Black fathers get a bad rap.
An analysis of 2024 data shows about 63.5% of Black children nationwide live in single-parent households. In Illinois, it’s 70.6%. The vast majority of these households are led by women.
These statistics are often cited to illustrate the absence of Black fathers. They’re also referenced as evidence that Black boys lack male role models.
Most would agree that the most ideal setting for any child is a stable home with both parents. But these numbers measure the presence of fathers in the homes where their Black children reside — not how present Black fathers are in the lives of their children. The data also doesn’t show the presence of other men in the lives of Black children.
I’ve lived on both sides — I grew up in a single-parent home without my father, and I’m also father to a child who did not live with me during her childhood. However, I’ve never been absent in the life of my oldest daughter, and I benefited from the presence of Black men during my upbringing.
My maternal grandfather was a strict disciplinarian. I can recall numerous times where he chided and punished me. But my most glaring memory of granddaddy is the time when he cared for me after suffering a head injury during a fall. After preparing an ice pack and a meal, he sat with me until my mother arrived. That experience forever changed my perception of him: Underneath the gruff exterior was someone who truly cared for me. While I’ve been hard on my three daughters at times, I make an effort to show how much I care for them.
When I told my mother’s older brother that I was trying out for Little League baseball, he spent two hours explaining how to play shortstop, my preferred position. Even today, when I play softball, I can still hear his lessons on taking cutoff throws and positioning my feet on double-play attempts. I observed him closely as a homeowner, husband and father — he’s the role model I’ve tried to emulate in those roles.
Another uncle — a husband of one of my aunts — provided one of my favorite childhood memories when he got down on his hands and knees to play Nerf basketball with me and my cousins. He provided play-by-play commentary and even gave us nicknames — mine was a slight variation of a prominent Black child actor at that time. “Rodney Alden Rippy goes up for the dunk and gets rejected,” he shouted while blocking my shot at the rim. About 25 years ago, I channeled his example during play sessions with my oldest. She’d rotate between the three members of the Powerpuff Girls, and I’d play their archenemy, Mojo Jojo.
My mother’s longtime on-again, off-again boyfriend took me to Bulls games, he’d remind me to abide by mother’s rules, and he would invite me along for impromptu trips. One of my earliest memories of him is a trip to Fred & Jacks on 76th Street when a song came on the radio.
“Do you know who this is?” he asked.
“Michael Jackson?” I replied sheepishly, knowing that the deep, melodious voice belonged to someone else.
He chuckled, “No, that’s Luther Vandross.”
I’ve been listening to Luther ever since. When my mother passed away, decades after they broke up, I tried hard but was unable to find him. I wanted to share the news of her passing, but I also wanted to show him my appreciation — something that I was unable to fully grasp in my youth.
At 20 years old, I finally met my father, but another 10 years would pass before he reached out again. I struggled to find my own self-worth during those years.
“How uninteresting must I be?” I sometimes questioned myself. It’s a work in progress, but I’m grateful for the relationship we’ve built over the past 25 years.
A few years back, when I needed furniture after moving to a new apartment, my dad offered me an array of items he had in storage and rode back with me from the East Coast to Chicago. I appreciated his generosity, but the real treasure was the time we spent together. For two days, it was just me and him.
I’m following his example of bringing together his children and their families. I’ve promised my daughters that we’d take a trip every year. Last year, we spent a few days together in New York City — a place my youngest has always wanted to visit thanks to its annual New Year’s Eve celebrations. We had a blast, attending a Broadway show, visiting the Apollo Theater and taking in the dazzling sights of Times Square.
There’s no statistic that can truly measure how involved fathers are in the lives of their children.
However, what’s clear is that the value of the involvement of fathers or father figures — no matter when it occurs or for how long — is truly immeasurable. For that reason, it’s never too late to establish and build those bonds.
Alden Loury is data projects editor for WBEZ and writes a column for the Sun-Times.