Posted by By Walter Fields
There was never any doubt in my mind that one day I would bear the title “father.” It was my destiny. My father Walter Fields, Sr. succumbed to cancer when he was just 48 years old; I was only 12. He left some unfinished business for me. The fishing trips suddenly ended. As did the hours spent preparing me for Little League baseball and the chats when I accompanied him to work. He would not see me graduate from middle school, let alone high school or college, or see me go on my first date, attend prom, marry or know his grandchildren. Painfully, his absence made clear to me the importance of a father.
I knew I had to finish Dad’s journey, but first I had to figure out this fatherhood thing because beyond the obvious biology of becoming a Dad, how to become a father was not so clear. So, as a teenager, I went to work, reading, observing other fathers and reflecting on all the things that made my Dad a great father.
There were some clear clues but many more intangibles. I knew my Dad loved me and my siblings – my younger brother Gerald and four older sisters, Carolyn, Geraldine, Wanda and Lorraine – but he was not one to show a lot of emotion. He wasn’t distant, just very laid back, but also very playful. Dad was an excellent cook and was so adept at sewing he made my sisters dresses for school from patterns he designed. My late mother, Mattie, often spoke about my Dad being as excited on Christmas morning as his children. His personality was the product of his southern upbringing in the Jim Crow south and his years as a mechanic in the segregated U.S. Army during World War II. Yet, he could be a very stoic figure. The one and only time I saw him show raw emotion was when his oldest daughter, Carolyn, walked into the hospital, wearing her wedding gown with new husband at her side and wedding party in tow. It was his wedding anniversary too as my sister honored our parents by getting married on the date of their exchanging vows. In a wheelchair, Dad was too sick to attend the wedding. At 12 years old, it was the first time I saw tears of joy and sadness run down his father’s face. It brought tears to me eyes and everyone in the room. I knew then how much Dad really loved all of us but was unware that he was facing a terminal illness. He would pass away 8 months later, two weeks before Christmas, the holiday he adored.
When I reached high school, my interest in children and fatherhood was piqued by a child development class my high school offered. I enrolled in my senior year and perhaps by some divine intervention, my family had a connection to the teacher because my paternal grandmother once did domestic work for her family. Dad was still guiding me. As I recall, being the only boy in the class worked to my benefit as the girls went out of their way – in an altruistic way – help me. Part of the requirement of the class was being paired up with a child in elementary school and serving as a mentor. My mentee was a boy whose father I learned was battling cancer. It was an opportunity to get some on-the-job training, so to speak, and to see if could impart some fatherly wisdom on a young child. This experience was one of the most fulfilling of my life up to that point and convinced me that being a good father was my destiny in life.
My wish came true on Oct. 1, 1998 when my wife, Donna, gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. We named her Jordan. On that day, I set out to finish my Dad’s journey. The years that were denied my father and I were bequeathed to my daughter. We have shared hours on the basketball court and track, where I have watched her accomplish great things in both sports, enjoyed being at the stadium watching our beleaguered New York Mets, and have visited museums. She has accompanied me to work and once got a personal tour of the U.S. Capitol courtesy of now retired Congressman Charles Rangel. While my father never witnessed me graduate, my life has been blessed by seeing my daughter graduate from pre-school to high school. Prayerfully I anticipate her college graduation in a couple of years.
There is no title I cherish more, no accomplishment that can rival it, and no job that can bring as much joy and fulfillment than being a father. Hearing my daughter say ‘Dad’ exceeds anything this world can offer me, and gives me one more opportunity to feel my father’s hand resting on my shoulder.
Walter Fields is a father and husband, and social justice journalist-activist.
