The subject of father-absence remains taboo among many black activists, even though the rate of father-absence among blacks is horrifying. For these activists, any attempt to discuss black cultural failures is a kind of victim-blaming and a distraction from what really ails the black community—the persistence of white supremacy.When my mother called me in from play one afternoon to meet the man seated in our living room, her introduction was redundant—I immediately knew who he was. And, right off, I did not like him. His absence had been a painful matter in my life. The house that we lived in explained some of it. It was unfit for human tenancy—a decaying hovel with a leaking roof, creaking structures, and a termite infestation. I was ashamed to let anyone other than my closest friends know where I lived.
I was 12 that year of 1956. This was the Jim Crow South where poverty was the default condition of the black masses. Black males were restricted to the lowly crafts of ditch digger, janitor, and farmer, unless they catered directly to the black community, in which case the jobs of preacher, teacher, and shop-owner were also open. Most worked the hardscrabble categories so there was poverty all around, and since my mother was the only breadwinner, our poverty was wretched.
But this is not a story of black victimhood. This is, instead, an essay about a flaw in black culture that is just as uncomfortable for me to speak about as it is for my black brothers and sisters to hear. But a problem must be acknowledged before it can be fixed. And the failure of black fathers is among the worst problems afflicting our community.
My mother was a maid. Since her $25-a-week salary did not go very far, I was a skinny kid with a constant cold, owing to a poor diet and a house that grew Arctic in the winter months. There was a wood stove in the living room and another in the kitchen but their heat did not radiate beyond those rooms. We only ever used the kitchen stove for cooking in order to save fuel. To keep warm during winter, we slept under five blankets. If a glass of water was left out overnight, it had iced over by morning. There was no hot running water.
The poverty programs back then were designed to ensure survival. They were not like those today which help a person through life. Even if programs like those had been available, my mother’s stubborn pride would not have allowed her to use them. I am not criticizing the safety net of our current welfare system. I am a liberal. But my mother’s code of honor was simply part of who she was—a tough lady.
Most devastating for me was the psychological impact of my father’s absence. The most miserable moments of my childhood were when other kids asked me where my father was. In the days before we understood conception, I could just tell them that I just didn’t have one. But after we all learned a bit of biology, the question became so upsetting that on a few occasions I had to walk away from play activities.
I didn’t know what to tell them because my mother refused to speak of this man, even when I asked. He was a forbidden topic in her house, and so I learned to keep my mouth shut. I found out later from an uncle that my father regularly beat my mother which is why she divorced him when I was born. This shows her grit and gumption, for in those days, women could scarcely fend for themselves economically, and so battered wives were condemned to suffer as punching bags. But not my mother.
Growing up without a dad made me feel as though I lacked the full humanity and manhood of my cousins, friends, and classmates. From what I can recall, every other black home seemed to have a father. Southern blacks were already second-class citizens and I felt even lower than those around me. And since I did not have the self-confidence and self-esteem of my male peers, I sought adventures later in life to compensate. In the Army, I volunteered for paratroop units, fought in Vietnam, and was disciplined for insubordination four times. I boxed as an amateur. I drove at 120 miles an hour on the German Autobahn. I ran marathons. I worked as a demolitions specialist and as a long-haul truck driver. And I would hang out with some of the most ferocious males I could find.
Does the criminal behavior of some young black males today owe something to a sense of lost masculinity? I feel sure that this is so. A friend who works as an Army recruiter told me that so many black males have criminal records, the military is no longer the instrument for building machismo that it was when I joined. So, in inner-city communities where viciousness defines manhood, darker paths have become the option.
In 1965, a controversial report entitled “The Negro Family: A Case of National Action” was published by Daniel Patrick Moynihan, a sociologist working at the Labor Department. Moynihan concluded that a lot of the social problems affecting American blacks owed to the disintegration of the black family. “At the heart of the deterioration of the fabric of Negro society,” he wrote, “is the deterioration of the Negro family. It is the fundamental source of the weakness of the Negro community at the present time.” He went on:
As a direct result of this high rate of divorce, separation, and desertion, a very large percent of Negro families are headed by females. While the percentage of such families among whites has been dropping since 1940, it has been rising among Negroes.
The percent of nonwhite families headed by a female is more than double the percent for whites. Fatherless nonwhite families increased by a sixth between 1950 and 1960, but held constant for white families.
It has been estimated that only a minority of Negro children reach the age of 18 having lived all their lives with both of their parents.
Once again, this measure of family disorganization is found to be diminishing among white families and increasing among Negro families.
These figures were troubling, but they only offered a hint of what was to come. By the time the “Moynihan Report, Revisited” was published in 2013, 73 percent of black children were born to unmarried mothers. The figure for non-Hispanic white children was 29 percent:

I was stunned. A few months ago, I mentioned this to a black activist who was working on the problem of black violence in a nearby town. He had been trying to figure out why violence seemed to be endemic among their young black males and had reached a dead end. When I suggested that father-absence was not properly socializing black youth and asked him if he had read the Moynihan Report, he told me that the report was written by racist right-wingers determined to condemn blacks for their own misfortunes. I didn’t bring it up with him again. For now, the town’s solution is recreation centers.
It was not the first time I had heard the report dismissed in this way. It was basically the attitude of the black community upon the report’s publication. The backlash from the community was so militant and damning—reviling its author in the process—that the Johnson Administration dropped the issue and turned its attention to the Vietnam War. This reaction was not entirely surprising, given the demonization of blacks by many whites since first contact in the 1400s. Denigration used to justify outrageous and dehumanizing treatment produced a hypersensitivity among blacks that reflexively prevents us from accepting criticism from outsiders. Criticism from insiders has become something like heresy.
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If God says sound doctrine is good for us, then that’s the way it is. If He says meditating upon His law day and night is what makes a man prosper and mature (Ps. 1:3), then that’s simply what we’ve got to do. It matters very little if our flesh objects otherwise. God’s Word sets the standard. Our part is to believe and obey. So what does this look like practically? In short, it looks like giving ourselves wholeheartedly to the means God has supplied for the instruction and upbuilding of His church. 

…being nourished on the words of the faith and of the sound doctrine which you have been following. (1 Timothy 4:6, LSB)
If you were to ask the average Christian today how they are “nourished” in the faith — that is, how they are strengthened, fed, built up, or trained in spiritual maturity — what do you suppose they would say? Many might answer something along the lines of: community, fellowship with other believers, listening to worship songs, or putting on a good podcast, all of which of course are good and helpful things.
But if you were to ask the apostle Paul, it might surprise you to find he had quite a different answer to this question. According to him, the way we are trained in spiritual maturity is not primarily through any of these means, helpful as they are, but rather through the plain yet powerful instrument of words: “…being nourished on the words of the faith and of the sound doctrine which you have been following” (v. 6).
Words. Teaching. Sound doctrine. These are the building blocks of spiritual maturity, according to the apostle. They are the means God has supplied for nourishing and strengthening His saints.
Now, this is a very helpful thing to point out, especially since, for us, none of these things seem at first to be very nourishing. In fact, few things might sound more drab to our modern ears than “sound doctrine.” And yet, there it is, right in the text.
What we have to remember, then, in order to not be at odds with Scripture, is that we are creatures of our age.
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We are still responsible for all those bad choices, it’s comforting to know that our God is in control over all things. And He could use even our bad choices for His glory and our good. We should also always go back to our Suffering Savior knowing that our misuse of time was fully paid for on the cross of Christ. Our sinfulness should deepen our love for the One who suffered and died for us. 

I always regret the time that I have misspent. I always regret the valuable tasks I could do that are foregone because I chose other tasks to do. Unfortunately, there was a season in my life when the task that I chose to invest my time in did not have an eternal value, if not a waste of time. There was a season in my life when I played a game that costed me so much of time.
As I look back and reflect, I could have used that time to do valuable tasks such as reading. I checked the number of hours I wasted, which was roughly 3,500 hours. If I could finish one book in 30 hours then I would have lost, approximately 116 books, because of my unwise use of time.
Every time I think of the things that I forgone because of an unwise decision that I made, I cringe in shame because I know that those wasted hours could never be recovered. Nevertheless, as I move forward with my life, I am more adamant about using time wisely the remaining hours that I have in the life God has given me.
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