to the streets and gang violence. They need a strong role model in the home.
What I should have done — and what I’m proposing that other fully grown (and by fully-grown, I do mean exactly that) black men exiting prison do: I should have become the live-in role model for three or four of the families. Yes, I should have divided my time between them, something I would have been completely capable of doing.
Consider this: in the majority culture, more and more dads are staying home to parent while the mom works. In the black community, it’s far easier for an educated black woman to get a decent paying job than for a black man exiting prison to do so. His job should be that of dad. And remember, I already added the caveat “fully grown.”
This is not about a black man being able to boast about having three or four women; it’s about him doing the hard work of raising black boys from three or four families into men. And I’m not about to try to peek under a bedroom door to see what is happening between the dad and the mom on the nights he spends in residence. That’s their business.
And the three or four women should support the black man in a decent manner. Now if the dude wants $200 Jordans, he’s not fully grown — tell him to fuck off. But he should be able to drive a decent car, dress decently and afford to take his “sons” to Cavs games and do everything a middle-class father should do to mold his boy into a man. And not have to beg the women for the funds to do so.
Naturally, silly jealousy would be the first barrier to such a sharing arrangement; that’s the culture most black women have been raised in. But these women in need of a role model for their sons should stop and rethink this as a strong, fully grown black woman: As long as the dude is doing what he should be doing by her son, she should care less who he’s spending the rest of his time with, as long as he was doing his job of raising another mother’s son.
Yes, this idea is audacious and is fraught with all kinds of stumbling blocks, but please, I challenge you to help the race by coming up with a better solution. If you can’t then support this one.
From CoolCleveland correspondent Mansfield B. Frazier mansfieldfATgmail.com. Frazier’s From Behind The Wall: Commentary on Crime, Punishment, Race and the Underclass by a Prison Inmate is available in hardback. Snag your copy and have it signed by the author at http://NeighborhoodSolutionsInc.