Finding My Way in Fatherhood
Photo from Jermal
By Jermal Jones
Being a father is everything to me. I've known since I was a kid that this would be an important identity for me. It’s something I tried to explore in the months leading up to that moment when it became real for me, and it’s a challenge I’m rising to still.
My dad taught me that fatherhood is presence. You have to show up. You have to be there. And you have to work for it. You can’t let pride or ego get in the way. You can’t think that it’s all about you. Fatherhood is family, and family is everything.
That’s a lot. Through the years, it was enough to make me anxious for the day that my own shot at fatherhood would arrive. As that day got closer, it was enough to make me anxious for the changes I would face when it did.
That day arrived, and so did my son Jameson, on January 28th, 2020, at 8:26 PM.
This article was originally featured in the Future of Masculinity zine. Get it here.
Nothing could have kept me away from that moment. Not all the NyQuil that was making me groggy, not my awful cold. There was a lot that my partner and I didn’t know going into it. Stuff I take for granted now, watching Jameson start to crawl, like how his cheeks fold when he smiles or how he wriggles his toes. We didn’t know what his biological sex would be, and, as was very much on my mind at least, what he would even look like.
The discussions that Karlee and I had, around what Jameson would look like, mattered because of how they would shape the future conversations we would have with him as a Black man. My mother is Jamaican, and my father is a Bajan. Being a Black man is important to me and my identity, though people often think of me as bi-racial—which I am not—because of my hazel eyes and the light skin complexion I inherited from my dad.
Karlee, my wife, is white, with her family’s roots stemming from Belgium and Germany. We’re both Canadian, we both grew up in the same part of the world, and we both care deeply about the family we have formed together—but we still had questions about what our new family would ‘look’ like, literally, and how Jameson would relate to, and be perceived by, the diverse communities that make up his own identity.
Will he feel connected to his Black cousins when he shows them his favourite country song? Will he be made fun of when he tells his school friends that he loves spicy food because his Jamaican Grandma has a heavy hand with the pepper? He will always have a loving home and the benefit of celebrating many great traditions from the many great cultures that are a part of him. (Don't get me started on the food; he will be blessed!)
But will he understand his responsibility as an ally in a room full of white people who may not know he's Black? Will we understand enough ourselves to be the best possible guide and support for him, when he encounters racism for the first time, or when he is old enough to see the richness and value of each aspect of his own identity?
My dad taught me a lot through his example growing up, and in long conversations we would have together, often in the car.
He was my blueprint for showing me how to be curious, how to work for my wins, and how to reflect when I lost. He is a tinkerer, with a love of electronics, computers, inventing, and math. He was instrumental in my education, always making sure I had structure and tons of math exercises. He made time to be my soccer coach, and led us to winning the league championship two years in a row. The home he made for us, in Shelburne, Ont., ensured we grew up with peace, freedom, and things to call our own. (Just make sure to be home before the streetlights come on, and don’t cross the highway that runs through town.)
There were many times where we lived outside our school district, and he would leave his night shift, pick my older brother and I up, and drive an hour one way to drop us off for school. He never missed a single parent-teacher interview, despite being the sole caregiver for my siblings and me. He made sure that I still visited my mom's side of the family even though that meant a two-hour drive each way. It all gave us tons of time together on long drives, where I could ask my dad questions about anything I could think of.
He always said, once you become an adult, it’s on you to accept responsibility for things in your control, to let go of things that aren’t, and to do better than those who taught you.
Jameson doesn't look Black. He is white-skinned, blue-eyed, and has strawberry blonde hair that sometimes seems red. Most mornings, in the family-friendly, school-friendly neighbourhood where we live, I take him out for a walk with our dog. Each time I can't help but wonder, how do the people we see perceive us? Does this stranger that I'm passing assume that he's mine? Do they think I'm a dog walker, babysitter, or worse, when I have him bundled in my jacket against the cold, do they think I'm stealing this baby?
None of these things I can control.
True, this is a powerful fear for me, and my imagination runs away with visions of what would happen if we were stopped, how I would answer their suspicious questions, and whether I would be answering as a man and a father, or as a Black man. There is a difference, and one day I’ll have to help my son understand that too.
These things, though, I can control. I can control how I teach my son about the world. I can control my mind when it wanders and I can let go of my fears when they have a hold on me. I can control whether Jameson learns from me lessons of fear, suspicion and anger, or grace, patience and love.
And I can take my father’s advice and surpass the person who taught me.
I can make time for and deepen my friendships with fellow men, knowing now that it’s an essential part of filling my own cup. I can prioritize being a partner, and making sure I never stop learning and growing in my relationship with Karlee. I can make sure I keep asking for help when I need it, that I stick with journaling, and making time for reflection in my life.
And I can acknowledge the elements of life, love, identity and fatherhood that are still a mystery to me. To be honest, I have more questions than answers at this time, but I'm grateful that I have an extraordinary partner and a happy, healthy, and curious son who will teach us as much as we teach him.
Jermal Alleyne is one of the co-founders of Next Gen Men and a member of the Board of Directors.