‘Being a Black father is harder’

I was told stories of my dad riding his bike to work and being spat on, Lloyd Wilks recalls.

It cannot be denied that within the Black community, women carry the uneven burden of raising their children, their grandchildren, children of extended families. My own mother raised me for nine years, alone.

I often think of how difficult a burden it was for her. She had the financial support of my father but that alone does not whole the circle. I salute my mother and all of these women because without them the journey for many Black children, including myself, would be fought with great despair and hopelessness.

But Sunday is Father’s Day, so we’re talking about Black men and Black fathers, and specifically, my father’s journey. We hear so much about the epidemic of Black children learning life’s important lessons with little to no contact with their fathers. Sadly, this is too often the truth. But it’s not the entire truth. From the age of 9, my father raised me, alone.

My father — Clovis Earl Wilks — was born on May 24, 1933, in Valley, in the parish of St. Catherine’s, Jamaica. It continues to be as rural and remote as much of the Canadian landscape.

My grandparents had two children in their relationship, but there were many half-siblings added to my father’s family as he grew up. At the age of 22, he confidently informed my grandfather he would be travelling to Britain to seek his fate.

My grandfather — a farmer, shopkeeper, butcher, labourer and womanizer — sold two cows and, in 1955, my father set sail for Europe with five pounds in his pocket and a train ticket to London’s Victoria station.

My father reflects on some aspects of this period of his life with love, but on others with overwhelming amounts of loss, abandonment and dejection.

Life in Britain was a brutal awakening; it extinguished his hope and shattered his many dreams.

With landlords advertising no Jews, Irish or Blacks, finding a place to live was often impossible. Menial work in London was plentiful but the pay was small and overtime a necessity. In my family, we didn’t sing childhood songs about London Bridge falling down. I was told stories of my father riding his beloved Raleigh bicycle to work and being spat on. It was disgustingly common for commuters in cars and buses to wind down their windows and spit on Black people. Eventually, he stopped wanting to ride. My father moved to Toronto in 1967. He told me he always loved and wanted me; his goal was always to raise his son and look after his responsibility.

He knew Canada was a young country full of hope and prosperity that needed people. Resolute to minimize racism as a determinant of his income, he set up his own painting and wallpapering business.

He said he met some good white Canadian people who gave him a chance and who passed his name along and helped to grow his business. Unfortunately, those people were greatly outnumbered by the ones who refused to allow him to use their washroom.

Being a Black man is harder. Being a Black father is harder.

That truth does not deny the many men like my father who rise up to be great Black men, to be loving parents and role models to young boys and girls and families. They are business leaders, teachers, pastors, professionals, labourers, working hard for their families like fathers of all stripes, faiths and communities.

However, even the most capable of Black men and fathers face a harsh spotlight that I believe is unique to the Black community — one that generates and cultivates and grows the spreading of suspicion and suggestion of negative innuendo. It perpetuates anti-black racism with the objective of keeping Black men silenced, weak and cornered in a cover of darkness, a reflection of their skin colour.

The energy powering this spotlight must end. Being Black should not be harder.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you for the man you held on to be and became.

Lloyd Wilks is chief executive officer at Counselquest Inc. in Toronto.

He knew Canada was a country full of hope and prosperity.