Bea Hinton grew up hoping her white father would show up on the doorstep and whisk her away into a happy white family, the kind she sees on TV. That never happened. Here’s what did.
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To this day, I don’t know what my father looks like. In 24 years I have had no contact with my biological father; it is more likely that someone reading this post has more information on him than I do. Despite my complete disconnect from “that” side of my family, I’ve always known I was half white. And for as long as I’ve been aware of my mixed ethnic heritage, I’ve identified as a black girl, unequivocally. How could I possibly pledge allegiance to a culture I didn’t know? To people I’d never talked to or even seen?
Over 24 million children in the U.S. live without their biological fathers. These children are, on average, two to three times more likely to experience education, behavioral, health and emotional problems, use drugs, be poor, engage in criminal activity or be victims of child abuse than their peers residing with two (married) parents.
50% of these fatherless children have never even been in their father’s home.
With nearly 2 in 3 black children growing up without their biological fathers and the exaggerated association between black males and criminality, black men have become the ultimate symbol of personal failure—their abandoned children, the ultimate statistics. The issue of black fatherhood has become paramount to the larger conversation on parenting and socio-economic outcomes for children. If you’re not talking about black men, you’re not talking about absentee fathers.
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Even President Obama has opined on this national conversation, creating the Fatherhood and Mentoring Initiative and making responsible fatherhood one of the key priorities of the White House Office of Faith-Based and Neighborhood Partnerships. While his speeches on fatherhood have been widely criticized (and criticized) in liberal circles for their conservative and retrograde content, the President’s rhetoric remains quite indicative of public opinion on the state of [black] fatherhood.
Perhaps more than his words though, President Obama’s presence in and of itself remains a significant contribution to and reminder of the topic of black fathers. During public appearances he often invokes his childhood to relay a story of challenge and triumph, one characterized by single motherhood and extended familial support: another black boy without a black father.
But what if President Obama’s father were white? How many of those upwards of 50% of black children that reside in single parent households have white fathers? And, more importantly, what happens to black children whose white fathers abandon them?
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The impact of my father’s absence on my development and outlook strays from the quintessential list of “daddy issues” that often come to mind when we hear a woman grew up without her dad; I don’t care for older men and I wasn’t a teen mother or stripper. Instead, my issues have been inextricably linked to racial politics and personal identity. At an early age I unconsciously internalized the “white savior” complex, often daydreaming about how life would be with not just any dad, but a white dad. How great my life would be if I were brought up with my white family! I’d live like all the happy white children on television! I fantasized about the day my father would come and save me from my atypical existence. It never happened.
Through the missed holidays and countless uncelebrated birthdays and graduations, I never actually came to hate by biological father, until one day in 2013 when I had the chance to meet someone from my white family for the first time – my uncle, *Scott. Scott informed me that my father had not had any contact with me for two main reasons, (1) he experienced racism by my (black) family immediately after my birth and still carried the pain and resentment from that experience, and (2) he was now married to a German woman, with whom he has a son, and so his pride (and wife) would not allow him to acknowledge his past. Scott repeatedly mentioned that the wife was “very German” and explicitly forbid my father to have any contact with me. Within the context, I read “very German” to mean domineering and racist, but I guess that can be left to interpretation.
And so, at 24 years old, I learned a lot about my father, Kenneth J. Miller; I learned he is a writer and English professor that studied Creative Writing in Massachusetts. I now know he lives a comfortable lifestyle in Dubai with his German wife and teenaged son. I know his reputation and status are more important to him than I will ever be. I know that his absence has deeply impacted my views on race and staunch belief in intersectional activism. But I also know that my white family will never understand what it means to be a black woman in America and, looking back, I am completely satisfied having been raised black rather than biracial. I still do not know what he looks like.
Despite having been the fastest growing U.S. demographic group, there has been limited research into the unique effects of fatherlessness on biracial children. Existing studies have been largely confined to examining white mothers with black ex-lovers, particularly in the UK. These few studies, however, do support the notion that biracial children experience challenges beyond what the average statistics suggest. For fatherless biracial children, issues of cultural affiliation and racialized familial identification are heavily impacted by absenteeism.
The challenges of growing up fatherless become especially complicated for children like myself born to black mothers and white fathers, a wholly invisible configuration that is buried in the national conversation on fatherhood and the plight of black families. Yes, I am black and fatherless, but I do not identify with the “missing black father” framing we have firmly secured to the responsible parenting narrative. We must acknowledge that because women have been shown to serve as the primary transmitters of ideology and acculturation for their children, the racial/ethnic identification of the absentee father matter when determining exactly how absenteeism affects the personal identity of the child.
This connection between gender and race may also mean that some of those fatherless biracial children in fact identify as black, thus complicating assumptions associated with the demise of black American families and the failures of black men. Furthermore, statistics focused solely on the rate of single black mothers as a primary indicator of the state of black fatherhood may miss a growing population of black children born to white, single mothers.
So what happens when the checkboxes don’t encapsulate the reality of the lived experience? Given the rise in interracial marriages, which more often end in divorce than same-race unions, do we need to reevaluate our definition of a black American family? What does happen to black children who are abandoned by their white fathers? Sometimes they become singers, or actresses, or bankers. And sometimes, they grow up to be, well, me.
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This post originally appeared on The Filthy Freedom Project.
Photo: pinksherbert / flickr
Bea, that was a very touching article. One thing that stuck out for me is that you got your uncles side of the story, not your fathers. His brother may never have mentioned to him that he has had contact with you. I am assuming from article that you had reached out to your biological father. If not, I would encourage you to do so. His story may be totally different
No you’re not correct, please don’t assume anything when you don’t have the facts.
Thank you to everyone for taking the time to read a bit about my story/perspective!
The key here is hearing and trying to understand Bea’s perspective. I can certainly see how as a young girl, the absence of her father (who happened to be white), created an idealized yearning for that experience. I am a multi-racial woman and I personally do not consider myself only black (though by appearance, that is how I look) and certainly do not subscribe to the ‘one drop rule’. I though, have had the benefit of growing up with, being nurtured and loved by both sides of my family; experiencing all of my cultural background…good and bad. Bea didn’t have… Read more »
🙂
Hello, you made a very bold statement in saying that she was raised by a black woman and that impacts how she identifies, you’re completely wrong and have no clue in what you’re saying. You don’t know my ethnicity, therefore you can’t assume anything impacted how she identifies. Facts, know them before you attempt to speak. Again, you’re completely wrong, completely off course.
Thank you for sharing this, Bea. You’re (obviously) fantastic.
I read some of the comments written by fellow readers and I wish all of you love and peace in all your lives. Your absent parents don’t know the wonderful, shared experiences they’re missing by not engaging in your lives and for you, I’m sorry for your pain. Live well.
Hello, what do you mean absent parents??? How did you translate that from this article??? I was NEVER out of my childs life, how did you come to that conclusion?? Weird
I have to admit I don’t know enough about U.S. ethnicity/race issues to express an opinion (any opinion) about what you’ve just discussed.
But I am checking out your “Filthy Freedom Project”, ’cause that sounds awesome and just up my alley.
Wish you all the best Bea.
This is so heart-breaking…
My son is bi-racial (half Jewish!)…so, yes, there are so many complicated issues that come up….
But the abandonment of a child just tears at me…
Hey Bea. Thanks for sharing a unique perspective that we really don’t get to hear too often. Being allowed to be let into someone else’s experiences is eye openning. The complexities of us as individuals and the different lives we live in never fails to amaze me. Your article is something I have never thought of before. It sounds like there was still a lot of racism on both sides. From your mother’s side which possibly gave your father a hard time and of course, your father’s side and his German wife. It’s too bad that none of the adults… Read more »
Hello, YOU’RE WRONG, DON’T MAKE COMMENTS ON WHAT YOU’RE ASSUMING TO BE THE TRUTH. IM HER MOTHER AND THERE WASN’T ANY RACISM FROM MY SIDE, MY MOTHER IS HALF CAUCASIAN. YOUBDONT KNOW HER FATHER OR THE SITUATION, PEOPLE LIKE YOUNARE HOW RUMORS GET STARTED! STAY IN YOUR LANE AND STOP SPREADING FAKE NEWS.
I am the absentee biracial mother of a very white looking child whose white father actually stepped to the plate more than I could. My own father was black, and around (mostly) but the times that he was, it wasn’t completely good times, if you catch my drift.
You speak wonderfully to your truth, and parents who cannot step up to the task absolutely do have an effect on their children. Mine came out okay. It took me longer to turn out ok, but I eventually did too.
Solidarity, I guess.
Excuse you, what do you mean parents who couldn’t step up to the plate.? What are you reading? How are you translating this article, because you are completely off. People don’t assume or make comments on things you dont have facts on.
My Cherokee father never married my teenage mom. I never met him. I was raised in a white family and my half sibs called me the “little Indian bastard”. Both parents beat me and my stepfather raped me for years. It’s hard no matter what your race is.
As I am not from USA my comment might be different than those coming from US-citizens. Maybe I also misunderstood something? I am a white European man. My daughters are 50/50 European/Asian – which means mixed race. My fosterdaughter is Asian. If your father is white and your mother is black, you are NOT a black woman, but you are of mixed race. But what has this subject – your race and the race of your father and mother – to do with the relationship father/daughter? There are good fathers who care and there are bad fathers who don’t. I… Read more »
Yohan – Sorry you missed those connections – this should help! (1). I AM a black woman – the issue of racial identification is what is significant about the commentary. My ethnicity is mutli-ethnic (black and Sicilian), but my race is just Black (2). The point of the article can be summarized from this excerpt (which highlights the connection to race): “The challenges of growing up fatherless become especially complicated for children like myself born to black mothers and white fathers, a wholly invisible configuration that is buried in the national conversation on fatherhood and the plight of black families.… Read more »
Fascinating article. I feel deeply for you. I grew up with a very part-time “father” who was more interested in his drugs, his latest woman /women (he usually had a couple he was sleeping with at any given time) and his motorcycles. And my son is growing up without his father who abandoned him when my son was 5. It seems that your father has an issue with blacks and yet, he had sexual intercourse with a black woman. I wonder what your mother and father’s relationship was like. What stories did he tell himself to make it okay to… Read more »
No, you’re wrong. Don’t assume anything, you’re input is wrong.
Scuse my ignorance but if you are half white, half black, can you identify as both or do you identify mainly with being black? Is it due to skin tone alone?
as far as I know bein afro its not only something related to race (something that Americans apparently obsess over) but is also cultura. A cultural movementl. Lots of white am. Identify with being black even if they are white.
But black americans are the one descendants from slavery? and afro americans are from immigrations? or am I wrong? I know im ignorant on this…..
yohan, archy this wiki explains why in the usa ‘one drop’ makes a person black The one-drop rule is a historical colloquial term in the United States for the social classification as Negro of individuals with any African ancestry; meaning any person with “one drop of Negro blood” was considered black. The principle of “invisible blackness” was an example of hypodescent, the automatic assignment of children of a mixed union between different socioeconomic or ethnic groups to the group with the lower status.[1] The one-drop rule was not adopted as law until the 20th century: first in Tennessee in 1910… Read more »
Hi Bea
Now you made me cry .
Thank you for sharing your story