‘One Thing I Am Not, Is A Unicorn. Active Black Fathers DO Exist’

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My five year old Mayah is obsessed with unicorns, the mythical characters that stories will have us believing exist, yet I’m certain if I asked you to show me one, you’d struggle. But if by some miracle you can, my daughter turns six next month and I’ll be eternally grateful if you could make one show up on the day. I can tell you who I know will 100% be there. Me, a Black dad, perhaps also a mythical figure that the media does occasionally show. We can often be put into the same category as unicorns, but we ACTUALLY do exist.

I am six years happily married to my wife, Ola, and we have three beautiful children, Mayah, Micah-Remi, and Dream and another on the way. For years the media narrative has not and is still not favourable for Black men, especially when relating to families.

I was born in DR Congo, Zaire, is what it used to be called at the time. The country where the great Muhammad Ali and George Foreman fought the now legendary “Rumble in the Jungle”. I moved to England at the age of five with my dad and my little brother, somewhat excited but half bewildered. For about eight months my dad was our sole carer. He cooked for us, bathed us and generally and enthusiastically did the job of both parents before my mum came over to join us. I believe this left an indelible imprint in me on the responsibilities of a father.

Growing up the vast majority of my Black friends also came from two parent households, whilst I know this isn’t the case for everybody. I would watch their parents trooping in on parents evening and curiously observe whether they were leaving with a scowl or a serene and satisfied look on their faces. The scowls were the talk of the playground the next day.

However, it was at university that I indirectly experienced what growing up fatherless really meant. My very good friend till this day had just left home to live on campus, I met him on the second day of Uni whilst ambling around lost in what seemed like a maze. He happened to be on the same course. His biological father wasn’t in his life and his mum had remarried and had three much younger sons with her new husband. Throughout the years it dawned on me that he didn’t get along with his stepfather and in fact he was more of a father figure to his younger half siblings. I watched him constantly send money back home (to his mum), constantly buy clothes and bits for school or football training that his younger brothers had begged him for and he always seemed to find a way at his own expense. He was selfless in this and it made me want to help him out as much as I could whenever he needed the money for himself.

I now realise that the headline “fatherless” can have many interpretations. Some children lose their dad’s through death and become ‘fatherless’, some dads chose to walk away, and some actually live at home with their children but aren’t present, whilst others don’t live with their children but are very present. We really have question and analyse the word. Whilst my friends biological father chose not to be involved, his stepfather was… and wasn’t at the same time, and certainly never built a bond with him. He eventually changed his surname back from the man his mother had remarried (his stepfather) to the man his mother had left through unfortunate circumstances (his biological father). I witnessed his school work suffer and from the day I met him I likened him to an egg, a hard shell with a soft inside and a lot of love to give, if you just crack the shell. Yet he too was and still is determined to change the narrative.

As I got older, other deep conversations with close friends supported some of the narrative about troubled homes based on the lack of active Black fathers. But if it is the only narrative shown how will we ever flip the script. How were dads like mine also going to get their justified recognition for their role in the home?

Contrary to the common narrative A study published in 2015 by the Center for Disease Controlthe most recent of its kind, measured a father’s involvement with his children based on activities performed together over a period of time. It found that Black fathers were the most involved with their children regardless of whether they lived with them or not. More Black fathers (70%) when compared with white (60%) and Hispanic (45%) fathers, either fed or ate meals with their children every day, bathed, diapered or dressed their children every day, played with their children every day and read to children every day. Black fathers were also more likely to help their children with homework and take them to and from activities daily. I do all the above everyday with my children and I don’t view it as something extraordinary.

A big reason I decided to be more visible on social media on my wife’s Instagram account @ola_pelo was for these reasons exactly as I'm always so confused when she’s bombarded with comments like "so good to see how involved Darcy is” whenever I’ve bathed the kids, cooked, or just simply play with them.

The goal has always been to create a more representative view that diversifies social spaces and in turn, challenges stereotypes as we both believes we cannot solely rely on the media to consistently show an authentic representation of all people. So we share with a purpose, whilst simply just living our lives but hopefully changing the narrative through visibility. It’s been humbling to be recognised beyond social media to speak on the topic, one of which included an invite from 10 Downing Street, whereby myself and Ola were invited to speak about what the government can do to strengthen the role of families in our social fabric and to discuss Covid-19s impact on communities

I know I’m not on a lonely island when I say that there is a common notion that assumes that all white fathers are good fathers and that we as Black fathers almost have to prove that we can be too. It’s a perpetual brawl to prove the stereotype wrong, whether it’s in the UK or across the pond. We as Black fathers and Black people universally know that the standards are sometimes different for us. If I’m honest I do feel that there is little room for error for me and a degree of responsibility to give my boys a positive role model or run the risk of continuing to tarnishing the reputation for all Black fathers in the minds of many. I know I’m a good father but I can’t help but feel that the world is waiting for me to slip up. It’s never bothered me enough to affect my role as a father but I strongly feel we need to continually show that ‘We are not unicorns, we do exist’.

I do what I do because of the example of my own father and because I love my family, and besides, why wouldn’t I want to be as involved as I am. If that helps to shutter existing stereotypes great, I’m all for it. But one thing I am not, is a unicorn. Active Black fathers DO exist.

Happy Father’s Day to ALL fathers.