NYC Teen Families to Find Support at July 13 Event

Spread the word and join Strong Families member organizations and activists for this event providing resources and support to young parents! 

In March 2012 the New York City Human Resources Administration's  launched a highly offensive anti-teenage pregnancy campaign: “Think Being a Teen Parent Won’t Cost You?” Although the ads have mostly disappeared the shame and stigma teenage families endure everyday has not.  

In response to the offensive ads several New York City based organizations and advocates have launched a counter campaign, "No Stigma No Shame," which is finding ways to counter damaging stereotypes and support young parents.

We are happy to announce that on Saturday July, 13 the No Stigma No Shame: Empowering and Supporting Teenage Families Conference will take place at Four Times Square from 11am-4pm. 

This conference will create a judgment-free, supportive, and empowering environment for New York City teenage families and connect them with resources and programs that are teenage family-friendly. The keynote address will be made by former teen mom and distinguished Council Woman Annabel Palma whom represents the Bronx's 18th District. 

The event will include information sessions on emotional wellness, sexual/reproductive health, education, and advocacy. Raffle prizes will include passes to New York City's museums and zoos, boxes of diapers and much more all while providing child care, and food!

This event is completely FREE and open to all teenage parents (male and female). RSVP is mandatory and can be completed here.

Allies create safe spaces, not take them over

By Renee Bracey Sherman

My father is an odd fellow, one not reflected in most Father’s Day cards. He rarely watches sports, would never buy a sports car, hates golf due to working as a caddy in his teens, and doesn’t wear ties. While he loves his tools and is constantly reconstructing our family home, it’s not because of any need to display masculinity. He does it because he worships my mother and wants her to have anything he can create. It’s a bit of selflessness that is rarely reflected in mainstream media, and appreciated or expected of men – especially towards their partners and the world around them.

My father was born with many privileges – a cisgender straight white man, born and raised in Minnesota to a large lower-middle class Catholic family. A man who dropped out of high school because he didn’t like what the nuns were teaching, but went on to put himself through college, receive a Master’s degree, and finish nursing school. He’s smart, thoughtful, and caring. And while he has a lot of privileges in life, he has taught me the one lesson I hold dearest – how to be a great ally.

Growing up, I remember people from his work coming to the house for hours, days, and weeks at a time to sit with him around the kitchen table and tell him about their problems. I didn’t understand why they were there, just that it was important and I wasn’t allowed to bother them. He would listen so intently as they’d share their stories and sometimes cry, that he couldn’t hear me complaining that I was bored. Sometimes we’d have to go to his job and walk with signs, chanting and making signs. It was exhausting, and I would have rather stayed at home. Little did I know that I was marching for my own health care, safe working conditions, and fair contracts through the nurses union that my father volunteered for full-time. He recognized that as a white man, he was always given the space to share his opinions and offer recommendations, but realized that he wanted to use that privilege for something else – to cede the floor to others who were facing challenges in his workplace and share their stories and experiences. He wanted to be the person to open the door and then step back and let them shine.

I believe he learned these lessons from his mother, a homemaker who grew up during The Depression and raised eight children, including Rita, the youngest. My aunt Rita had seizures as a child and was diagnosed with cerebral palsy and she couldn’t walk or speak. Doctors said she wouldn’t live past the age of thirteen (she lived to forty), but that didn’t stop my grandmother from making sure Rita got the best care, was treated equally by our family, and raised her in the family home – this was at a time when doctors pressured her to put Rita in an institutional group home. When we would travel to Minnesota to see the family, my father’s eyes would light up every time he saw Rita. He couldn’t wait to take her for a walk, share updates of our family with her, and feed her – she always had a spot at the dinner table. Watching him interact with Rita taught me that everyone has a voice and everyone has value, whether they can speak or not, whether they can walk with you or not. Even though she could never respond to him, he looked in to her eyes to listen for her stories.

Recently, I asked my father about his own stories and experiences – in particular if he felt pressure to change his life path. His answer was simple, “Yes, and I don’t care.” Other people’s hesitations will not impact the care and support he gives to those around them. His job is to make sure everyone has access to the opportunities in life that he has had. It’s to ensure that everyone is treated with the utmost respect and has the opportunity to pursue happiness – whether that is through a career choice, a partner choice, or quality of life. And as a person with privilege, it is your duty to stand with and support others in that endeavor. To create safe spaces, not take them over.

He has rarely uttered the terms “privilege”, “oppression”, or “ally”, but he has taught me how to use the seat you’ve been handed to bring others to the table. This Father’s Day, I want to thank him for sharing this important lesson with me: Don’t wallow in your privilege, use it to make change and empower others. Before the Papa’s Day campaign came along, there wasn’t a card to thank him for that.

My father taught me to go against the grain. He taught me how to stand up for what you believe in, even if you’re the only one standing, because more often than not, once you stand, others will stand with you and appreciate you breaking the ice. You don’t have to follow the path society sets up for you – and I don’t have to send him the Father’s Day card society tells me to buy him.

Renee Bracey Sherman is a reproductive justice activist who shares her own abortion experience to encourage others who have had abortions to speak out and end the silence and stigma. She's shared her story on the BBC Newshour, Feministing.com, The Atlantic.com, and various college campuses. By day, Renee is a fundraiser at the Wikimedia Foundation, the nonprofit that runs Wikipedia. In her spare time she serves as the social media coordinator for the Bay Area Doula Project, the board chair for Young Nonprofit Professionals Network Bay Area Chapter, writes for Echoing Ida - a black women's writing collective of Strong Families, and shares her home with folks traveling to the Bay Area for abortions through her local abortion fund, ACCESS Women's Health Justice. Renee, a proud Chicagoan, holds a Bachelor's degree in Economics and Sociology from Northeastern Illinois University, and is currently pursuing her Master's studies in Public Administration at Cornell.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Papahood: More than DNA and a Birth Certificate

By Diana Thu-Thao Rhodes

With the recent controversies (and inexcusable racist backlash) over a Cheerios ad that featured an interracial family, I spent this Father’s Day celebrating those dads that may not look exactly like their children. And in my case, anything like their children.

My papa has light eyes, compared to my dark brown, almond-shaped ones. While my skin simply turns more bronze as I walk down the street, his fair skin easily becomes lobster red with any amount of sun exposure. His ancestral roots can be traced to various European countries, where mine hail from another continent entirely. When people ask him where he’s from, “Las Vegas” or “Chicago” is a sufficient answer, as opposed to the follow-up I receive: “No, where are you REALLY from?” When given a choice of where to eat for dinner, he’d likely suggest In’n’Out Burger over my Pho Saigon 8.

I am not biracial. But I grew up in a family that is.

My papa’s been my papa for over 25 years, and our story is just one of thousands. Our faces represent the faces of parents and their non-biological children across this country. Our relationship is one of love, trust, and choice.

I wasn’t even four years old when my mom re-married, though I do have fairly clear recollections of the day. Not because I knew it was the most special day of my parents’ lives, but because I got to wear a pretty dress and eat from the biggest cake I’d ever seen.

As many wives do, my mom took his name that day. But unlike many other small children of remarried mothers, I did not. I had the great fortune of being inside a family unit that valued personal decision-making. And family choice was among them. While my relationship with my biological dad (bio-dad for short) was fairly nonexistent, my mom and her newly re-married husband never forced a legal change in name or legal change in guardianship onto me. Of course, I had no idea what that meant at the time, but I remember two distinct moments when it crystallized.

Six years old: I marched home one day to tell off my parents. My anger and confusion stemmed from the feeling of being left out of the family: Mama was a Rhodes, Papa was a Rhodes. And me?! My last name was different. And while we all may have looked a little different, that was not reason enough for my name to be different. At that point, I had made it up in my mind that there must have been a conspiracy between my mom and dad that purposely left me out of the family. Upon this accusation, I was told that when they chose to marry, my mom made the personal choice to change her name. She went on to tell me that it would have been unfair of her to make that same choice for me without my consent or understanding. They explained what it meant for me to take his name and the steps we would have to take to do so. I pondered this for some time and decided that I really did want to share the family name. I felt more of a connection to their last name than the one I had at that moment.

Eight years old: After a particularly negative visitation with bio-dad, I came home in an emotional state and expressed a desire to change this whole “dad” situation I was in. I had two father figures, but only one that I actually wanted as a dad. Even at a young age, I knew that fatherhood was based on love and trust, not a piece of paper or string of DNA. Again, in a conversation about personal decision-making, my parents shared with me my available options and the subsequent outcomes. And like before, I pondered what this meant for my life, and eventually gave the green light to start the legal process of having the dad, who raised and loved me, become my legal father.

As years went on, our friendship and relationship strengthened. And while he likely never thought he’d raise an Asian-American daughter that he, in fact, did not biologically contribute to, he raised me better than most fathers I saw around me.

It’s funny – this whole “nature vs. nurture” thing – because as I look at myself as a full-grown adult, I see so much of my dad. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be equipped with some of my most beloved attributes: a vast knowledge of classic rock and pop culture, a deep appreciation of clever wit and sarcasm, or this rebellious spirit that is constantly questioning the world around me.

I share these stories because while I may not be biologically biracial, the biracial aspect of my family is something I hold dear. Fatherhood is not a role that every man directly chooses or can even excel at. But in my case, my papa and I actually did choose each other and that choice is what makes our relationship strong.

Papas in the world: Know that your love surpasses our many different identities, ethnicities, and skin colors. Here’s to celebrating our beautiful and powerful interracial families (and also to clever and well-executed responses to the racists who get upset by cereal commercials).

Diana Thu-Thao Rhodes works as State Strategies Manager at Advocates for Youth, managing state policy and youth mobilization around issues of reproductive and sexual health/rights. As a proud Las Vegas native and current DC-transplant, her passions lie in facilitating and creating intentional spaces for not only social justice movement-building, but for creativity and radical self-expression. 

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Papa Barack and the Patriarchy of America or What We Need Is Good Governance

By Elizabeth Dawes Gay

“Patriarchy (rule by fathers) is a social system in which the male is the primary authority figure central to social organization and the central roles of political leadership, moral authority, and control of property, and where fathers hold authority over women and children. It implies the institutions of male rule and privilege, and entails female subordination.” (Wikipedia)

This land has operated as a patriarchy since the Founding Fathers were just sperm cells themselves and not much has changed since 1776. President Barack Obama (hereafter referred to as Papa Barack) is content to serve−and is really intent on serving - as this nation’s number one papa.

But the thing is, we the citizens and residents of this country don’t need a Papa Barack to raise us up in the way we should go. We have earthly fathers, father figures, or men we trust, respect, or can rely on. Some of us call on a spiritual father when we need more than those on earth can provide. Instead of a federal father, what we need is good governance.

Good governance “assures that corruption is minimized, the views of minorities are taken into account and that the voices of the most vulnerable in society are heard in decision-making. It is also responsive to the present and future needs of society.” (UN)

Patriarchy in the United States and the western world is nothing new but it’s time for a change. Patriarchy is what led Papa Barack to submit a budget withholding insurance coverage for abortion for low-income and marginalized women. Patriarchy is what caused this Presidential Administration to continue to fight a losing battle on expanded access to emergency contraception, even in the face of years of scientific evidence. Ironically, patriarchy is the reason why we are still fighting for the fair treatment of people (including papas) who are transitioning into parenthood or adding to their families.

In trying to be a father to us all, Papa Barack has neglected the bare essentials of governance his role as President entails. The voices of the vulnerable must be heard and included in policy-making at all times, not just when it’s politically expedient or will help win an election. Decision-making must meet the needs of the people where they are, not force them to what the decision-maker believes is morally upright or gender- and age-appropriate.

We can determine the course of our own lives. We can make the best decisions for ourselves. We can create our own strong families. Good governance ensures we have the rights and the resources to do so.

It seems that other historical patriarchies have learned this and are evolving even as we are devolving. While Papa Barack was fighting to keep emergency contraception under pharmacist and physician guard to prevent young people from exercising their right to protect themselves and make healthy decisions, France was working to make sure that all young women don’t have to worry about paying for birth control or abortion. It seems France understands that when it comes to health, evidence matters more than moral objection. They also seem to take public education about contraception and condom use very seriously, making important information accessible and interesting to the people they are trying to reach. Vive la France! But seriously, can’t we make our own risqué condom commercial?

France isn’t perfect, you say? Our historical context is different, you say? Yes, that may be so−but it doesn’t mean we can’t evolve, make progress, shift culture, and shape the future. We would do well to adopt a thing or two from our European brethren. It’s not like we haven’t already.

As long as those charged with governing our society would rather father it, we will continue to have unnecessary and harmful restrictions that disproportionately impact the sexual, reproductive, maternal, and general wellbeing of women. Decisions about sex, fertility, and parenting are better left to individuals and their families – even when that family doesn’t fit the First Family mold.

I hope that over the next two years Papa Barack will live out his commitment to scientific integrity and do what research demonstrates is in the best interest of the health and wellbeing of the people. President Obama can be the change we all believed in, if only he would step back from being Papa Barack.

Elizabeth is Senior Associate for Programs and Policy at the Reproductive Health Technologies Project (RHTP) and an active member of the Women’s Information Network. She is a participant in Echoing Ida.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Justice Shouts Love Papa

(c) Stephen Geyer 

By Marguerite Ward 

Fight. I always thought progress was about the fight.
And it is, child, don’t ever think not
But my Dad took me aside and taught me
Progress is fought loudly in words spoken softly
It is fought loudly in words spoken softly
Gentle words from men, in this angry world shake the earth
Papa, you didn’t even tell me, but you showed me
Justice shouts love in powerful song

A church musician, he sings the movement
Sings blessed are the poor, blessed are the poor
For they shall inherit the earth
Blessed are the meek, the ones they call weak
The men the TV never lets speak
The ones without the strong grip, the business suit to fit
The ones who couldn’t stand, who they make sit
Joy to the world for this is a man
A person who holds love in their hands

How come you’re not as strong as them Dad?
But he said, I will raise you up
How come those men pass so quickly by?
Again, he said I will raise you up
With their evil eyes, talking dollar signs
My child, I will raise you up
I thought I had to fight to make them realize, didn’t I Dad? Didn’t I?

Listen.
Mercy for them, mercy on us
Sometimes, let the hatred go, it hurts too much
You must fight in the streets that you share with these strangers
You must invite them in and call them your neighbors
Let your kind words speak justice even greater
Justice shouts love in powerful song

I mistook your kind heart for being weak
Feeble I thought the words you speak
But I was the poor in spirit, sinking under
I was full of hate, lost my voice in the thunder

Right below the church steeple
Your song wakes the people
I can hate injustice and still love the world
And I can still have a shaking, restless soul
And that’s music to my fighting soul
Quietly, I walk, bringing this message forward

Marguerite Ward is a writer, progressive, a nonprofit professional based in New York City, and a 2011 YP4 Fellow.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Rediscovering Fatherhood Against All Odds

By Dorsey Nunn

By the time I was seventeen I had helped produce two children with two different mothers. As with most men who become a father so early, it was more about pleasure than intention. To make things more difficult, I was living a lifestyle of crime that put greater emphasis on male bonding than on family or monogamous relationships.

I wish at the time of my children’s births I had possessed the maturity to be responsible and, more importantly, the means to actually contribute to their support. Not having the means to support my children or myself drove me deeper and deeper into a life of instability, which ultimately lead to my conviction, at age 19, of first degree murder and over a decade of prison.

Several days before my arrest, I visited my son and his mother. Up until that time I would have seen the urge to tell people I loved them as a weakness; but the sense of impending doom compelled me to let them know. In only a few days I would start to toughen myself for a life sentence or death.

As I came to find out later, this journey was not unique to me. My community—like many others—had a poor educational system, a police force addicted to racial profiling, a high unemployment rate, and a racist criminal justice system. I see now that all these ingredients contribute to the fact that spending time in prison is more common among young Black men today than completing a college degree or military service.

My first few years in prison, visiting days were usually a letdown as I rarely got visits. Eventually though, the mother of my daughter told me that when I got out, it would be my responsibility to take care of our child. When I got out? I was a lifer. But her insistence on this future, planted a seed of hope in me. I might get out. I might have a life after prison.

As the visiting-room photographer, I took many pictures of what appeared to me to be happy families. There were moments that overwhelmed me with fuzzy feelings—Christmas, Easter, birthdays, and the beginnings of summer. From thinking of my children on special occasions only, I shifted and began thinking of them all the time.

As a result of thinking about my children, I first experienced something I could clearly identify as remorse. Thinking of my children made me consider my victim and what he was not able to provide for his family. Through my feelings about fatherhood, I was able to tap into my own sense of humanity and compassion for other people.

In fact, thoughts of my children were at the root of many positive changes for me, starting with fighting back a strong compulsion to act out against my captors in order to earn a family visit. One of my driving impulses to find a way out of prison was my desire to have a real relationship with my children. Beginning to study in prison was inspired by my desire to be a better person for them.

In 1981 I had the good fortune of being released on parole. I still remember ringing the doorbell where my son lived with his mother the very next day and announcing my name over the intercom after almost 11 years away. Up until then, I associated people running down stairs with violence or prisoners being released for chow . . . until I heard my son running down three flights of stairs to meet me.

Several months after that came the reunion with my daughter. For the first time, I realized I was not prepared to take care of children. Actually, I was not even able to take care of myself. It was easy to send cards, make promises, and nurture dreams, and much harder delivering on them.

Fathering in the first few years after prison was a struggle against structural barriers that precluded me from supporting my children, leaving me feeling absolutely inadequate about not being the knight in shining armor I dreamt of being. Underneath my own personal feelings was once again, a larger, collective reality. I had come back to the same world that set me up for failure to begin with, only now I was more stigmatized because I had a prison record. This made employment, education, and housing even more difficult than they were to start with.

It took me approximately six years to find my footing and even longer to make amends to my children. Nothing supported my reunification with family. Family connections are ultimately our greatest “re-entry” resource. But neither the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation nor our government will invest in poor families directly impacted by incarceration—only in outside service providers.

The truth is that incarcerated Black fathers are never meant to reunite with their families.

Fortunately, unlike many kids I grew up with, my family had the full participation of my mother and father, so I did at least have a model. It has been 32 years since I walked out of San Quentin and I have proven to be a better grandfather than a father, and a better great-grandfather than a grandfather. I am grateful that against all odds, I found my way home, to family and the meaning of fatherhood.

Dorsey Nunn is the Executive Director of Legal Services for Prisoners with Children and co-founder of All of Us or None, a grassroots civil rights organization fighting for the rights of formerly- and currently- incarcerated people and their families. To learn more please visit our website: www.prisonerswithchildren.org

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Father’s Day: Striking a hand is never the answer

Photo by Morgan H. Goode

By Kay Ulanday Barrett

I see you in your brown cardigan, face wrinkled at the tips of the eyes next to the temples. Your smile is a big dopey smile and your arms are curled over a small brown woman, my lola, who looks far more displeased. That image would be my guiding model of relationships—however, that is another story. Your thick full head of hair is puffed out in the Midwestern sun. Your eyes are wide and gorgeous. I bet in that photo you had just picked fresh Michigan flowers, black-eyed Susans and lilacs, that could never make up for the splendorous sampaguita of your childhood. This photo of you, dashing and humble, is never folded. Like all my basics, it travels with me without question wherever I go.

I was the kid who sat on the porch in the scorching summers of Chicago with you. We sang songs together—all English, Tagalog, Pangasinense songs. My own father wasn’t available. He was a poor, rural white man who just couldn’t be around. Any understanding of masculinity I had stemmed from you, my grandpa and lolo; all slicked back hair and generous quiet smile. Somehow you were always gingerly in the cut, prepped with breakfast for the entire household of children. You kissed the foreheads of all of us, and loved our mothers—your own children—with an embrace that paralleled the softness of clouds. When the children were at the whim of punishment, right before the sturdy hand or branch came down swinging, I remember you interfering. It was you who moved in between an angry hurt overworked parent and us. You would remind the parent carefully of the love they had and how striking a hand wasn’t the answer. Your own wife insulted you and hit you often, but you only reacted with a calm fortitude that some of us could only try to imagine for ourselves. You knew we were tired, and you understood that the jobs under the table or cleaning people’s houses in white amerika were a treachery. You knew how beat people were. When possible, you shared how false the amerikan dream came to be for them/us, and also how the rage cannot be given to the children. You could soften and remind us with your own humility. You could remind us of our own uncanny ability to love one another.

I was not raised as a boy. I was not raised to have the entitlement of a straight heterosexual, though brown man. I was a weird, big pink glasses wonder of a gender-queered brown child who couldn’t make the cut of binary femininity. I’ve come up as a brown, trans, disabled man working towards justice. Not once when you were alive did you treat me as anything less than marvelous. When I made odd noises and had even odder hobbies, your smile was brazen with pride. You encouraged me. You helped me with my detailed, tedious art projects and supported my curiosity to archive questions about our family’s migration story. Not once did you treat women/transgender people in our lives and family as less than. You surfaced with emotions that were vulnerable but held space for the women and LGBTQ people of my family to take up space in all areas. Maybe this is the way of our family, a matriarchy. Although, I’d like to give all of us more credit than that. You were a man with compassionate manhood, a man who made us laugh and provided for us without the inhumanity that patriarchy demands.

Anytime I feel misogyny colonizes me, or sense it ruminating during the moments I “pass” as a cis straight man—lolo, you are the example I turn to. Anytime I am reminded that good can exist even if it’s socialized in expectations of coldness, intimidation, abuse, and anger, yours is the face I consider. Riddled in otherwise hurtful and hazardous understandings of brown masculinity, you are the brown man I dare to be. What a concept for masculinity not to automatically incite terror. What an innovation for us to challenge that legacy the best we can. Leadership and love for your community doesn’t have to come out of the expense of fear of those around you.

Lolo, most importantly you demonstrated that men have feelings. We can love genuinely and can explore our afflictions too—neither of which necessarily negate or neglect systemic, heteronormative patriarchy. Men like us complicate the imminently outdated dynamic of masculinity and manhood. We have tender ways that fade into the backdrop. I was conditioned to be a FAAB (female assigned at birth) caretaker, and you were a dude who worked hard and cried hard. Our lives implore us to ask how messages of masculinity limit everyone of every possible gender. FTMS, queer people, men, trans people, transmasculine, AGs, Butches, and Studs face harm and neglect that can silence us all. So many families and community members face pain and trauma from systemic oppression that we lash out at those closest to us. Yet, often we respond the only way we know how, with violence and unrealistic societal expectations. I want to thank you lolo and so many other ancestors—queer and trans—who remind us: striking a hand wasn’t and is never the answer to those we love.

Kay Ulanday Barrett is a poet, performer, and educator, navigating life as a disabled pin@y-amerikan transgender queer in the U.S. with struggle, resistance, and laughter. A 2009 Campus Pride Hot List artist and 2013 Trans 100 Honoree, Kay has been featured at colleges and on stages globally, including: Princeton University, UC Berkeley, Musée Pour Rire in Montréal, and The Chicago Historical Society. Kay’s bold work continues to excite and challenge audiences. Kay has facilitated workshops, presented keynotes, and contributed to panels with various social justice communities. Honors include: finalist for The Gwendolyn Brooks Open-Mic Award and contributions in Poor Magazine, Kicked Out Anthology, Windy City Queer: Dispatches from the Third Coast, make/shift, and Filipino American Psychology. Kay turns art into action and is dedicated to remixing recipes. Follow Kay on twitter @kulandaybarrett or visit kaybarrett.net

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

We speak, until he listens.

Priscilla and Megan with other youth from BAY-Peace.

By Priscilla Hoang and Megan Manansalas Torio

Priscilla and Megan are two high school aged spoken word artists. Priscilla is a former intern for Forward Together's Youth Organizing Program. Megan is an intern at BAY-Peace, an organization dedicated to empowering Bay Area youth to transform militarism and other forms of violence through youth organizing and artistic resistance. 

Below are two pieces capturing their experiences with Fathers Day. They are being reposted from last year's  Strong Families blog series.

"No Title" by Megan Manansalas Torio

I got problems facing left and right
and everytime I turn it seems like another problem is running my way
I’m confused at which way to go
Because another step further means
that I’m stuck in between family issues and broken dreams
and a step back
is just another look into reality’s blueprint of
recreating the past
so I look down and now I’m standing on thin glass
that’s beginning to crack
so I jump
I fall through different mind sets
So my mind sets into another reality
I look up and theres no more problems with family
No looks into a troubled community
the news channel is actually filled with good news
so I sit back in this reality happily
but I fall as my legs begin to bend
I’m back to square one with no end
momma’s hands are falling off along with her hopes and patience
for a man who can't get his life together
my father
socialized by society’s oppression in so many ways
he hasn’t gone into the emotional part of being a teenager type of faze
he drinks his feelings away while the smoke that leaves his mouth
steals another day
55 and barely standing
I need him to be there
when the hat on my head leaves the air
I need him standing
by the checkpoint waiting for his college daughter’s landing
I need him to love ma like she’s loved him for 25 years
I need to look left and right and imagine a better life
for better years
Because right now I’m still falling
I see my reality and the shattered glass above me falling too
I’m stuck hoping to fall into looking at a better you.
to the father that made me, me
if it weren’t for you and your mistakes
then i’d have no dreams
I wouldn't have a better reason to stay awake
so here's a thank you
to the many other mistakes.

"No Title As Well" by Priscilla Hoang 

It’s funny how this country has so many founding fathers but I don’t have a single one.
They founded America but who found me?
You can pinpoint my location on a map.
A satellite could easily track my actions.
But my life was a single track train going in one direction.
Where is the engine?
Did it spontaneously combust?
Sometimes the temperature of my anger rises over the point of ignition when I think about my
Dad.
Who gave those motherfuckers the right to carve into a mountain?
Washington’s noble eyes bore through the social issues in America when he penned the Constitution,
While I was stuck washing a ton of knives that my dad stole for me because I loved to eat buttered toast so damn much.
I couldn’t believe it wasn’t better. My embittered mouth swallowed my words with my mom’s proverbial lashings, ones from you-got-all-your-bad-habits-from-your-dad, to the why-did-I-marry-hims.
So young, hugging my Teddy every night hoping that the fights with him would end.
She met him in San Francisco, home of the gold rush in the Golden Mountain, and thought she struck it rich like his glazed eyes at the casino,
Until finally, one day, when his cup of quarters were empty, she realized four kids too late that his actions were smoldering like a pile of ashes,
Like Jefferson, she declared her independence and Linked in to free her enslaved emotions.
When I compare my tanned complexion to my mom’s fair skin, she tells me.
“You have your D-A-D’s nose. It’s so ugly.”
And I can’t help but notice her disgust, but it’s gone in a gust of wind; she says with too much gusto,
“but you’re still beautiful,” reassuredly.
And I can’t help but notice that she blames all of the negative attributes about me on him,
Never once admitting to herself that my temper and lack of communication stemmed from what she never finished.
So what the fuck does father’s day mean to me?
He was never here. She was always busy.
Who do I love? Who do I celebrate?
And finally the realization struck.
I celebrate myself.
I celebrate the fact that in spite of never having that white picket fence family, the fact that my single mama raised me right, and struggled to get a college degree in such a lonely world, led me to the place I am now.
I am a proud young Asian woman who can accept myself for exactly who I am.
I once hated myself for his living blood flowing through me.
the mirror reminded me daily that he is someone I could never forget.
For without him, I could not exist.
So I look at myself with compassion.
And although my insecurities can sometimes get the better of me, I grow.
Sometimes alone and vulnerable to that same gust of wind,
the colors in it whispered to me, "You will thrive."
Somewhere deep in my roots was an acorn that grew Oak branches that intertwined in this society’s values that told me, I needed a father figure in my life.
I am barely a flowering tree but from this internal love flows rich, sweet sap
that ruins your favorite shirt when you lean against it.
And ants feed upon it like the world’s knowledge feeds me.
Although it took me nearly sixteen years to realize this,
maybe having a father leave me was exactly what I needed
To turn over a new leaf. 

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

My Twins Have Autism, and They Are Teaching Me About Love

By Ocean Robbins

When I was growing up, I was precocious. I organized a peace rally in elementary school, started a home business when I was 10 years old, and was founding and directing a seven-figure non-profit organization by age 16. I knew my parents were proud of me. But my dad also told me, many times, that he loved me for who I was, not for what I did. I knew that he didn't want me to be burdened by high expectations. He probably told me a hundred times that he would love me just as much if I were autistic.

Now I'm a father, and my kids actually are autistic. When my wife and I became pregnant with identical twins, we imagined them as some kind of dynamic duo that would be by our sides helping us change the world by the time they were out of diapers. But at age 12, they are still in diapers, and they struggle with many things that kids half their age might take for granted.

I have found out that although we have very different children, my dad and I have something huge in common as fathers. We both love our children unconditionally.

I am learning to delight in being with my kids. Not because they appear to be on the fast-track to enormous worldly accomplishment. And not even because they are kind, loving, and good-hearted people. No, sometimes I love my kids just because. Just because it is mine to do. Just because I choose to fill my heart with an ineffable, unstoppable, and totally undeniable love that persists and sustains no matter what my children do. The ocean refuses no river, no matter where that river has been or what it might have picked up on its journey. So, too, as if in some great law of nature, I am learning about a love that is utterly unconditional.

Of course, as a dad, I have hopes and fears for my kids. When they do something generous or wonderful, my heart swells with pride. When they struggle to write their names or scream uncontrollably for an hour, I can feel depressed and overwhelmed. But I am learning about a love that is bigger than all that.

As unconditional love has found its way into my heart, as I have contemplated what it means to really love someone just because they are, I have found myself wondering what it would mean to direct that concept inward. What would happen if I loved myself just because? Could I imagine loving myself just as much if I suddenly woke up one day autistic? Is love for oneself or another a strategic investment in what we hope they will accomplish, do for us, or bring to the world? Or is it enough to just, simply, love someone?

Ocean Robbins is an author, speaker, facilitator, movement builder, and father. He is also co-founder and CEO, with his dad and colleague, John Robbins, of the Food Revolution Network, http://www.foodrevolution.org.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Naming our families when there are no words

By Ethan

When I sat down to think about what I wanted to say in this piece, I felt a lot of insecurity. How do I talk about the challenges of parenting when I’m not a parent? I bathe, feed, cuddle, and play with a small person, but I’m not a parent. I buckle her into a car seat, bring her to the library, make sure the vegetables have been eaten, work through emotions, and pick her up from school—but I’m not her parent. Katie has two moms that are divorced and I am in a relationship with her Mama. Her other mom, Ima, also has a partner, and that person has a son a few years older than Katie. It’s a big queer configuration of family! Katie has two houses and one dog at each house. Her stuffed animals travel between homes in a special backpack called the Zoo Bag. After a few years of this arrangement, most of the kinks have been worked out and Katie knows the schedule and timing of each home.

Katie’s parents are a solid team, constantly communicating and staying on track with school homework, Girl Scout meetings, and wherever Katie left the latest pair of mittens. I recently moved in with Katie’s Mama, and I found myself unsure of what role I would have in Katie’s daily life. We have a great relationship; lots of silliness with a bit of snuggling. When she introduces me to people she’ll say “This is Ethan!” sometimes followed up with “He’s my mom’s boyfriend.” We are growing together as a family; Katie, her Mama, and me, and also Katie’s Ima and the family she has in that house. How do we name our families when there are no words?

There are many moments of caregiving, whether challenging or joyous, when I emotionally retreat a bit. It’s clear that the situation calls for a primary parent action. I readily acknowledge that I’m not (nor do I want to be) this person’s father, and the intensity of parenting that is needed is not within my ability. This is not a question of length of time as a caregiver; I’m simply never going to be this person’s father. The disconnect I experience between having parental-seeming duties while not being a parent is something that needs more reflection. I want words that say “This is who you are to me” without taking the place of “parent.” The other day, I was talking about my own mother. Katie asked “Is she a grandmother?” I answered yes, and Katie leaned forward a bit and touched her chest and said “Is it because of me?” She scrunched up her face as she thought and said “Is it because I’m sort of like your kid and you’re kind of like my almost Dad?” I smiled and said, “No, it’s because my sister has two kids that are close to your age!”

Not having a specific name in this kid’s life isn’t an issue in a day-to-day way. I am a constant presence. We have our disagreements and our cuddle times. I get annoyed with her behavior and love her creativity at the same time. She is excited to share things she’s learned at school, and I genuinely enjoy hanging out with her. We know who we are to each other, even if there is no other name for it.

Ethan is a white, able, trans, queer guy living in Minneapolis. He likes bikes, babies, and cats.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Reclaiming Indigenous Papahood, Masculinities, and Sexualities

By The Native Youth Sexual Health Network (NYSHN)

Within our Indigenous communities there are many understandings of fatherhood and what it means to be a father, as well as many different roles available to us in our masculinities and sexualities. The different words for “father” in Indigenous languages are a representation of the diversity in meanings.

Some Indigenous words for father: 
Ndede or Noos in Anishnaabemowin
Marmung in Bundjalung
Ataata in Inuktitut
Rakeni in Mohawk
Nîpapa in Michif
Nôhtâwi in Cree

We reached out to two Papas in our network and asked them to share what fatherhood means to them. Here is what they shared:

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Elton Naswood, Navajo Nation—On Two Spirit Papas

I think for Two Spirit papas it is/was a responsibility for Two Spirit people to take care of our children. The role is to be nurturing and giving to the children and to the family/clan as a whole.

My responsibility as a father is by kinship and clanship. My duties are to the children of my family and extended family.

I am a father to my brothers and sisters’ children and a grandpa to my nephews’ children.

Navajo
Father/Uncle: Azhe’e
Grandfather: Cheii or Nali

John Swift, Keeseekoose First Nation (Onakaw)—On Masculinities and Papas

What does Papa’s Day mean for Indigenous communities?
For me, Father’s Day means much more than acknowledging and honouring my role as a parent. I am constantly reminded of and grateful for the web of relationships that include family, friends, plants, animals, land, elements, ceremonies, the cosmos, my ancestors, my children, women, and the Great Mystery, which helped me develop as a father even before I was born. In other words, it is the energy from this larger web of relationships that has prepared a special place for me as a father in my sense of family and community.

What is the importance to the health of Indigenous communities of reclaiming Indigenous masculinities?
For me, I have had to go back to culture and ceremony to learn about what it means to be a man. I had to humble myself and listen to the Old People as they share their wisdom with me, and I continue to work hard to incorporate the teachings of the Original People into my daily living. I have learned that the roles and responsibilities for Indigenous men extend beyond being a protector and provider. We laugh, nurture, cry, share, heal, guide, lift up, and demonstrate gentleness and patience and thus make daily contributions to the health and well-being of our families and communities, but more work needs to be done to make our energy more visible. Living this way is not always easy, but if Bimmadiziwin (The Good Life) is the goal, then Indigenous men play a vital role in moving this Indigenous theory into reality.

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Indigenizing Roles, Responsibilities, and Sexualities 

This Papa’s Day we reflect on the additional roles of papas as identified above that go beyond mainstream Father’s Day messages of papas of strength and as being providers.

At the Native Youth Sexual Health Network we look at how Indigenous masculinities are a part of Two Spirit identities, how they are a part of healthy sexuality for youth, and how masculinities and the roles of young men can be strengthened positively through different nations’ traditional teachings and understandings.

Talking about sexualities in relation to masculinities is an important way for us to speak about safer sex with youth. When we are able to express and understand our sexualities in relation to our nations and cultures we can also feel more comfortable to ask questions about the realities of sexually transmitted infections, about relationships, and about knowing our bodies.

Healthy sexualities that are supported by healthy masculinities also help us to reclaim systems where our governance and leadership have a respect for balance between women, men, and Two Spirit community members.

While the role of Indigenous masculinities looks different for each nation, youth are reclaiming what masculinities means when resisting binaries about their bodies and identities. We see youth reclaiming these identities by using Indigenous words or understandings regarding their sexualities. We also see our Two Spirit youth facilitating the reclamation of these identities and balances within community.

We see young men providing for families and communities. This may include responsibilities such as educating other young people. We are a partner organization with the Indigenous Masculinities project, which is building onto our understandings of Indigenous masculinities and identities, while contributing to the health and wellness of Indigenous communities and peoples.

On Papa’s Day, we support all the ways that Indigenous papahood, responsibilities, masculinities, and sexualities are being reclaimed in our different families, communities, and nations.

Chip in $5 to support our work in 2016 and beyond >>

The Native Youth Sexual Health Network (NYSHN) is an organization by and for Indigenous youth that works across issues of sexual and reproductive health, rights, and justice throughout the United States and Canada. 

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Families are supposed to be together

By Jonathan Venegas 

Sign the petition to reunite Jonathan
and his dad: bit.ly/dropchargesstopraids 

This Father's Day will be sad without him here.

When I think about my dad, I think about how nice and helpful and fun he is. He taught me how to play soccer and he plays with me and my brother all the time. The best times with him are making carne asada, making jokes, and just being together. He taught us how to know when to flip the meat, how to make it taste the best and to be really juicy. He laughs all the time and dances really weird, especially when America, our favorite soccer team, scores a goal or wins a game. He’s taught me a lot, and we try to show him that we love him.

But now my dad is in jail. As the oldest, I have to help my mom a lot more than I did before. I do more chores, pay the bills, take out the trash, wash the car, and help my brother and sister with their homework. My brother, Isaac, has been recording every soccer game since my dad’s been in jail, so that we can all watch them together when he gets home.

Last year when we celebrated Father's Day, we played soccer and my dad made carne asada. We got him some clothes and a pair of shoes and spent the whole day together. The clothes were my mom’s idea, because my dad really likes to look good.

This Father’s Day is different. When Sheriff Arpaio raided the place where my dad has worked for ten years, Arpaio arrested my dad and has kept him in jail since February. Before that, every day my dad went to work at a factory where they make sporting goods. He works in shipping and picks up deliveries. He always worked hard and made sure we had food and toys, anything we needed. Sometimes my dad brings me and my brother to work. It’s so fun to help him, and everyone he works with laughs and tells jokes. My dad always teases me and tells me I need to get stronger, and everyone else laughs and asks if he’s going to pay me.

It’s not fair that people get arrested for working. My dad just wanted to take care of me and my family. Now we have to have rallies to try to keep him from being taken away from us. It was really hard the first time I ever talked in public about my dad because there were all these haters yelling bad things. But I knew I had to do whatever it took to get my dad home, and that he would be proud of me for fighting for him.

My dad always says that the most important thing is to study and get good grades. My dad wants me to go to school so that I can have a better life than he did. He wants me to get a job where I use my smarts, like a doctor does. I want to be an astronaut, even though he thinks that's crazy. I think it would be really fun to float around in space. I know that he's proud of me because I do well in school, especially in math and science.

Even though he is in jail, my dad calls us every night to say goodnight. We haven’t gotten to play soccer or make carne asada since he was arrested in February, but we go see him once a week. He tells me to help my mom and asks me how I’m doing in school. It’s so hard visiting him because he is chained up and we are not able to touch him. He still laughs sometimes, which makes me feel good—like he still has some hope even though he’s in such a bad situation.

I want to grow up with my dad and I want him to get out of jail. It’s too hard without him. I guess this year I’m writing this so that we can spend Father's Day together and be a family again.

Families are supposed to be together.

Sign the petition to reunite Jonathan and his dad: bit.ly/dropchargesstopraids

Jonathan Venegas is 15 years old. He lives with his family in Phoenix, Arizona. Jonathan’s dad, Miguel Venegas-Salazar, was one of 23 workers arrested by Sheriff Arpaio in a workplace raid and charged with the maximum crimes possible by Maricopa County Attorney Bill Montgomery, setting him up for near-certain deportation. Because of Arizona law, undocumented people charged with felonies are ineligible for bail and are required to be held in jail until their court date. Miguel Venegas-Salazar has pled not guilty and has court alongside other workers fighting their case on July 15th.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

My dad taught me to live outside the binaries

By Luna Olavarria Gallegos

I didn't know I was supposed to like the color pink until I was six years old. I remember being next to the monkey bars when I was told that my favorite color blue meant that I was a boy. I quickly changed my answer to pink, one of two colors I could choose from to prove my gender to the world. I owe my innocence to my parents. Although in elementary school I often blushed by how little I knew of gender binaries, I realize now how my naivety was actually the best resource I had. I learned to find myself despite the grid society had provided for me at birth.

When I was little my dad braided my hair. Every day he would pack me a lunchbox full of rice and beans and on days when I was sick he would stay home with me and cook me caldo gallego. One day, my mom, finally giving into our incessant whining, took my sister and me to the store to pick out Barbie dolls that we had wanted for years. We decided to get the one with the black short hair, her baby, and a black Ken doll who we decided looked exactly like a younger version of our father. The doll even shared my dad’s name, cooked three meals for his daughter, dressed her in the morning, and tucked her in at night.

Years later, when I would tell a family friend about how my dad does the dishes and washes the laundry, she would say, "So your dad is like your mom?" My dad has never been my mom; he has always been my dad. I won the lottery at birth, born into a family where both my parents support me equally, love me equally, and take care of me equally. Because of my dad's influence in my life, I have realized how important it is to be mindful and sensitive. I have learned how twisted it is to live out a set of standards based in a world that runs on binaries. The friendship I have with my dad has always out-weighed his role as a father, and mine as a daughter. It has ignored the gender constructs I was born into and the stigmas I have had to fight.

Luna Olavarria Gallegos is a 17 year-old high school graduate, planning on continuing her education at Ithaca College in the fall. She is a multi-ethnic student of native New Mexican and Afro-Caribbean roots. Luna is a youth media-maker and makes change in her community by creating platforms for others to share their stories. Luna loves to play Latin percussion, piano, and guitar. She also likes exploring new places, and hopes to be able to continue learning and discovering through traveling.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

For Undocumented Fathers: A Love So Powerful It Spans Continents

By Jose

When I crossed the desert at the U.S. border, I never thought that fourteen years later I’d be celebrating

Art by: Nikki McClure

Father’s Day with two beautiful daughters and Chicago as my home. During the three-day walk without food or water, what kept me going were thoughts about a better life for the parents and brothers and sisters I was leaving behind.

Growing up, we never got to see my father much. To take care of us he had to work in a different state. Each month he would come home to leave money for us and make his presence known as someone who still ran the house, even if from far away. He would squeeze his parenting into those short visits, letting us know right and wrong and especially what we needed to be doing better.

So at age fifteen I set out with my sister and a sister-in-law to the North, thinking about getting ahead myself and giving back to my family to help make ends meet. My sisters settled in Los Angeles and I came to Chicago where I did whatever I could to get by. Now that I’m a father and an older man, the mentality hasn’t changed. For day laborers, we do whatever we have to do to put food on the table each day. Only now, I do it both to help my family back home and for my family here.

When days like Father’s Day or Mother’s Day come, I think about how long it’s been since I’ve seen my own parents and when, if ever, my children will get to visit their grandmother. What would she think about these two who speak Spanish at home and English at school, who mix the languages together and switch meanings of words based on which language they’re thinking in, and who like hot dogs and hamburgers as much as they do tacos?

My father loved my daughters even though they never got to meet before he passed away. They talked on the phone regularly and we tried our best to explain to our daughters that we couldn’t go visit because immigration laws would mean we couldn’t come back. They ask us questions about where we’re from and why we can’t travel, and as much as we can explain to a six- and ten-year-old, we also know they’ll understand more in the future.

And while they’re growing up in the U.S., my oldest daughter still loves traditional dance from our hometown and admires art from Mexico. Being from Chicago, they celebrate two independence days—July 4th in the summer and September 16th in the fall.

Looking at my daughters play or even when they fight, I know that like any father, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them. Day laborers might be one of the best examples of a father’s love. In my time in Chicago, I’ve been a dishwasher, a cook, a factory worker packing clothes, and a printer. When stable jobs weren’t available, I’d go to the street corner and stand among men who wake early and stand for hours, ready to lend the sweat of our brow to anyone who needs an extra hand. It doesn’t matter the heat of the summer or the cold of the winter, the snow or the rain, day laborers are there every day to bring home the daily bread. And though it never happened to me, I saw many go to work only to be told that they wouldn’t be paid. I can’t imagine what I would do in that situation. It’s hard to think that after a full day’s work tolerating each back-breaking hour because you knew your children would go to bed with full bellies that you might be told to leave with nothing in your pockets, and then to have to return to the same risk again the next day.

As day laborer fathers, we do it all for our children’s futures. I want to see them grow up, go to school and even college, and find a profession. Like most other day laborers, I dream about being able to have my own little business so that I can help them along the way. If there were immigration reform, we could celebrate not just by going to the park, but by actually visiting home, places and family they’ve never seen. And when I look around at the day laborer corner, I know that desire is even stronger for the fathers whose children aren’t with them, but who they had to leave in their own countries in order to provide for them.

This year, as a group, we’ll have a party not just for my family, but for all the day laborer dads. We want everyone to celebrate and have some feel of family, especially for those who have a border dividing them from their loved ones. And with our own children there, we’ll have both carne asada and hot dogs. There will be both tortillas and bread. It’s a life I may never have imagined, but it’s here. And in this life we’ll carry smiles as well as the sadness of separation. We’ll be with family here and there, kept together by a love so powerful it spans continents.

Jose is a day laborer and member of the Latino Union of Chicago.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Let's Empower Young Dads, Not Stigmatize Them

Originally posted at Huffington Post

By Jessica González-Rojas

A number of recent campaigns have taken an unfortunate approach to trying to tackle the issue of teen pregnancy. Rather than supplying youth with the tools and information they desperately need, they've chosen to simply try to shame young people out of parenthood, a tactic that's not only ineffective but is deeply hurtful to young parents. But one of the worst aspects of these campaigns is how they stereotype young fathers.

A recent, widely criticized campaign in New York City, for example, tells potential young mothers that their male partners will leave if they get pregnant, completely ignoring the realities of the many young dads across the country who are loving fathers and partners. A similar ad campaign from the Candie's Foundation might be even worse because it essentially ignores young dads all together, focusing solely on female teens, as if they got pregnant alone. These campaigns tell young people their lives are over if their partner gets pregnant and that having a baby 'sucks'. What's worse, these campaigns do not offer any comprehensive tools or resources for young people to turn to for questions about sex, sexuality, contraception and prevention. The blame and shame that these ad campaigns promote actively undermine young men who want to choose to be actively involved fathers.

Continue Reading...

Jessica González-Rojas is the Executive Director at the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Health, the only national reproductive justice organization that specifically works to advance reproductive health and rights for Latinas. Jessica spearheads the research, field organizing, and advocacy operations in the New York headquarters as well as the Washington DC policy office, and is a national spokesperson and leading national advocate for Latinas.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

Better than biological: My blessed background

By Jordan Allison

I didn’t grow up in a nuclear family setting. I, quite honestly, wasn’t even born to two parents. I was born into a podunk Colorado family with a young mother, a younger uncle, two grandparents, and a dog named Muffin, who hated me.

You might notice that my home didn’t include a biological father. It never did. That’s another megillah for another time, because this story is about the person that raised me to be who I am today. I didn’t ask for all of the love and support that I got throughout my childhood and to this day, and quite frankly, I don't think I deserved it.

My grandfather, formally known as Rich, is the reason my family exists today. Since I could talk, I referred to him as “My Reech.” Yes, he was—and is—my Rich. My little sister named him “Papa” when she came around seven years later, because she couldn’t pronounce grandpa. Papa stuck, and that’s his title now to anyone who is lucky enough to know him. But regardless of what my baby cousins and siblings call him, he’s still my Reech.

My Reech—the Kenny Rogers look-alike, the Vietnam veteran, the golf connoisseur—not only paved the way for me, but gave me the opportunity to live fully each day of my life. He continues to teach me daily how to fight for myself, how to take care of myself, and he challenges me to make the best decisions. Each time we talk, which lucky for me is often, he reminds me that he is my advocate in everything. And with that, I can conquer anything.

When my mother became pregnant, my Reech gave up smoking for me. He gave me the support to get through high school, and now he’s challenging and supporting me again while I’m in college. He has provided me with the love, resources, and energy that get me over life’s highest hurdles. I have yet to meet another person who not only believes in all of my dreams, but is as eager to help me achieve my goals. I wouldn’t be able to believe in myself without my Reech believing in me. He has been there through it all. (Furthermore, he has given me my strange yet pleasant affection for jazz music, Barry Manilow, and The Beatles. I also got my blue eyes and last name from him, which are two incredibly defining parts of who I am.)

I will always cherish the little things my Reech and I have shared: drives to and from school and camp, Disneyland trips, driving lessons, ribs on the barbecue, “The Bank,” the sizzling sound of the iron every morning, political discussions, Star Wars, childhood and war stories, home videos, Rockies games, Sunday pancakes, my first set of golf clubs, college visits, ski trips, never missing one dance recital or choir performance, going to work with him as a small child where I was allowed unlimited Kix cereal and Sesame Street, every Wednesday when he would bring home the kid-friendly insert from the newspaper for me, the future journalist, and this February, when I proudly brought my Reech to show him off at my sorority’s annual Dads Weekend. These small events are just a few in the amazing, grand bank of memories.

There is not a way for anyone to fill the placeholder of a biological father. But that’s perfectly fine with me. I don’t want or need anyone to fill that place in my life. I was blessed with something—with someone—far more special, important, and loving than I could have imagined. Fatherhood is not for the faint of heart, but my Reech has the strongest and biggest heart in this entire world. It might be hard to guess that I wasn’t raised by a biological mother and father, but I hope you wouldn’t assume that.

Families are made of more than shared DNA and a common last name. Families cannot be summed up in a dictionary definition. Families are those who support you, challenge you, and love you without condition. Maybe I didn't grow up in a “traditional” family, but I got something far superior. I don’t how my Reech came to be such a loving and supportive person for so many people, but I hope that someday I can be half as wonderful for my family. Father’s Day must be a day to celebrate the fathers who are, who weren’t, who couldn’t be, and who decided to be, because that is what makes up the character, experiences, and hearts of their children.

And, Papa, if you’re reading this: Did I tell you I love you today?

Jordan is an aspiring journalist, public policy fanatic, and YP4 alumna.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.

If you don't know, now you know! Black Men Standing for Reproductive Freedom

By Cortez Wright 

Right-wing push back on the Affordable Care Act’s expansion of Medicaid and contraceptive coverage, anti-choice billboards like emerging anti-choice leader Ryan Bomberger’s “Too Many Aborted” that target Black women, and a growing number of pregnancy crisis centers in Black communities are just the latest versions of a long history of surveillance and control over Black women’s reproductive health and rights. As Communications Associate at SPARK Reproductive Justice Now, I track this history of discrimination and fight to end it.

I am far from alone in this fight. Across the U.S., Black reproductive justice advocates stand against racist and misogyny-fueled attacks on women’s bodily integrity. By educating and organizing our constituencies towards pro-woman cultural change and progressive social policy, we stand against leaders opposed to reproductive freedom, who would much rather make policy decisions based on their own religious beliefs and imaginations, rather than the lived experiences of women and, frankly, facts. This anti-choice movement, though mostly White men, is also diverse in its efforts to undermine reproductive rights. Black men with media visibility who embrace anti-choice, anti-women positions are among their ranks, including Ryan Bomberger, the founder and Chief Creative officer of Radiance Foundation, Bishop Harry Jackson, a prominent evangelical preacher, and E. W. Jackson, Sr., the current Republican candidate for Lieutenant Governor of Virginia.

In fact, noticeably missing from the public discourse in favor of reproductive justice are the pro-feminist voices of Black men. This is not because we do not exist—instead, it is due to a persistent cultural narrative that dictates that we are few and far between and that male privilege allows many of us to be silent or think that the issue does not apply personally, even if we agree with reproductive justice for women and our communities.

Today’s most visible progressive Black man is President Barack Obama. His pro-woman position is demonstrated in policy initiatives like the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act and his outspoken stance for family planning and abortion access. Yet, even the President has demonstrated legislative acts that are counter to the interests of reproductive justice, such as continuing to push against emergency contraception over the counter without age limits*. This complicated relationship of supporting women’s equality while holding on to male privilege is not new or unique to the President. Black feminist scholar Beverly Guy-Sheftall describes this dichotomy best, “there is a rich history of brilliant Black men who’ve challenged male dominance in a racist country while grappling with and, in some instances, taking advantage of their male privilege.”

This history includes Frederick Douglass and W. E. B. Dubois, both prominent men in the fight for racial justice and also key advocates for women’s rights. Frederick Douglass wrote in an editorial published in the abolitionist paper, The North Star, “we hold woman to be justly entitled to all we claim for man.” Douglass recognized, no doubt, from his experiences of being recently out of the inhumanity and violence of slavery, that all people deserved liberation. Carrying on Douglass’s legacy, W. E. B. Dubois devoted writings that called attention to the specific struggles of Black women best illuminated in his 1920 essay, “The Damnation of Women,” in which he writes: “I shall forgive the white South much in its final judgment day . . . but one thing I shall never forgive, neither in this world nor the world to come: its wanton and continued and persistent insulting of the Black womanhood which it sought and seeks to prostitute to its lust.” Douglass and Dubois understood that men had a responsibility to support women’s rights, yet with clear limits especially for Black women. As Gary L. Lemons writes “what becomes clear in the pro-woman(ist) texts [of Douglass] is that neither ‘woman’ nor ‘Negro’ embodies the position of the Black woman.” Even Dubois’s writings leaned towards an idealized version of Black womanhood/motherhood and the need for a particular Black “respectability” in order for our communities to prosper. Therefore, it is important for Black men to know and embrace our feminist history.

Our feminist forefathers left us a blueprint that allows us to re-conceptualize what it means to be progressive Black men and to be active participants in addressing our own internalized sexism and privilege. This is demonstrated by Morehouse College students who, in 1994, organized Black Men for the Eradication of Sexism in response to a campus sexual assault. As part of their manifesto they wrote, “present Eurocentric notions of manhood and masculinity are damaging to the psyche of Black men and must be replaced with a holistic interpretation of manhood that acknowledges the oneness of women and men.” Furthermore, “we are not perfect. We do not claim to be. As we fight alongside our sisters we struggle to become whole; to deprogram ourselves. We have organized into one body because we know in our hearts and minds that as we hold our sisters back so will we hold ourselves back.”

On Papa’s Day, SPARK honors the proud history of Black men working in solidarity to eradicate gender-based violence, to gain pay and educational equity, and to stand up with Black women for reproductive justice. As we celebrate progressive Black men, we must continue to build towards a more liberatory Black feminist future that rejects the notion that racism is all we confront, where we work in solidarity with Black women against the paternalism of those who would seek to abolish choice and reproductive health access, and where we recognize that, despite what “history” tells us, progressive Black men have always worked for the liberation of women and will continue to do so.

Note: Since this article was written, the Obama administration announced “that the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) will invite the maker of the one-pill version of emergency contraception (EC) to make its product available without a medically unjustified age restriction – to be sold on store shelves without a requirement to show proof of age to buy it.”

Cortez Wright is a Black Queer community organizer, food lover, and Communications Associate at SPARK currently residing in Atlanta, Georgia. His politicization hails from his personal experiences navigating Black class struggle in the South and witnessing the resiliency and power of the Black women who reared him.

This blog post is part of the Strong Families' first Papa's Day celebration. You can read more posts in the series on the Strong Families blog. Strong Families is a national initiative led by Forward Together. Our goal is to change the way people think, act and talk about families.