When I mentioned to folks that I had reconnected with my father after decades of reluctance, women were uniformly supportive. Black men had strong reactions because I had made a step many were reluctant to try. I knew so many men, like myself, who were estranged from their fathers due to childhood abandonment. Either they felt too bitter to give it a try or skeptical that there was any value in opening up what was sure to be an emotional wound. I couldn’t blame them. I know how long it had taken me to go see Elmer and how fearful I’d been. I’d had a good life without him.
Sociologists and activists can make a compelling case that these post-1960s Black fathers were victims of myriad sociopolitical pressures that helped fracture relationships with their wives and children — structural racism, the influx of drugs into African American communities, the vestiges of slavery, the welfare state. These challenges, and others, were all forces conspiring against them.
But, for those raised without fathers, this was as personal as it gets; no white paper or detailed description of post-industrial labor can trump a child’s yearning for an absent father. It didn’t for me. I tried for years to use an intellectual argument to go see my namesake, but it never worked.
Yet I can say now, having sat with him, listened to him, and heard his perspective on his life, it really helped me. It isn’t about forgiveness; he never asked for it, and I didn’t offer it. But I do understand him now, both his personal history and the individual impulses that shaped him — and, inadvertently, shaped me too. I’m a grown-ass man. Forgiving people suggests my father directly hurt me. Maybe he did hurt the eight- or 12-year-old version of me. But I’m in my sixties. I took responsibility for the decisions I’ve made a long time ago.
In fact, I have to thank my father. His decision to leave my mother, my sister, and me was absolutely pivotal in my family’s life. Elmer wasn’t gonna be a 9-to-5 type of guy. He was gonna be out late hanging in the backrooms of bars or after-hours spots. He was gonna get his taste of drug-dealer chic. Instead of tearing us apart, Elmer gave my mother the space to grow and find her own calling.
After sitting with Nelson Elmer George, I felt dazed, informed, and content. I’d defined my father by his relationship to my mother, sister, and myself. But he’d just been a young man grappling with his own demons who, in retrospect, did us a favor doing his dirt elsewhere. He’d had to go out and deal with his daddy issues. Finally, I was dealing with mine.
I’ve been listening to the audio from that conversation a lot the last few days as my family tries to get a handle on what’s happening to Elmer. Not being able to visit, having to rely on phone calls, and speaking to unseen voices has been difficult. This is just one story of thousands happening across the country. Don’t allow politicians to turn them into statistics.
Moreover, if there was ever a time to listen to, record, and honor your elders, this is it. An entire generation is under attack. Make sure you hear their voice while you can.
Update: Nelson Elmer George, who contracted Covid-19, died on Saturday, April 25, 2020, at the age of 88. This piece has been updated.