Black Fatherhood – Poppa University

If father presence matters, then father health matters.

Father involvement has long been associated with positive child outcomes. If we celebrate engaged fathers when children thrive, then we must also care whether those fathers are healthy enough to stay engaged.

And if we want stronger families, then fathers must be included in minority health — not as an afterthought but as part of its strategy, its urgency, and its promise.

By Kenneth Braswell, CEO, Fathers Incorporated

Every April, National Minority Health Month invites the country to talk about health disparities, disease prevention, and what it will take to improve outcomes in communities carrying unequal burdens.

This year, federal message focuses on preventing and reversing chronic disease and improving measurable health outcomes. This conversation is necessary, but if it never fully reaches fathers, then it never fully reaches families. The health gap will remain open as long as we keep treating men, especially Black and Brown fathers, as though they sit outside the circle of family health.

We must expand how we talk about minority health and address it beyond exam rooms, emergency departments, and public health campaigns. We need to consider minority health at home, too, and pay attention to:

the blood pressure readings fathers ignore because he’s busy holding life together
the untreated stress that becomes irritability, silence, distance, or collapse
the depression that goes unnamed because too many men have been taught that endurance is the only acceptable language

The Office of Minority Health (OMH) itself makes plain that many of the forces shaping health happen outside the health care system — through income, education, housing, food access, and more.

This perspective should push us to see fathers not as a side issue, but as part of the frontline.

The numbers tell a sobering story. According to OMH, the average life expectancy at birth for Black Americans in 2023 was 74 years, but for Black males it was 70.3 years. In 2022, Black Americans were also 35% more likely than the overall U.S. population to die from major heart and blood vessel diseases and 78% more likely to die from diabetes. The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reports that high blood pressure remains more common among non-Hispanic Black adults than any other major racial or ethnic group, and that men have higher rates than women.

Mental health belongs in this discussion, too. OMH says that in 2024, Black/African American adults were 36% less likely than U.S. adults overall to have received mental health treatment in the past year. This should disturb all of us. When suffering goes untreated, families often feel it before systems ever measure it. A man’s anxiety can become agitation in the home. His depression can become emotional absence. His exhaustion can erode patience, communication, and trust.

We can’t keep asking fathers to be stable anchors in unstable waters while refusing to confront what those waters are doing to them.

Father Involvement and Minority Health

And this is where the argument becomes larger than men alone. Father involvement has long been associated with positive child outcomes. The American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) has noted that father involvement in early childhood is associated with positive developmental and psychological outcomes over time. CDC materials similarly note that increased father involvement is associated with positive outcomes for children and that fathers have a special opportunity to support the health and well-being of their children.

If father presence matters, then father health matters. If we celebrate engaged fathers when children thrive, then we must also care whether those fathers are healthy enough to stay engaged.

This means we can’t reduce National Minority Health Month to broad calls for awareness.

We need prevention strategies that go where fathers actually are. Barbershops. Churches. Job sites. Recreation centers. Fatherhood programs. Community colleges. Reentry spaces. Pediatric waiting rooms. We need health systems to stop treating men as difficult to reach and start admitting that many systems have simply failed to reach out them in ways that are trusted, culturally grounded, and consistent.

Given the federal emphasis on prevention and measurable outcomes, this is the moment to make fathers visible in the design, not just in the language.

We should also stop acting as though a father’s health is his burden alone to solve. When a man lacks insurance, transportation, flexible work hours, or a provider who understands his reality, it’s not a character flaw. It’s a systems problem. We need to understand how his stress is intensified by unstable employment, neighborhood violence, family court pressure, child support debt, housing insecurity, and the constant demand to perform strength while swallowing fear.

Minority health policy that does not account for those realities will always underperform, because it will always be treating symptoms while leaving conditions intact.

The consequences of ignoring this are indefensible. You can’t close the minority health gap while ignoring fathers. You can’t build healthier communities while overlooking the men whose health shapes the emotional and economic climate of so many homes. And you can’t say you are fighting for better outcomes for children while refusing to invest in the health of the people those children depend on.

If we want stronger families, then fathers must be included in minority health — not as an afterthought but as part of its strategy, its urgency, and its promise.

or too long, American culture has offered Black men a narrow script. It has treated masculinity as hardness, distance, stoicism, or physical dominance. It has treated provision as if it only counts when it arrives in the form of money made through visibly rugged labor. Even the more sympathetic versions of this narrative often reduce men to role, function, and performance. Earn. Protect. Endure. Bring home the check. Stay tough. Never bend too much toward tenderness.

But care work disrupts that script.

By Kenneth Braswell, CEO, Fathers Incorporated

When most people imagine Black men at work, they still tend to reach for the same set of images. They picture warehouses, loading docks, truck routes, construction sites, security posts, correctional facilities, and other jobs where strength is measured in pounds lifted, miles driven, or hours endured. These men and their labor are real. Their contribution is undeniable. But that’s not the whole story, and it is past time we stop pretending it is.

There is another Black man at work in America, and he deserves to be seen.

He’s helping a patient dress after surgery. He’s counseling a father trying not to collapse under the weight of addiction, debt, and shame. He’s walking alongside a family in crisis. He’s working with a child who cannot yet name the pain they carry. He’s in a school building, clinic, community program, treatment center, group home, hospital room, recovery circle, or social services office. He’s not simply earning a paycheck; he’s holding together some piece of the human condition.

This is strength, too.

The labor data tells us more than many of our assumptions do. According to 2025 U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS):

Health care support occupations were 83.4% women and 26.9% Black.
Community and social service occupations were 69% women and 18.2% Black.
In social assistance, the workforce was 84.9% women and 20% Black.
In individual and family services, it was 80.4% women and 21.2% Black.

These are not small or trivial slices of the labor market. They are clear signs that Black labor is already deeply present in the care economy, even if our public imagination still struggles to recognize it.

Detailed occupation data from BLS in 2025 tells an even more compelling story:

Mental health counselors were 72.6% women and 22% Black.
Substance abuse and behavioral disorder counselors were 79.8% women and 20.6% Black.
Child, family, and school social workers were 81.3% women and 24.3% Black.
Educational, guidance, and career counselors and advisors were 77% women and 18.8% Black.
Home health aides were 86.1% women and 30.8% Black.
Nursing assistants were 86.9% women and 39.3% Black.

These numbers should force us to reconsider what provision – providing for one’s family – looks like, what masculinity means, and where Black men are already helping carry the emotional and developmental life of the nation.

For too long, American culture has offered Black men a narrow script. It has treated masculinity as hardness, distance, stoicism, or physical dominance. It has treated provision as if it only counts when it arrives in the form of money made through visibly rugged labor. Even the more sympathetic versions of this narrative often reduce men to role, function, and performance. Earn. Protect. Endure. Bring home the check. Stay tough. Never bend too much toward tenderness.

But care work disrupts that script.

A Black man who counsels grieving families, supports a patient through recovery, mentors a vulnerable teenager, or helps stabilize a household in crisis is not stepping away from masculinity. He is exposing how shallow our definition has been.

He’s not abandoning provision; he’s expanding it. He’s showing that providing is not only to finance life but also to sustain it, not only to guard the home from the outside but also to help hold it together from within.

This matters in the responsible fatherhood field because fathers have often been discussed almost exclusively through the lens of economics. Work. Income. Employment. But if fatherhood is interpreted only in terms of wages, then care itself becomes invisible. The father who knows how to soothe, listen, guide, comfort, teach, counsel, and remain emotionally available is too often treated as a cultural exception rather than what he may actually be: a model of mature and necessary manhood.

The Census Bureau’s Longitudinal Employer-Household Dynamics program gives us another reason to take this seriously. The Census Bureau notes that its Quarterly Workforce Indicators measure not only employment, but also job creation, job destruction, hires, earnings, and other employment flows, and that these indicators can be studied by industry, geography, and worker demographics.

This means we can study where care jobs are growing, where they are unstable, and where Black workers are concentrated within them — datapoints that should matter to policymakers, fatherhood practitioners, and anyone who claims to care about family stability.

The care economy sits close to the heartbeat of the family. It’s where maternal health is supported, where child development is protected, and where trauma is addressed. It’s where addiction is treated, where behavioral crises are de-escalated, and where elderly parents are kept alive with dignity. It’s where children learn how to trust adults again, and it’s where broken systems are sometimes softened by human presence before they become even more destructive.

And Black men are there.

Black men’s presence in the care economy challenges many stereotypes at once:

That Black men do not nurture
That men who work in care are somehow less masculine
That human service work is soft work, secondary work, or “women’s work”
That men merely assist with care in the margins.
That emotional intelligence belongs to somebody else

It also raises a harder question: Why do we so often celebrate Black men most loudly when they survive punishment, danger, or exclusion, but speak far less about them when they are practicing healing, empathy, and guidance?

Part of the answer is that America has long been: more comfortable seeing:

More comfortable seeing Black men as a force rather than as care
More comfortable seeing the Black man as a body rather than a nurturer
More comfortable with Black men’s labor when it appears physically extractive than when it appears relational, developmental, or therapeutic

But if we are serious about reimagining Black fatherhood, then we must also reimagine Black work. This means affirming the Black man who is not only protecting life, but tending to it. Not only building structures, but also stabilizing people. Not only providing income, but offering calm, consistency, instruction, and hope.

There is no contradiction here. A man can be strong and gentle. He can be protective and emotionally fluent. He can be a provider and a caregiver. He can be deeply masculine and deeply attentive. In fact, the more unstable the world becomes, the more we need this synthesis.

The data shows us that Black workers, including Black men, are deeply present in occupations tied to care, counseling, and human services. Our thinking has to catch up. The next evolution in the fatherhood conversation should not ask whether Black men belong in the care economy. It should ask why we were ever taught to think they did not.

Because every time a Black man helps someone heal, every time he steadies a child, counsels a family, supports a mother, walks with a patient, or speaks life into somebody standing on the edge of collapse, he’s doing more than working.

He’s redefining strength and provision.

He’s redefining what it means to be a man in the service of human wholeness, and that deserves to be seen.

Our study asks a question that the responsible fatherhood and human services fields sometimes avoid because it’s inconvenient: If we say fathers matter, why are so many systems designed as if they don’t?

Those that truly want to engage fathers must adopt a simple discipline: Stop confusing outcomes with intent. If a father is not consistently present, ask what has been blocking him before you make assumptions or lean on stereotypes.

by Dr. Jeffery Shears, Co-Chair, The Moynihan Institute for Fatherhood Research and Policy

Fulton County, Georgia, sits inside Metro Atlanta, an area that has long been used as a national mirror, a place where America’s hopes and contradictions show up in high definition. The story many people think they already know is a tired one: Black fathers don’t show up. But new fatherhood research published by MIFRP fellows and their colleagues says something more honest. Black fathers show up with love, intention, and persistence, despite being forced to navigate a maze where the walls move.

At its core, our study asks a question the responsible fatherhood and human services fields sometimes avoid because it’s inconvenient: If we say fathers matter, why are so many systems designed as if they don’t?

Our Latest Fatherhood Research and Its Findings

This research centers nonresidential Black fathers in Fulton County and explores what stands in the way of engagement, what helps it flourish, and what fatherhood programs and stakeholders must do differently to stop mistaking barriers for a lack of love.

Our approach to this study matters because its method signals respect. The co-authors used a qualitative, phenomenological design, conducting semi-structured interviews and follow-up focus groups with 12 self-identified Black fathers in Fulton County. These were not “checkbox” conversations. We intentionally made room for men to describe what it feels like to love their child and still have to negotiate access to fatherhood.

Here’s what we learned:

The study reveals co-parenting dynamics as a major fault line.
When co-parenting is healthy, fathers describe communication that stays centered on the child and makes space for both parents to function. When co-parenting becomes hostile, fathers describe emotional strain, frustration, and a level of gatekeeping that can make dads feel like they’re auditioning for access rather than stepping into responsibility. Our research shows that strained co-parenting relationships are not simply interpersonal drama. They become structural barriers when reinforced by systems that lack pathways for repair and for shared parenting support.

The study points to a dearth of father-centered community supports.
Fathers repeatedly described how family-serving environments are often built with mothers in mind, leaving men to either squeeze into spaces not designed for them or give up after repeated signals that they are peripheral. This is not an indictment of mothers or mother-centered supports. It is a challenge to the field: Family work cannot be fully funded, staffed, and structured around one parent and then act surprised when the other parent struggles to stay connected.

The research highlights legal and institutional barriers.
The fathers describe legal processes, including child support and legitimation in Georgia, as confusing, expensive, and emotionally draining, especially when layered with experiences of discrimination within systems meant to administer fairness. When a father believes the system is rigged against him, he may still fight for his child, but he does it with a constant tax on his mental health, time, and stability.

The study explores what public narratives routinely ignore: fathers’ interior world.
Many fathers described fear at the start of fatherhood. Younger men, especially, felt unprepared. However, fathers of all ages reported that these feelings often shifted to pride and deep attachment once their child arrived. Fathers spoke about identity, self-efficacy, and the drive to offer their children what they did not always receive. In the language of leadership, this is purpose forming under pressure. In the language of family, it’s a man deciding the pattern stops here.

One throughline should reframe how America reads Black fatherhood: resilience.
Our findings do not romanticize struggle, but they do document persistence. Even with co-parenting conflict, limited community supports, and legal barriers, fathers described pushing to remain present and positively involved. The point isn’t that men should have to be heroic to be fathers. The point is that they already are doing the work, and the responsible fatherhood and human services fields have a responsibility to stop building (or advancing) systems that require heroics for dads to maintain a relationship with his child.

What This Research Means for Fathers Incorporated

Research is only as valuable as what it changes. Fathers Incorporated (FI) won’t let this study sit on a shelf. It sharpens service-delivery models and validates what frontline work has long shown: Fathers need more than motivational speeches. Fathers need navigation, skill-building, and systems that stop punishing involvement.

Here are practical ways this research is being used, and how it can shape the work going forward:

FI can continue to tighten the integration between fatherhood development and co-parenting support, treating co-parenting as a core engagement strategy rather than an optional add-on. If co-parenting conflict blocks access, then co-parenting skill-building is father engagement work.
The MIFRP study reinforces the need for father-inclusive program design across community agencies. This means leveraging FI’s expertise to train partner organizations to welcome and communicate with fathers, and to build father-affirming environments that don’t treat men as visitors in their own families. Our research even underscores how staffing and the presence of men in service environments can shape whether fathers feel supported enough to engage.
Since legal navigation remains a major lever, FI can continue building bridges between fathers and credible navigation, particularly regarding legitimation and the father’s understanding of rights, responsibilities, and pathways that protect the child relationship. When fathers know the process and feel accompanied through it, they are less likely to disengage out of exhaustion.
Our findings also point to a gap that many programs under-address: reentry stabilization and the financial rebuilding that makes consistent parenting easier to sustain. Programs that treat employment, stability, and father engagement as separate tracks will keep losing fathers to the friction of survival. In contrast, program models like FIs that serve incarcerated and returning-to-community dads holistically will successfully retain and engage fathers.

Research as Guidance for the Responsible Fatherhood and Human Services Fields

Now for the larger question: How can this paper inform fatherhood programs and stakeholders nationwide?

Fields that truly want engaged fathers must adopt a simple discipline: Stop confusing outcomes with intent. If a father is not consistently present, ask what has been blocking him before you make assumptions or lean on stereotypes.

Fatherhood programs across the country can take at least five cues from this study:

Build fatherhood services that include co-parenting repair as a standard feature, because co-parenting conflict isn’t a side issue; it’s often the gate to the child.
Make father supports visible in community spaces where men already are, and design programming that treats fathers as clients, not collateral.
Create warm handoffs into legal education and navigation, especially in states with unique policy barriers that shape father access.
Expand economic stability and reentry supports as a father engagement strategy, not merely workforce development.
Teach staff to engage fathers with dignity and clarity, because program culture is a form of infrastructure.

If this sounds like a big shift, it is. But history has shown how quickly public sentiment can change when truth is spoken with moral force. Dr. King did not persuade the nation by offering a softer story. He named what was happening and demanded alignment between our stated values and our public systems. That is the invitation in this research: Align the systems with the values we claim to hold.

Black fathers in Fulton County aren’t asking for trophies. They’re asking for a fair shot at being present.

This blog post includes insights from “Barriers to and Facilitators of Paternal Engagement for Black Fathers in Fulton County, Georgia,” an article published recently in Families in Society: The Journal of Contemporary Social Servicesby SAGE Publications by Dr. Jeffrey Shears, Dr. Cassandra L. Bolar, Dr. Lorenzo N. Hopper, Dr. Matisa Wilbon, and Dr. David C. Miller from the Moynihan Institute for Fatherhood Research and Policy (MIFRP) with colleagues Carmen Rudd and Aremu M. Smith.

To learn more about the work of the Moynihan Institute, visit www.themoynihaninstitute.com.

You can also read summaries of MIFRP’s recent research right here on Dads Pad Blog:

From a programmatic perspective at Fathers Incorporated, we spend our days encouraging fathers to model respect for women, to support mothers, and to raise children who understand the value of dignity and healthy relationships.

This partnership pushes against that work, and the contradiction deserves to be named.

by Kenneth Braswell, CEO, Fathers Incorporated

There are moments when a story unfolding in the public square is about something deeper than sports, entertainment, or business. It becomes a moment that forces parents, leaders, and communities to ask themselves a simple question: What are we willing to normalize in front of our children? This moment arrived for me when I learned about the partnership between the Atlanta Hawks and Magic City.

For those who may not know, Magic City is one of the most famous strip clubs in the world. It’s an Atlanta institution in its own right, surrounded by decades of cultural lore tied to music, celebrity, and nightlife. Athletes, entertainers, and visitors to the city have long treated it as a rite of passage. And locally? It sits squarely within the entertainment culture of the city.

But this cultural familiarity does not erase the reality of what Magic City represents as an establishment: At its core, it’s a business whose model is built on the objectification of women.

Now, through an upcoming promotional partnership, that misogyny is being publicly aligned with one of Atlanta’s most visible family-centered institutions – the Atlanta Hawks.

For many, this may simply sound like a clever marketing stunt, a moment where sports and entertainment collide in a city known for both. But for fathers — and particularly fathers raising daughters — the question lands very differently, and I find myself confronting it in a deeply personal way.

I had already purchased tickets to attend an upcoming Hawks game with my youngest daughter, who is 24. It was meant to be a simple father-daughter outing, the kind of night many parents cherish: a basketball game, laughter, shared snacks, a memory created in a place that has long been considered safe and welcoming for families.

But now, the Hawks, who invite families into their building, have decided it’s perfectly acceptable to celebrate a strip club. The arena where I planned to continue creating memories with my daughter has decided it sees no moral conflict in promoting a partnership with a business built around the commodification of women’s bodies. Because of this, my daughter and I will find another place to bond as father and daughter.

This isn’t simply a conversation about Atlanta culture. Anyone who lives here understands the role that places like Magic City play in the city’s entertainment ecosystem. Atlanta is a global hub for music, sports, and nightlife. It’s a destination for celebrities and athletes. No one is pretending that those realities don’t exist.

But acknowledging culture is not the same thing as elevating it with an endorsement. The Atlanta Hawks are not simply another nightlife venue. They are a professional sports organization representing one of the largest cities in the United States. Their games are marketed as family events. Their arena is filled with children, parents, school groups, and youth teams who come to watch athletes perform at the highest level.

And when a family-facing institution aligns itself with the objectification of women, it sends a message. It tells young people what adults consider acceptable. It tells girls how the broader culture views their bodies and their worth. It teaches boys something about how women are valued.

Our sons and daughters are forming their understanding of who they are in a culture saturated with messages that seek to define their worth and roles. We cannot be casual about the messages they receive from institutions they admire.

These messages do not arrive in isolation. They arrive within a broader cultural moment in which the lines between entertainment and responsibility are already blurring at an alarming rate.

Consider what we are seeing across sports today.

Alcohol companies have long used sports arenas as their most powerful marketing platforms. And now, sports gambling has exploded into a multi-billion-dollar industry with advertising woven seamlessly into broadcasts watched by millions of young people. Athletes are no longer just competitors; they are marketing vehicles for betting platforms, encouraging viewers to wager money in real time.

Domestic violence remains a serious issue within sports culture, despite years of public reckoning and promises of reform. And now, on courts across the country — from the NBA to college basketball to AAU tournaments and high school gyms — violence between players has become increasingly common, with fights erupting almost nightly.

These trends share a common thread: They normalize behavior that adults may feel capable of navigating but that young people are still learning to interpret.

Children do not possess the lived experience required to filter these contradictions. They rely on adults — parents, coaches, institutions, and others — to model the values that shape their understanding of the world.

This is why the silence surrounding the Hawks/Magic City partnership is so troubling.

This week, I spoke with my staff at Fathers Incorporated (FI) about the partnership. Around the table were men and women, Black and white – professionals whose work centers on families, fathers, mothers, and children. Our discussion was thoughtful, reflective, and deeply uncomfortable, not because anyone was shocked by the existence of strip clubs but because of what it means when a major public institution decides to celebrate one.

From a programmatic perspective at FI, we spend our days encouraging fathers to model respect for women, to support mothers, and to raise children who understand the value of dignity and healthy relationships.

This partnership pushes against that work, and the contradiction deserves to be named.

Equally troubling is the quiet that has surrounded this moment from voices that typically speak loudly about men’s issues, fatherhood, and community responsibility. Where are the leaders who champion responsible fatherhood? Where are the advocates who organize around men’s accountability and respect for women? Where are the voices within the NBA ecosystem willing to say that this partnership may cross a line?

Instead, the few individuals who have raised concerns have found themselves quickly dismissed, mocked, or drowned out by the noise of social media. But social media isn’t where moral clarity is forged. Social media rewards outrage, amplifies controversy, and generates clicks. It’s rarely where thoughtful conversations about ethics and community responsibility thrive.

What matters more is the conversation happening in living rooms and at dinner tables, in homes where parents are trying to raise sons who respect women, and in spaces where daughters are learning how society determines their worth.

Atlanta is not just another entertainment city. It’s the birthplace of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Atlanta is a place whose moral legacy helped reshape the conscience of a nation. This legacy reminds us that culture is not simply what exists — it’s what communities choose to elevate.

And that choice carries responsibility.

This op-ed is not written with the expectation that the Atlanta Hawks will reverse their decision, nor is it written with the illusion that a single column can alter the direction of cultural winds already blowing strongly. It’s written because silence in moments like this sends its own message.

If organizations dedicated to strengthening families remain quiet on topics like this, then we have abandoned part of the responsibility entrusted to us.

FI has spent decades advocating for fathers to be more present, more engaged, and more responsible in their children’s lives. This advocacy includes teaching men that fatherhood is not only about financial provision or discipline. It is also about modeling the values our children will carry into the world long after we are gone.

Sometimes this requires speaking even when it would be easier to stay quiet, being willing to say what others are unwilling to say, and raising questions that cut through the noise.

Where do we draw our lines?

Children are watching and listening. The world we normalize today will become the one they inherit tomorrow.

At the very least, somebody should say something.

One of the best gifts a father can give a son is a stable place to land. A place where the boy does not have to earn love with his stats. A place where he can be honest about fear and still feel respected. A place where he can hear, “I’m proud of your effort,” and also hear, “Now let’s get back to work.” These combinations are how boys learn that love is not fragile and standards are not cruel.

So what does encouragement look like in practice, beyond good intentions? Here’s what dads and others can do to instill belief and confidence in our boys.

By Kenneth Braswell, CEO, Fathers Incorporated

This blog post is in conversation with “Dads, Let’s Build Our Daughters’ Confidence Long Before They Call Her ‘Too Much,’”a companion piece published by Dr. Matisa Wilbon.

We talk about boys as if they are either born with swagger or born without it, as if courage arrives fully formed, as if self-trust is automatic, then look up years later and wonder, “Why are so many young men brilliant, capable, and still hesitant to step forward?” The truth is plain. Boys do not merely need motivation. They need intentional encouragement, repeated instruction, and a community that teaches them to believe in themselves before the world gets in the way.

A boy can learn the mechanics of a jump shot in a weekend, but his belief in those skills takes longer. Belief is built below the surface, layer by layer, under pressure, in weather that does not always cooperate. Yet in too many homes, schools, locker rooms, and neighborhoods, we treat confidence as a personality trait rather than a skill.

A confident boy raises his hand when he is unsure. He tries out even after a bad game. He applies for the program that scares him. He speaks up when a friend is headed toward danger. He takes correction without collapsing. He can lose without labeling himself a loser, and win without becoming someone he does not recognize.

Confidence is the inner permission to keep going, and that permission is one of the most powerful protective factors a boy can carry.

Many boys are learning to perform manhood while still trying to understand themselves. They’re absorbing messages that say emotions are weakness, asking for help is soft, being unsure is shameful, and failure is final. They are watching highlights, not habits; seeing applause, not the discipline that earned it; and envying the destination, unaware of the decades it took to arrive. So when boys struggle, they don’t understand that struggle is part of growth; they assume something is wrong with them.

This is why encouragement matters.

Encouragement isn’t about flattery. Encouragement isn’t about pretending every shot is good. And encouragement isn’t about lowering standards. Real encouragement tells the truth and protects identity. It separates performance from personhood. It says, “That wasn’t your best rep,” and also says, “You are still becoming.” Encouragement corrects the work without insulting the worker. It challenges the behavior without tearing down the boy.

One of the most enduring lessons from great public leaders is how they speak belief into people who don’t (yet) see it in themselves. The best speeches in history follow the same pattern: Name the struggle, affirm the dignity, and call the next step. This isn’t just a rhetorical technique; it is a developmental blueprint. Boys need adults who can name the struggle without shaming them, affirm their dignity without coddling them, and call them to the next step without abandoning them.

Changing How We Talk to Boys About Failure

The “next step” is crucial. Boys do not gain confidence from speeches alone, but from the evidence created by doing hard things and surviving them and accepting guidance through discomfort rather than being rescued from it. Boys’ belief is built through repetition, not singular declarations.

A parent’s role in supporting boys’ confidence starts with how we talk to them after failure. Many adults accidentally teach boys that failure is dangerous. We rush to soften it or explain it away. We blame the refs, the coach, the system, and everybody else. This is the message this sends our boys: “Failure is so painful we have to escape it” — a lesson that breeds confidence so fragile it evaporates the minute the scoreboard shifts.

A better approach to guiding boys through failure (and teaching resilience) says, “That hurt. Tell me what you saw.” It asks, “What did you learn? What’s the adjustment? What’s your plan for tomorrow?” Instead of ignoring pain, this approach guides boys through pain toward growth, and a boy who can narrate his own setbacks becomes a young man who can lead himself through life.

This type of encouragement matters because boys need safe mirrors. Especially in adolescence, boys constantly ask, “Who am I?” and “What do I have to do to be accepted?” If the only mirrors they have are social media, peer pressure, and public stereotypes, they will construct their identity around performance and approval. This identity is an unstable one. It rises and falls on likes, laughs, rankings, and who is hot this week. A boy needs at least one adult who reflects something deeper back to him: character, effort, integrity, creativity, discipline, kindness, leadership, faith, and service.

This is especially urgent for Black boys, who often face an extra burden. They are often judged faster, punished harder, and understood less. In many settings, Black boys don’t receive the benefit of being seen as “still learning.” They get labeled, and if adults fail to disrupt these labels, they can be devastating. When we refuse to let a boy’s worst day write his life story, our encouragement becomes a form of advocacy.

Teaching boys to believe in themselves means giving them a vocabulary for perseverance, teaching them to expect obstacles but not surrender, and showing them examples of men who overcame setbacks without becoming bitter, carried responsibility without becoming hard, and stayed tender without losing toughness.

In sports, the confidence struggle is easy to spot because there’s a scoreboard. A boy misses shots, rides the bench, doubts himself, and starts playing not to mess up instead of playing to win. Confidence becomes caution. His body is on the court, but his mind is in self-protection. Coaches either deepen that fear or dismantle it. Parents either multiply the pressure or build the platform.

8 Practical Tips for Encouraging Our Boys

One of the best gifts a father can give a son is a stable place to land. A place where the boy does not have to earn love with his stats. A place where he can be honest about fear and still feel respected. A place where he can hear, “I’m proud of your effort,” and also hear, “Now let’s get back to work.” These combinations are how boys learn that love is not fragile and standards are not cruel.

So what does encouragement look like in practice, beyond good intentions? Here’s what dads and others can do:

Praise effort and strategy more than outcomes. When boys only get celebrated for winning, they learn to chase applause, not mastery. Celebrate preparation, discipline, and decision-making. Say, “I saw you stay locked in on defense,” “I noticed how you responded after a turnover,” “I love how you kept your energy up on the bench,” and “Your footwork was sharper today.” This feedback teaches boys what’s in their control.
Normalize the idea of growth seasons. Let boys know that confidence rises and dips. Name the patterns: new level, new pressure. Teach them that discomfort is often a sign they are stretching, not failing. When a boy expects struggle, he is less likely to panic when it arrives.
Give boys language for their inner world. Boys don’t lack emotion; they lack vocabulary. When you teach a boy to say, “I’m embarrassed,” “I’m anxious,” “I’m frustrated,” or “I’m discouraged,” you give him a steering wheel he can use to drive his feelings toward constructive action.
Build a small, consistent routine that produces evidence. Confidence grows when a boy can point to his own work, and adults can help him create a practice plan that fits his life: 15 minutes a day of ball-handling, 20 free throws before school, film study once a week, strength work twice a week. Set goals small enough to do, then keep it consistent enough to become proof.
Treat mistakes as data, not drama. When boys get coached with heat instead of clarity, they hear, “Mistakes make you unworthy.” This message leads to fear-based playing and fear-based living. After we correct the mistake, we must return the boy to his identity. “Next play” is not just a sports phrase; it’s a life strategy.
Make room for mentors. Boys benefit from more than one voice. A coach can say something a parent cannot say. A teacher can see something the coach cannot. An uncle, pastor, neighbor, older athlete, or community leader can model a form of manhood that is grounded and whole. When a boy has multiple healthy mirrors, he is less dependent on unhealthy approval.
Check the soundtrack. Boys listen to what we repeat, not what we intend. If dialogue at home is constant criticism, sarcasm, comparison, or jokes that cut, boys learn to doubt their worth. If they receive steady encouragement with clear standards, they learn self-respect. This isn’t about being soft; it’s about being wise.
Teach boys how to define themselves beyond a single lane. A boy who thinks he is “only” an athlete will crumble when sports disappoint him. A boy who thinks he’s “the smart one” will panic when schoolwork gets hard. Encourage multi-dimensional identity. “You’re disciplined.” “You’re thoughtful.” “You’re a leader.” “You’re creative.” “You’re a servant.” Build a character-based identity that can survive changing seasons.

Encouragement also requires adults to do their own work. Boys know when our words are performative, recognize when praise is a bribe, and perceive ego in the expectations we set. When a father tries to relive his own missed opportunities through his son, the son carries weight that isn’t his. If a coach needs boys to win in order to feel respected, the boys learn that love is conditional. If a teacher has already decided what a boy can become, that bias shows up in every interaction, even silence.

The call for fathers is simple and demanding. Encourage boys with intention. Teach belief as a skill. Create evidence through routine. Correct without crushing. Love without requiring performance. Challenge without withdrawing affection. And show them examples of men who carry strength and softness together.

Society spends a lot of time asking boys to be confident without teaching them how. We demand resilience while neglecting the conditions that produce it. We ask for leadership while starving them of mentors. We want courage, but we punish vulnerability and act surprised when boys retreat.

A different future starts with one boy, one voice, one moment after a tough day, one adult who refuses to let discouragement have the last word. Belief is contagious when it’s credible. When a boy hears, “You can do this,” and then receives guidance on how to do it, he changes. He stands taller. He tries again. He becomes a young man who can look back and say, “I didn’t always feel confident, but I learned how to keep going.”

That is the goal. Not boys who never doubt, but boys who know what to do when doubt shows up. Boys who can take a hit and keep their hearts. Boys who believe in themselves enough to keep building, learning, and rising.

The purpose of the study is both practical and corrective. Practically, the team set out to learn which supports exist for fathers in NPU-V and which supports are missing, so service delivery can match real needs. Correctively, the paper pushes back on a long tradition of policy and public narrative that treats fathers as an afterthought in “family strengthening,” even while research keeps reaffirming that fathers are a protective factor in child development.

by Dr. Matisa Wilbon, Moynihan Institute for Fatherhood Research and Policy

Much research on Black fathers begins with an assumption and then seeks evidence, but we did the opposite. We began with a place, a set of neighborhoods, and a simple commitment: Listen closely to what young, nonresidential Black fathers say they are carrying, what they need, and what keeps them from being the fathers they are trying to become.

Researching Young Black Fathers in Atlanta

The Moynihan Institute for Fatherhood Research and Policy (MIFRP) at Fathers Incorporated (FI) contributed findings from this research to a peer-reviewed article published by the Child Welfare League of America in its journal Child Welfare. Authored by Jeffrey Shears, David Miller, Lorenzo N. Hopper, Cassandra Bolar, Armon Perry, and Britany Hodges, “The Experiences and Needs of Atlanta’s Young NPU-V Black Fathers” focuses on Neighborhood Planning Unit V (NPU-V), a historically Black area of Atlanta with concentrated economic hardship and a high share of households headed by unmarried females.

The purpose of the study is both practical and corrective. Practically, the team set out to learn which supports exist for fathers in NPU-V and which supports are missing, so service delivery can match real needs. Correctively, the paper pushes back on a long tradition of policy and public narrative that treats fathers as an afterthought in “family strengthening,” even while research keeps reaffirming that fathers are a protective factor in child development.

Method matters here because trust is part of the data. The researchers employed a phenomenological approach and conducted semi-structured focus groups with 13 young Black fathers aged 18–30 who were connected to NPU-V. Fathers were recruited through familiar community touchpoints like churches and barbershops, along with social media and FI’s local reach. The conversations — conducted in virtual focus groups — were recorded, transcribed, and analyzed using interpretive phenomenological analysis, alongside constant comparative qualitative methods.

This approach did more than “collect information.” It created a setting where fathers could address what they don’t usually get asked, a setting where they could hear each other say it, too. The final paper notes that this group dynamic fostered solidarity and that several fathers wanted to continue meeting after the study ended. This is a signal in itself: Sometimes the intervention begins the moment a man realizes he isn’t the only one trying to figure it out.

Young Black Fathers Face Fear, Stigma, and Service Gaps

Three core findings rise to the surface. Each is blunt, human, and teachable.

First, fear is not the enemy of fatherhood. Fear is often the doorway. Fathers described the transition into parenting as emotionally heavy, especially when many of them did not grow up with active fathers and had few positive models to borrow from. That lack of modeling did not produce apathy. It produced anxiety about getting it wrong. One father said the quiet part out loud. He was “excited and scared” because he might “screw up” his children’s lives, but he still had to “do the best” he could. That line is the opposite of inertia: It’s a mission statement.

Second, stigma is not just something fathers feel. It is something systems do. The young fathers we talked with spoke about the way Black fatherhood is socially discounted, as if fathering is automatically assumed to be a mother’s domain and a father’s presence is optional. “Everything goes to mothers,” one participant said, capturing how recognition, resources, and social permission often flow in one direction. The fathers also named how community patterns get turned into permanent stereotypes, such as “Most homes are broken” and “Dads not being there… is too much of the norm.” These narratives influence policy and culture, as well. People assume Black fathers don’t care, and so they question the logic of investing in them.

Third, the service gap is real, and fathers feel it in their bones. The fathers described limited access to support designed for men and contrasted it with what they routinely see for women. One line lands like an indictment of how we’ve built the safety net: “There is no welfare system for men.” Citing an example of a couple feeling pressured to claim separation to qualify for food support, another father described how public assistance rules can indirectly penalize a father’s presence. When eligibility rules incentivize the appearance of father absence, we should not be surprised when communities begin to normalize it.

How Research Impacts the Work of Fathers Incorporated

The paper does not stop at the problem. It highlights what fathers do when they face economic strain, stigma, and thin supports: They improvise. They build informal networks through relatives and “fictive kin,” and they keep trying to stay active. Some find their way into fatherhood programming that becomes a lifeline.

Fathers described the difference that a local fatherhood program made. Without it, one said, he would not have had anything to help him with his child. Another said fathers need this kind of support at birth so they know their rights before crisis forces them to learn them in the hardest way possible.

This is where FI comes in, not as a footnote, but as the bridge between research and repair. The paper explicitly references FI’s Gentle Warriors Academy (GWA) as a response to the void of supportive services, a place where fathers can increase their capacity rather than be treated as a problem to manage.

This lines up with how FI describes its broader posture: Listen, lead, innovate, then turn what we learn into programming that reaches men where they are and walks with them toward where they’re trying to go.

The most important thing to understand about how FI is using this research is that it is not being treated as a “report to admire.” It’s being used as an operating document.

Fatherhood research informs how we design entry points.

The study reinforces that young fathers often enter fatherhood with fear and uncertainty, not a lack of love. That means early engagement should normalize anxiety, build parenting confidence, and provide practical coaching quickly, before shame hardens into disengagement.

Fatherhood research informs how we talk about fatherhood.

If fathers are navigating stigma as a daily headwind, then narrative change is not branding work; it’s service work. Programs utilize language that restores dignity and expectation and imagery that makes father presence feel normal, not rare.

Fatherhood research informs local partnerships.

When fathers say they don’t see anything “specifically catered” to them, the answer is not simply to advertise harder. It’s to embed father-focused supports where fathers already are. The recruitment strategy, then, points toward effective community infrastructure: barbershops, churches, community hubs, and trusted relationships.

Fatherhood research informs advocacy and policy reform.

In its conclusion, this recent paper calls for further exploration of co-parenting, father access, and legal rights, pointing directly to Georgia’s legitimation process as an added barrier for unmarried fathers’ access and decision-making authority. It argues that fathers are often required to carry responsibility while being denied rights, and that this imbalance harms families.

This policy emphasis is critical for other stakeholders across Metro Atlanta and beyond, because the MIFRP paper is not only about NPU-V. NPU-V is a lens. What the fathers describe shows up in many places: in child welfare systems that struggle to identify and engage fathers, in public benefits rules that unintentionally encourage father invisibility, in court processes that confuse rights with residence, and in agencies that have “family” programming that is functionally mother-only.

Research-Informed Action Steps for Fatherhood Programs

So how should other fatherhood programs, funders, agencies, and policymakers use this information?

Begin with one shift: Move from a deficit lens to a strengths lens. The paper directly situates its implications in the shadow of the Moynihan legacy and the corrective work of scholars who documented Black fathers’ engagement, including caregiving behaviors that contradict popular portrayals. The invitation is clear: Stop treating Black fatherhood as an absence to explain and start treating it as a capacity to build.

From there, the actionable takeaways are straightforward:

Design services that answer fear with skill. Build modules and coaching that increase parenting self-efficacy, especially for fathers who didn’t have an active father model. Normalize parents’ “emotional roller coaster,” while teaching practical routines: child development, discipline, bonding, and communication.
Treat stigma as a service barrier, not just a social problem. Audit your agency’s intake forms, waiting rooms, staff language, hours of operation, assumptions embedded in case planning, and the unspoken message about whether fathers belong. Are these father-inclusive? Fathers notice when “everything goes to mothers.” Fix anything that reinforces that message.
Build supports that are real, not symbolic. Fathers are asking for more than inspiration. They are asking for navigation: employment supports, legal education, child support guidance, parenting time pathways, and help building stable co-parenting routines. The study’s participants are clear that the gap is structural.
Nurture group-based brotherhood. The research shows the power of men hearing men, then wanting to continue. Be intentional about building cohort models, peer mentoring programs, and alumni networks that turn isolation into belonging.
Partner with women-serving systems without making fathers an add-on. Many services flow through maternal health, early childhood, schools, and child welfare. Create agreements that ensure fathers are identified early, invited, and engaged with dignity, while keeping family safety as a nonnegotiable standard.
Advocate for policy that aligns responsibility with rights. If your state has legal processes that delay or complicate fathers’ rights, build clear pathways to education, legal referrals, and reform efforts. The paper elevates legitimation as one such pressure point in Georgia.

Final Thoughts

If you want a single sentence that captures why this research matters, it’s this: Fathers are not asking to be rescued from fatherhood; they’re asking to be resourced for it.

Our research issues a challenge to every stakeholder who touches families. When a father says he’s scared he might mess up his kids’ lives, he is not confessing weakness. He is embracing responsibility. Our job as a field is to meet this instinct with structures that make his presence possible.

And that is what the rigor of MIFRP’s work accomplishes. It takes what has been treated as a private struggle and places it in public view. It takes what has been treated like an anecdote and names it as evidence. It takes fatherhood narratives that have become stereotypes and returns them to their rightful owners: fathers themselves.

If you read headlines on HB 1343, you may think this bill settles the question of fatherhood for unmarried dads in Georgia, but it does not. If you read the talking points, you may think HB 1343 creates equal parenting time, but it does not. And if you read social media arguments, you may think it either saves the day or destroys the system. It does neither.

Fathers Incorporated welcomes HB 1343 as a meaningful step in the right direction. However, serious risks exist in its current language. As written, it has the potential to be very helpful for some fathers and very harmful for others — unless we fine-tune it now.

By Kenneth Braswell, CEO, Fathers Incorporated

Fathers Incorporated (FI) is 1,000% in support of Georgia finding a better way to establish legal fatherhood for unmarried fathers, past, present, and future. We are also 1,000% in support of SB 404 and the push toward a presumption that children deserve meaningful time with both fit parents, including a clear starting point of shared parenting when safety and the child’s best interests allow it.

This movement — and the conversation around it — matters. It takes courage to pick up a hard issue and put it into legislative language. A state does not change because someone posts a thought online. A state changes because someone writes a bill, takes the heat, counts the votes, walks the halls, and refuses to quit. That effort deserves respect.

Now let’s speak plainly about what respect requires. Respect requires honesty about what is working and what is not. Respect requires the discipline to avoid the “short win” that leads to a long, messy cleanup for children, families, and the courts. When the subject is childhood, putting the long win at risk is not an option. Childhood does not wait on our learning curve. Children do not get refunded the years we spend trying to fix what we created when we rushed.

This is why FI welcomes House Bill 1343, widely known as Georgia’s Responsible Fathers Act, as a meaningful step in the right direction while also naming the serious risks that exist in the language as it’s currently written.

If you are reading headlines, you may think this bill settles the question of fatherhood for unmarried dads in Georgia, but it does not. If you are reading the talking points, you may think HB 1343 creates equal parenting time, but it does not. And if you are reading social media arguments, you may think it either saves the day or destroys the system. It does neither.

What it tries to do is narrower and, because it is narrower, it has the potential to be very helpful for some fathers and very harmful for others — unless we fine-tune it now.

Understanding Georgia’s Responsible Fathers Act (HB 1343)

Here is the heart of HB 1343 in everyday language: Georgia has long made a distinction between being a biological father and being a legal father. A man can be the biological father and even establish paternity through genetic testing, but he still will not have the legal standing he needs to seek custody or court-ordered parenting time. That standing is typically achieved through legitimation.

HB 1343 attempts to create a faster, more accessible pathway to legitimation by allowing the Department of Human Services to issue an administrative legitimation order under certain conditions and then file that order with the superior court clerk. There are safety screens. There are disqualifiers tied to serious concerns. There is also an emphasis on doing this early in the child’s life.

The intent is sound. Nobody who sits across from a confused father holding a stack of court papers can pretend the current system is easy, fair, or consistently navigable. We have watched men who want to do right get lost in a maze that seems to be designed for people who already have money, time, stable transportation, and legal guidance. We have watched mothers shoulder the full custody posture Georgia defaults to, not always because that is what they want, but that’s the structural default when the father is not legitimated. We have watched co-parents who could have formed a workable plan in the first year of a child’s life become enemies by year five, not because they were destined to fail, but because the lengthy, frustrating process hardened them.

So when legislators say, “We can do better,” we agree. When legislators say, “We can create a faster route,” we agree. When legislators say, “We can educate families earlier,” we agree. But “faster” is not the same as “fair.” “Administrative” is not the same as “accountable.” “A pathway” is not the same as “a system.”

And that’s where the fine-tuning of HB 1343 must happen.

FI has been in the trenches of this work for 21 years nationally and 11 years here in Georgia, not as armchair commentators, but as practitioners, builders, and advocates. Through Gentle Warriors Academy (GWA), we have worked with thousands of fathers walking their fatherhood journey, including many navigating the legitimation process, custody battles, child support obligations, and the emotional toll that comes with trying to be present in a system that recognizes a father’s responsibilities faster than it recognizes his rights. We have watched how legal challenges rarely show up alone. They come wrapped in transportation issues, employment instability, housing uncertainty, unresolved trauma, conflict with the co-parent, distrust of institutions, and a lack of step-by-step support.

This matters because legislation does not exist solely on paper: It lands on people, on families carrying stress, on overloaded courtrooms, and on agencies that may or may not have the capacity, training, staffing, and procedural clarity to carry out what the law demands.

A bill can be well-intentioned and still create harm if it underestimates how the real world works.

That is why we support HB 1343 while also insisting on amendments. In the field, the difference between a promising reform and a painful reform is often found in the details nobody wants to talk about until the damage is done.

Amending the Responsible Fathers Act in Georgia

Here are seven practical amendments to the bill’s language that would dramatically improve HB 1343 and reduce harm:

1. Write due process into the statute.
If an agency is being empowered to make a determination as consequential as legitimation, the bill must clearly spell out notice requirements, including how the mother is informed, how she can respond, how disputes are handled, what evidence standards look like in practice, what hearings exist if facts are contested, and what appeal pathway exists for either parent. “Trust the process” is not a legal standard. Families deserve a process that is visible, reviewable, and consistent across counties. Due process provisions must include clear notice, dispute resolution, appeal rights, and error correction

2. Extend the eligibility window and add “good cause” exceptions.
The time window proposed by HB 1343 is so restrictive that it risks creating a new cliff. When access is tied to a narrow timeframe after birth, fathers who are unaware of the pregnancy, unaware of the child, blocked from contact, deployed, incarcerated, hospitalized, or simply navigating instability can be shut out. That does not promote responsibility. It punishes reality. A workable bill must include a longer eligibility window and clear “good cause” exceptions, because fatherhood is not a coupon that expires before a man even gets his footing.

3. Expand inputs for the presence of conflict and coercion.
The bill must address how conflict and coercion show up outside criminal convictions. Safety matters. Protective orders matter. Convictions matter. But anyone who has worked in family systems knows that coercive control, intimidation, manipulation, and high-conflict dynamics can exist without a conviction on record. If the bill’s safety screens are limited to what’s already documented by the system, it can miss what is happening in the home. This does not mean we deny fathers; it means we build safeguards and assessment pathways that reflect reality. A better version of this bill includes a safety framework that recognizes coercive control patterns and high-conflict indicators beyond convictions, with appropriate safeguards that still protect fit fathers from blanket suspicion.

4. Clarify the relationship between the administrative pathway and the courts.
How will the administrative record be used in court, and how will contested issues be handled? HB 1343 points fathers toward court for custody and parenting time after legitimation, but it does not address how court actors should treat the administrative legitimation record. What weight does it carry? What happens when a mother disputes the legitimacy of the administrative process? Without clarity, we risk creating a new wave of contested cases where families end up litigating the administrative process itself.

5. Handle the intersection with child support with great care.
Using child support systems as part of the pathway may appear efficient, but it can also reinforce distrust if fathers experience it as “you enter through enforcement to be recognized as a parent.” That framing can discourage participation, increase conflict, and deepen the emotional divide between responsibility and belonging. Georgia must be intentional in separating fatherhood recognition from enforcement posture, even while ensuring financial responsibility remains clear.

6. Define the standards for effective communication and education.
Education at the hospital is a strong idea, but effectiveness must be defined, not assumed. A pamphlet and a video can be powerful, or they can be a box-check. Language access, literacy levels, accessibility for parents with disabilities, cultural competence, and follow-up must be part of the plan. If the state says education is the solution, then it must ensure education is delivered in a way that actually educates. This includes creation of a plain-language statewide guide that explains paternity, legitimation, custody, parenting time, and child support as distinct concepts, with step-by-step pathways for families.

7. Be intentional with data collection and oversight.
Reporting requirements and legislative oversight must be written into implementation of HB 1343. Who is the authority responsible for quality control, training, consistency, and reporting? How will outcomes be tracked? How many petitions are granted and denied — and why? Are denials disproportionately affecting certain communities? What’s the impact on court filings? What is the impact on parenting time outcomes? Without data and oversight, we are not reforming; we are experimenting on families.

Those seven gaps do not mean we throw the bill away. They mean we do what responsible policymakers do. We tighten the language now so children and families don’t pay later.

How HB 1343 and SB 404 Work Together

Now, let’s place HB 1343 beside SB 404, because Georgia families will experience them together, not separately.

SB 404 seeks to set a new starting point in custody matters by establishing a presumption of joint legal and physical custody, with equal parenting time, when it is in the child’s best interests and when safety concerns do not require another approach. Many fathers have fought for this for years. Many mothers have supported it too, especially those who want a stable co-parenting structure rather than a tug-of-war. When implemented with safeguards and with an honest view of family complexity, shared parenting can reduce litigation, reduce conflict, and improve outcomes for children.

HB 1343 is about the front end of the pipeline: who becomes a legal father and how quickly. SB 404 concerns what courts do when parenting time and custody are in dispute. Together, they can create a more coherent system, but together they can also create a new set of unintended pressures.

The Strength of the SB 404 / HB 1343 Combination
If more unmarried fathers can establish legal standing earlier, more children may have earlier access to two engaged parents, and more families may be able to set stable schedules earlier. This is real. This matters.

The Risk of the SB 404 / HB 1343 Combination
If the state makes administrative legitimation faster while also setting a strong shared-parenting presumption, families could be pushed into high-stakes custody fights sooner, especially where relationships are unstable or unsafe. The perception may become, “Legitimate quickly, then equal time is coming.” That perception alone will drive behavior. It will drive filings. It will drive conflict. It will also create fear for some mothers, who may interpret the reforms as an automatic transfer of power rather than a child-centered recalibration.

Georgia must not allow confusion when these policies are intended to prevent it.

That is why FI is calling for aligned amendments and aligned public education around both bills — so no father is left behind and no family is misled.

The Fatherhood Work That Must Accompany Policy Reform

There’s another piece Georgia cannot ignore, and it is the piece that often disappears in legislative debate. Law is a barrier, but it’s not the only barrier.

Even the best bills will fail families if the state does not also build a supportive ecosystem around fathers and co-parents. That ecosystem includes navigation assistance, mediation access, responsible fatherhood programs, parenting classes, conflict coaching, employment supports, mental health support, and culturally competent, father-inclusive services that treat men as more than case numbers. This is not a soft add-on. It is the difference between a court order and a workable pathway.

We have seen what happens when you hand a father a legal obligation without helping him build the capacity to meet it. We have also seen what happens when you hand a father a legal right without helping him build the skills to use it well. The child gets caught in the middle either way.

So yes, Georgia should reform legitimation. Yes, Georgia should modernize custody frameworks. Yes, Georgia should aim for a fair playing field in parenting time and responsibility. And… Georgia must do it with precision.

The moment we are in right now is bigger than two bills. This is a pivot point in the history of responsible fatherhood work. Across the country, legislatures are wrestling with the same questions Georgia is facing: how to recognize fathers, how to protect families, how to promote shared parenting when appropriate, how to reduce litigation, how to modernize child support policies, how to prevent harm, and how to keep children at the center instead of turning them into trophies in adult conflict.

Getting this close to right is the assignment.

We can’t afford to throw water onto the floor with the hope that someday we will clean it all up. Children will slip while we argue over mop buckets. Georgia’s lawmakers have an opportunity to model what it looks like to legislate with courage and care, urgency and restraint, vision and detail.

FI stands ready to help. Not as critics shouting from the sidelines, but as practitioners who know what happens after the press release. We know the fathers who will try to use these pathways. We know the co-parents who will be impacted by them. We know the confusion that can erupt when language is not plain, when time windows are not humane, when the process is not transparent, and when accountability is not built in.

Support the movement. Support the conversation. Support the intent. Then do the responsible thing and amend the language so the reform is not a headline today and a lawsuit tomorrow.

Georgia can build a system where responsible fatherhood is not just a slogan, but a structure that works for as many families as possible, in real-life situations where children are protected and included at every step.

by Kenneth Braswell; CEO, Fathers Incorporated

You ever notice how many times the likeness of fathers appear in the 30+ year old rap game? Hip Hop has seen the likes of everybody from Father MC, Big Poppa, Big Daddy Kane and even 8 Mile’s Poppa Doc. No one can dismiss the impact of fatherlessness as it finds it’s way into the expression of young male rappers.

Each reference of their fathers causes a pause in their work; almost like a short station identification break. It quickly speaks to the undeniable challenge of navigating the adult course of their lives by taking a quick stop to address the dysfunction created by a man they can’t fully digest. Yet somehow the imagery of his presence or lack thereof, continues to find its way into the conscience thought of these talented artists.

In 1991 John Singleton began to write the story of fatherlessness on the wall of “Boyz N the Hood.” The cinematic presentation shared a snapshot of life in the community of Compton, California. Over the year’s we have learned that the depiction was much more than that. In fact a prophesy of fatherless communities in urban cites across the nation. What started out just to be a Rapper’s Delight (Sugarhill Gang) has progressively turned into a Thugs Mansion (Tupac) and Gangster’s Paradise (Coolio).

Today more than 73% of today’s African American babies are born into single parent, out of wedlock households. This statistical tapestry paints the same reality as Boyz N the Hood, Menace to Society, New Jersey Drive, Notorious, 8 Mile; etc.; one that painfully exposes the impact on communities when positive male role models are out of place. It reminds me of the National Geographic Society story of South African bull elephants at Pilanesburg National Park.

(http://articles.latimes.com/1998/sep/18/news/mn-24037).

The story speaks to the situation of teenaged bull elephants gone wild after being separated from the larger males. They learned that without mentoring of the bigger males elephants; the younger bull elephants became a menace to the community by becoming a danger to themselves. As a result the young elephants began killing rhinos and threatening the local community.

In communities across American where dropout rates are high; teenaged pregnancy is rampant, unemployment is devastating and fatherlessness is overwhelming; our communities react and the creative arts culture continues to find a way to respond. For evidence of its expression you need only to look at early forms of hip hop culture, to include fashion, graffiti and dancing.

In addition to the pain of fatherlessness finding its way into rap lyrics; the joy of fatherhood is also beginning to emerge. Who could forget, “Just The Two of Us,” by Will Smith or the riveting fatherhood scene in The Fresh Prince of Bel-air. Out of Smith’s own struggle to identify a path created by his dad, he still found a way to transform the lack of having a father in his life into a expression of ensuring his relevance in the life of his own children. Many other rap artist have found ways to express their transformation including Jay-Z (Glory), Nas (Daughters) and Tray Chaney (Fatherhood).

However, lets not limit ourselves to hearing the message just in the music and cinema of Hip Hop. The media is dotted with images of the Hip Hop generation. We’ve seen the custody stories of NBA Star Dwayne Wade, Usher, Halle Barry, Flavor Flav and countless others. Recently we’ve seen the buzz around the USA Olympian Gabby Douglas and the involvement of her dad, as well as the reuniting of former NBA player Dennis Rodman and his dad after 43 years.

For years we’ve been told that music tells the story of a generation. So, what is Hip Hop saying about this generation of family; particularly fathers?

The answer is not hard to find. Its shows up in our nightly news, daily newspapers and in countless obituaries every day. It’s seen in our statistics, heard in our music, written in our poetry and preformed on the public stage of life. The impact of fatherlessness is not a secret, nor is it hiding. Its in plain view for all to see. The bigger question; are we will do anything about it or continue to view it as part of the art form?

Top Ten Hardest Hitting Fatherhood Hip-Hop Lyrics

1.

I was a baby, maybe I was just a couple of months

My fa##ot father must have had his panties up in a bunch

Cause he split, I wonder if he even kissed me goodbye

No I don’t, on second thought I just f**kin wished he would die

Eminem – ”Cleanin Out My Closet”

2.

You ain’t no pops to me; you just some nigga sippin on tea

Moms don’t want your money, so run and flee

Back all hunch over cause you gotta admit

I don’t need you in my life, cause you ain’t s**t

Notorious BIG – Movie “Notorious”

3.

No love from my daddy cause the coward wasn’t there

He passed away and I didn’t cry, cause my anger

wouldn’t let me feel for a stranger

They say I’m wrong and I’m heartless, but all along

I was lookin for a father he was gone

Tupac – Dear Mama

4.

My pops said, “You think that you could leave me?”

He blasted my moms in the back

She fell down screamin I can’t forget that

LL Cool J – “Father”

5.

Group homes & institutions, prepare my ass for jail

They put me in a situation forcin’ me to be a man

When I was just learnin’ to stand without a helpin’ hand

Damn, was it my fault, somethin’ I did

To make a father leave his first kid at 7 doin’ my first bid?

DMX – “Slippin”

6.

I would say “my daddy loves me and he’ll never go away”

bullshit, do you even remember December’s my birthday?

do you even remember the tender boy

you turned into a cold young man

Jay-Z – “Where Have You Been”

7.

Biological father, left me in the cold, when a few months old

Aa father’s child was greater than gold but I guess not

You brought me into the world but your not my dad

Mess around with those drugs makes my moms mad

So we left you with no remorsal pity

Shaquille O’ Neal – “Biological Didn’t Bother”

8.

And my father living in Memphis now he can’t come this way

Over some minor charges and child support that just wasn’t paid

Damn, boo-hoo, sad story, black American dad story

Drake – “Look What You’ve Done”

9.

up all I wanted was a father figure

Me & mom alone every dinner.

One day I hope you hear this I pray you doin better.

This what it sound like if I sent my dad letters.

Tyga – “Dad’s Letter”

10.

Seem like I got everything Only thing I’m really missin is my father mane

Never told me son have a good day in school Never came to my games

he too busy sippin bulls Got 3 kids can’t take care na one of em

dead beat said he would I can’t be one of em

Bow Wow – “Father’s Day”