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John Fountain Sr., the author's father whom he barely knew as a child. |
Dear Anonymous, Thank you kindly for your note. I
think I understand your sentiment. But let me assure you that the reality of
single-parent, African American homes needs no reinforcement. Neither is it a
stereotype. The reality is that 7 out of 10 black children live in single-parent,
female-headed households. That’s 72 percent to be precise. Truth. Facts.
I am well aware of two-parent headed households.
Aware that black homes have fathers. My home is one of them. I am a father,
mentor, uncle, brother… And yet, I am the son of a single mother, a wonderful
mother who was my saving grace. That is the spirit in which my column was
written.
_____________________
_____________________
"The next time you write to me, do me a favor:
Put your name on it."
_____________________
_____________________
For the record, I have written plenty in the past and
will write plenty more, I suspect, about what fathers can do. I in no way
excuse them—us—not even in my current column. But what was my mother or other
women to do when their no-good, irresponsible sperm donors decided to have
nothing to do with the nurture and upbringing of the children they helped bring
into this world? Sit around and pontificate or have a pity party, perhaps?
Bemoan the fact that they were thrust into single parenthood? Or get on with
the business of raising the children God blessed them with?
If you were truly a faithful reader of my column over
the past seven years, you would know that I have said much about what fathers
can do and that I've written a book titled, "Dear Dad: Reflections on
Fatherhood," which echoes the call to responsible male parenting.
As for: “I have to admit I read the column with my
eyes searching for the mention at least of what black fathers could do, but not
one word, not one line, nothing…”
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John Fountain's grandmother Florence G. Hagler. |
I wrote:
“If you do not find elders who will bestow upon him “manhood” and walk
alongside him, you hobble him. Create the ‘village.’ Seek out good men who will
speak life into your son and model manhood.” Isn’t this something? Did you miss
this? That’s entirely possible, especially when one reads with their own agenda
and preformed context that allows us to see only what we want to see and that
can make us blind to the truth.
Again, this column was to mothers, some who have
since written to say "thank you." Not just single mothers. In fact,
the column was birthed from a conversation with my wife that morning about
raising our 14-year-old son. “Don’t coddle him,” I told her. “He’s going to be
a black man. Stop coddling him…” She received my words in the spirit in which
they were given: To equip the beloved son God gave us and to fortify him for
manhood in a society in which he will be hated.
You accuse me of feeding a stereotype. Stereotype?
What stereotype? That the vast majority of black households are headed by
single mothers? That more than 90 percent of black people murdered each year
are murdered by someone black? That we, as a people, remain so worried about
what white folk think about us that we cannot look circumspectly in the mirror
and call the truth so that ultimately we may heal?
Pleeeease.
“Demeaning,” you say my columns are?
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John W. Fountain as a boy poses with his
sister Gloria.
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I write: “Dear mama, the hand that rocks the cradle
still rules the world. The mother who safely guides her son through the peril
of adolescence that exists with unique and deadly consequence for black males
in America, will save a nation. For we perish.”
What is demeaning about that?
Dear sister, my grandmother, a saint of God, if she were alive today, would
call you a “foolish woman.”
And if you have “grown so weary” of my columns, why,
may I ask, do you continue to read them?
Lecturing and demeaning? The sisters who have since
written to me about today’s column said they found my words helpful and
encouraging. Not ill intentioned, not demeaning. But I suspect they had no
bitter context, no axe to grind with me, no lingering hurt or anger stemming
from a previous relationship with one man that now clouds or colors even the
well-intentioned, hopeful and loving words of another man, of any man.
You write to me in scolding tones about what I choose
to write in my own column, accuse me of pandering to white people, tell me that
my "pen could be used for more noble purposes..." “Noble” according
to who? You?
And you call me lecturing and demeaning? LOL Wow.
Look in the mirror, dear sister. You might notice a
little projection. But there I go again being perhaps a little too sanguine.
Let me assure you that no one could ever pay me
enough to write to pander. For the record, I get for my Sun-Times column
50-cent a word, not a penny increase since I started seven years ago. Hardly
enough to make me sell my people out. And truth is, there ain’t that much money
in the world. I write what I believe, what I feel. And I stand by every word
and with my name on it. Always have and always will.
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Fountain dances with his mother Gwendolyn Marie Hagler Clincy at his wedding in 1992. |
By the way, who are you? You who chose to write to me
anonymously, hiding behind your digital cloak. Are you a colleague who in the
past has taken issue with my column and gone behind my back to express your
disfavor rather than coming to me first as your “brother”? Or are you a former
Facebook friend or associate who has expressed anger in the past over me
writing about black women’s hair, or mothers wishing themselves a Happy
Father’s Day? Angry perhaps about my musings on middle class, college-educated
black women calling themselves the “B” word and disparaging each other on shows
like “Basketball Wives” and “Love and Hip Hop,” or angry about the vital role I
repeatedly say that mothers must play in helping to save our people from this
crisis that confronts us?
One of those colleagues, in fact, once asked me at an
occasion that had nothing to do with work, out of the clear blue: “What
qualifies you to write about black women’s hair?” Aside from the fact that I’m
a writer and I can write about anything I damn well please? My mama, my
grandmama, my wife, my sisters, my aunties, my daughters, my granddaughters and
a host of nieces and cousins. (Negroes, pull-leeease, smh)
I write because I mourn over the condition of our
people. And I put my name to all I have to say. Some would call that courage.
Some would call not putting your name to what you wrote to me cowardice.
The next time you write to me, do me a favor: Put
your name on it. That's what folks do who engage in serious discourse. Then I
might at least respect what you have to say, dear sister.
Peace,
JOHN
Email:Author@johnwfountain.com
Website: www.johnwfountain.com