*NEW* Father's Day Insert

My Baby Is A Daddy

by Kimberly Martin

Watching you with your son warms my soul. You get to experience milestones with him that you and I never had from our fathers. I am so proud of the father you have become. Though you were young, you have learned to master the art of Fatherhood. I love you and wish you a wonderful Father’s Day.

     To all the fathers that left us and to the fathers who did not make us, but chose to love us…

​You are cherished!!!

Thank you.

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To Be or Not To Be Daddy’s Little Princess…That Hates Dresses
by: Kratina MacKay

     Growing up I can’t remember anyone saying, “Oh she looks like an angel!” I remember, “She’s like a bull in a china shop, she’s such a Tom Boy!” 

Dad: “Will you stop bringing home: minnows, crawfish, snakes, turtles, rollie-pollies, caterpillars, butterflies, lizards and anything else that requires burial services? We don’t have much more room in the back yard!”. 

Dad: “Tina, why do you need Duct tape, foam, and a 2x4?”

Me: “Because Dad, we’re making swords to beat each other up with, the sword that lasts the longest is Excalibur and I don’t want Gene to beat me again.  It really hurts when you get hit by a sword, so I want mine to be longer than his!” And he helped me build my Excalibur!

     Yep, that was some of my childhood memories of Father/Daughter time. Not to mention, The Mother’s Death Statement, “Wait until your Father comes home and I tell him what you did! You’re going to be in big trouble little girl. Now go to your room until he gets home!” I think this is where my love for acting came from. Sitting in my room waiting for him to get home, practicing and perfecting the puppy dog eyes, fake tears, pouty lip and the “Daddy please don’t be mad at me” in a quivering voice. However, sometimes those didn’t work. I had to go big, pull out the mother of all manipulations, the vow I only broke when absolutely necessary to avoid THE BELT. I put on my dress for my Daddy. I only had one! And, it was a rag by the time I was 5. 
     Now that you have an idea of who I was, I’ll explain my relationship with my Father through my eyes and memories. I was a product of a rebound. After 3 miscarriages, I was born.  When I was born, things went south quickly. We moved to Kansas right after I was born. Mom was always busy cooking, cleaning and working, I never remember ever seeing her sit or sleep. I found refuge with my Father because he would play with me.  He was my best friend. 
     We would play with Lincoln Logs, build card houses, go fishing and swimming, build sheet forts in the living room, go to the park to play and we would make Shrinky Dinks together. He didn’t like playing with the Easy Bake Oven, it was far from easy, but we managed. We liked to color, but I always got frustrated because he wouldn’t let me color outside the lines, so I broke the damn crayons. I didn’t want or like Barbie’s or dolls. I wanted roller skates, bubble makers, critter keepers, Lightning Bug lamps-clearly not typical little girl stuff. My Dad did get me a two-foot plastic doll ONCE. That thing was creepy. It later became a weapon against my future step-sister. 
     During my parents’ nasty divorce, I was shipped to my Grandparents house in Kansas. I became the bargaining chip. My Mom moved back to Maryland. 
     My Dad remarried six months after the divorce was final. I now had a step-sister. She was about my age and was the ultimate princess. She had all of the dress up clothes, high heels, make up, Barbie dolls, pink, purple, unicorns, dolls everywhere and the worst, dresses. Not just any dresses, no of course not, my God they had bows and layers of “that scratchy stuff” to fluff them out. Then tights and socks with lace on them, dress shoes, and bows to match for her hair. It was the cruelest of all things possible! 
     Then the day came, it hovered over me like a Stealth plane. I knew it was going to happen. Why wouldn’t it? They started dressing us a like. I still call the next event, Armageddon. He got me a matching dress with “that scratchy stuff.” Wait for it…the damn thing had bells on it! Are you kidding me? Why can’t you get HER a pair of cut off jean shorts, a tank top, and a pair of flip-flops to match ME? Instead, he humiliated me to my core. I felt like I was a cat that had a bell on its collar. 
     I knew then, my Father hated me. He stood there, glowing at me, smiling.  And to mark this glorious occasion of me in a dress, we had to have professional pictures taken. One big happy family. Far from it. It was evidence my Dad used for the court to try and prove I was better off living with him. The motive today still burns my soul. 
     How could he betray me? Wasn’t I good enough just the way I was. Tom Boy, lover of all creatures great and small. Fondness for the great outdoors, nature, building things, sports wasn’t that good enough? My resentment with my Father began over a stupid dress with bells. I was 5. All bets where off.  This was WAR! 

     I took my anger out on my new step-sister. Poor girl had no idea what the hell she had just been put in. Remember the two-foot doll, OH YEAH, her arms, legs, and head became weapons. Her head became bald because I cut off all her hair. It was causing my aim to be off. It was now my dodge ball. I became resourceful. I would watch boxing and wrestling with my Dad on Sunday’s. I picked up on a few moves. My favorite, the figure 8 hold. I wasn’t messing around anymore. I put worms in her bed and I cut her hair while she was sleeping-an act for which she got in trouble.  I put paint on her pretty little dresses. I disfigured her Barbie dolls as well as her coloring books. Crayons melt nicely in Easy Bake ovens, but they smell horrible. The red wax didn’t look too good on the white carpet in the living room.  
     This is where my love for bonfires began! I built a fire pit outside behind the shed. As for my dresses, shoes, tights, bows and bells-all burned! “Daddy, I have no idea where my dresses are.” I was no longer going to be Daddy’s Princess. Nope, not me. To hell with all of you. I moved back to Maryland after that nasty divorce was finally over and lived with my Mom. 
     I rebuilt my relationship with my Father when I was 21 right after I had given birth to my first son. A lot happened in my 34 year relationship with my Father. I now have friendships that have lasted longer. 
     My Dad separated from his third wife in 2006. I begged him to come live with my family in Maryland. I wanted him to get to know his grandsons and for them to know him. He did just that. He packed his belongings and moved to Maryland. That Father’s Day of 2006 his U-Haul pulled into our driveway. The boys adored their Grandfather and he adored them. He taught them so many things. Unfortunately, in August of 2007, my Father died. My Father taught and loved me a lot. He loved me his way, the only way he knew. I could not redefine who he was any more than I can redefine who I am. We love when we don’t want to hate, we hate when we don’t want to love.
     Here is my nugget of wisdom or experience I wish to share with all the Princesses, Daddy’s little girls, Tom Boys and bulls in the china shops: You are perfect the way you are! If you must wear the occasional dress or the cut off blue jean shorts and flip-flops, these things do NOT define us. If you play with make up or snakes and snails, these things do NOT define us. If your parents are divorced or married, single or remarried, these things do NOT define us. 

     What has defined me is: my truth, my story, my choices, my relationships and my love. They are more unique than a thumb print. 
     To all the Daddy’s, Fathers, Dads and male donors that have made babies-thank you. To all the Mothers who had to, either by choice or consequence, be both parents, thank you. To other men in our lives who played significant roles great and small, thank you. 

     Happy Father’s Day and please don’t make us wear dresses if we don’t want to! 

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OUR FOREFATHERS' CHALLENGE (A reprint)

Run Son, Run On…

Written by James W. Falcon

I ‘memba it, jus as clare is day

I kin still see his face, wid no smile he’d say

Run son, run on, run all da way

S’wud my Daddy tell me do

Don’t make me git up, run afta you

I said gwon, I’d hear’d him say

Run son, run on, run all da way

Now you run, jus like I’s tell you do

Run night, run day, week’ns, too

Dat’s wud my Daddy say do

Run son, run on, be better d’me

Deys a big bright wurl out dar you’d see

Do mo’, have mo’ be wud I cain’t be

Stud’em books, pray a bit, den git up off dat knee

Lis’tuh me now...hears wud I say

Run son, run on, run all da way

Edumoncation, col’age eem, LORD’d sho you da way

But run son, run on, run all da way

Pappa ain’t gwon be huh alway

I’s gwon close dees weary eyes, one nees day

Don’t let nuttin’ stop you, ya hear, when I say

Make up yo mind’n, run boy, run on, run all da way.

Don’t have much ta give ya, cept dees word I say

Pass ‘long dees huh wurds, my Daddy say to me’n his day

He tow’d me…I nah tell you…tah run son......run on...run all da way.



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A SALUTE TO THE FATHERLESS

In acknowledgment of all of the children that did not/do not know their fathers;  to those who never watched him shave; who never heard his laugh nor have seen his smile; to those that never witnessed him cry.  And to those who have been forced to create super hero like fairy tales to pacify themselves through the pain of not having a Father present in their homes,  this edition is dedicated to you.  We recognize your strength and we commend your endurance.  To those that have fought/continue to battle the anger affiliated with a father's absence who have somehow remained sane and, by the grace of god, willing to have and to maintain solid, healthy relationships with men while keeping your frustrations at bay, we honor you today for these reasons and for many, many more. To you and for you especially, we celebrate your understanding of the value fathers can have in the lives of their children.  More than celebrate, we encourage you to hold that understanding near and dear to your hearts with the intent of sharing that value with others, as time and conditions permit.

Although I had the privilege of knowing my Dad in the best ways possible, I include myself as a member of the "we" category because fatherlessness defines us (in the short term) and diminishes us (in the long term).  In essence, it impacts all of us in one way or another.  For some, it provides the basis for identity concerns.  To others, it prompts a series of questions like, "Why did he leave me?" "Doesn't he care?". "Why did he leave us unprotected?" "Isn't he curious how I turned out?" "What did I do to deserve such cold treatment?"  And, in honor of all of the questions you have posed that may be answered some day and for those that may not, I encourage you as a spokesperson for many men who find fatherhood a privilege and who have but one regret...that their families did not include you.  On this day I celebrate your incredible worth and priceless value.

Compassionately submitted,

James W. Falcon

Founder/Editor-In-Chief, Jubilee News

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THE GENESIS OF JAI-REE (A reprint)

by James W. Falcon

  James Reed Faulcon was born in Littleton, North Carolina on September 7th, 1924.  He was the youngest of 4 children born to James Tyson and Sadie Faulcon.  He was a rare breed.  He was extremely likeable.  He was intelligent.  He was articulate.  He was deliberate.  But above all, he was more than my father-he was my Dad, and there is a difference. 

Granddad and Grandma Faulcon migrated to Baltimore when my Dad was very young.  The Faulcons settled in an area of east Baltimore that was teaming with life as so many other African American families from the south did during the period in history later termed "the great migration" yet they were the only Faulcons in the phone book.  Granddad had come to Baltimore to find work as Baltimore was one of may northern cities that offered stable, long term employment to African American.  Granddad worked for a number of companies including Bethlehem Steele to support his family.  The Faulcons lived in the 1200 block of Bond Street.  As the stories go, Granddad was a wiry, fiery passionate man that worked long hours who loved his family while trying desperately to keep his demons at bay.  Grandma, again as the stories go, was just enough woman for him and afforded the precise amount of Ying to his Yang.  As my mother would often tell the story, Granddad would come him from work drunk and Grandma would refuse him entry into their home forcing Granddad to sleep on the bench outside.  While I know very little about my Grandfather (in comparison to the other members of the Faulcon clan, I know this: Granddad displayed a gentleness and a kindness that greatly impacted my Dad in the best ways possible.  In a story that my Dad told me many years ago, Dad explained:

    

"My Mother had had enough and demanded that I be spanked.  My Father, angrily grabbed by the arm, and rushed me into an upstairs bedroom.  Once inside, he closed the door, sat me down but calmly instructed me to do exactly as he said.  He said son, I want you to start yelling in a few minutes as if I'm spanking you. 'Son,' he said, I should probably spank you but I'm going to try talking to you first.  So, make it sound believable. And for the next few minutes, I screamed and yelled as if I was getting the whippin' of the century.  When I left the room, my face was frowned up and I rubbed my behind to try to be as convincing as possible.  I later over heard my Mother talking to my Father as she exposed his fraud.  And he simply said, 'the boy didn't need a spanking-he needed a talk.'"

Those exchanges, however many there were, would provide the basis for the development of an extraordinary man who was thankfully, able to ensure the passing of those qualities and traits to at least two generations-a legacy that I will speak to later.  My Dad grew up in east Baltimore, playing in the streets and alleys, and on vacant lots. At some point in time, he developed a love for the game of baseball that he spoke of quite often.  He as a scrappy, gritty kid that quickly gained a reputation for being a fighter.  At 15, he saw a job offered at the local railroad company and applied as an 18 year old applicant.  The submission of that application would transform his life and legacy.

The U.S. was on the cusp of entering World War II-a draft was initiated and the story began.  Despite the effort of Grandmother who petition the court to try to prove that my Dad was too young for military service, my father was enlisted.  As he sat down at the intake desk, the Sergeant verified his first name.  Then asked, "What do they call you in the neighborhood boy" to which my father responded, "Bill."  Next, he asked my father to verify his last name.  My father, like many members of the family pronounced it, "Falcon."  Forever thereafter that exchange, the man born James Reed Faulcon became James William Falcon.

James Reed, or "Jay Ree" as he was called by his Mother and siblings, loved military life and planned to make that love a career.  He rose through the ranks and became a Sergeant and commanded troops in a number of divisions.  Dad served through World War II and the Korean War and received an Honorable Discharge just before the Vietnam Conflict erupted.  When asked why he shortened his career, he replied, "I got tired of wearing the same colors."  The real reason though was to pursue his dream to start a family. 

Dad's incredible story continued as he taught himself to read, earned his high school diploma, and enrolled at what was formerly called, Coppin State College, as a Sociology major. But above his formal education, my Dad was a wise far beyond his years.  It was that wisdom, that gentle approach to life, to learning, and to love that he left me as a legacy.

Dad once told me when I was very young, “Son,” he said, “You will never have to tell anyone that you are intelligent, or cool, or that you have a particular talent.  If you are any of those things, people will know it.”  That statement more than any other was indicative of the kind of person he was.  He extremely gifted.  He had the ability to carry a conversation like no other person I’ve ever seen.  He could be the conversations antagonist or the everyone’s advocate but remain mild, gentle and very convincing in either mode.  I once saw him jump into a conversation in a barbershop as a means of teaching me how to get into and out of conversation.  It was discussion about religion-the kind of a discussion that they warn against participating in nowadays in the workplace because of its high propensity to provoke offense.  And that was my Dad’s mission.  When we entered the barbershop, he said to me, “Watch this Son,” as he turned to me and whispered coyly in my ear.  I watch…and I listened as Dad jumped in, provoked the lead conversationalists, provoked fiery tempers, advocated for all, and calmly got out of the conversation, while bidding everyone a good day upon leaving as only a gentleman would.  The amazing thing was, the men in the barbershop knew they had been had, but by the time that realization sank in, Dad and I were at the door with our coats on, and ready to embark on our journey home.  As we walked up the street, Dad said to me, “I knew exactly where each man stood, and I poked at’ em all just enough to provoke them, then I left them alone.”  I remember thinking, man!  That could have gotten ugly.  But I also remember thinking, if my Dad could handle himself that well in a conversation, there was no reason for me to think he couldn’t handle himself if the conversation had gone “side ways” as they say.

 On another occasion, I remember my Mother and Father having a pretty heated disagreement.  And I, hoping to champion the cause of men, said to my Dad, “Dad!  Are you going to sit there and take that?”  A statement said in utter ignorance, of course.  To which my Dad said, “Son…let me explain something very important to you.  I love your Mother dearly and right now we are having a disagreement.  But I want you to always remember that it is in these moments that a man must mind his tongue.  Because once something is said in angry, it can never be retracted.  And no amount of “I’m sorry” can ever fix it.”

Even though I was a boy of about 12 years old, I remember thinking how deeply rich in advise that statement was-a statement that I have tried so very hard to live out myself.

I could probably go on to write a good sixed novel in recalling all of the wonderful experiences I had with my Dad.  But neither time nor space allow me to in this edition.  Suffice it to say, that he was truly amazing.  I miss him dearly and I will count myself blessed if I can because at least half the man to my children as he was a man and a Dad to me.  In honor of my Dad and the person he was, I have developed and written a series for Jubilee News entitled, “The Daddy Pages.”  I use the pen name, Jai-ree in his honor and hope that the love filled overtones of the father figure in that series can touch the reader in some small way like my life was touched.  To my Dad and to all Dads, what an awesome task we have!

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THE DADDY PAGES (A reprint)

How important is it for a little girl to have her father in her life? Is a father's presence that important? What are the benefits of having a solid connection with your Dad? Follow a fictional character named Blossom as she grapples with these topics in her growth and development from childhood to womanhood here in Jubilee News. Jubilee News is proud to present the work of a Baltimore native; artist-author, Jai-ree. Enjoy!

     Young Blossom had been curious for quite some time so she decided to muster up the courage to ask her Dad for an explanation.

     "Daddy," said the 15 year old, "why don't you ever want anything for your birthday, for Father's Day, or for Christmas?  Each year you've told me to save my time and my money and to not bother.  Why is that?  Don't you like presents,” she asked intently.

     “Baby Girl,” Dad said, “That is a great question.  And I have been waiting for you to get old enough for us to have this conversation. I love presents.  But for me and for most men, I don’t like to be honored on special days during the year.  I’d prefer being honored every day of the year instead.  I would rather have the offers that are afforded me on Father’s Day, my birthday and on Christmas, made to me throughout the year.  For many, many reasons, we chose to honor each other on special days instead of every day.  So, instead of being given the option to have steak or shrimp, or to see a movie or a play, or to have a blue shirt or black shirt, I’d prefer to have affordable, thoughtful options given to me all year long instead of on special days.  Please don’t misunderstand me.  I am extraordinarily thankful for the gifts given to me.  The kind of gift that really hits home to a person is the one that is given with the knowledge of what the persons really desires-what the person really wants or needs.  And all I’ve ever wanted…more than anything else from you and your Mother…is your time.  Whatever we can do to spend time together is gift enough for me.  And to me, that is so much easier and cheaper to provide than a gift.  The gift that I want most is you.  And I would prefer that over all other things.  Does that make sense?”

     Whoa!  That was deep, Blossom thought to herself.  So simple that it was complicated, so complicated that it was simple.  She had never thought about it that way.  It occurred to her that Dad prefers me over everything else.  Blossom never saw herself as being a “gift” to her Dad.  She was so touched by the exchange that she was angry with herself for not realizing this sooner.  She was angry for not asking her Dad years ago.  On-the-other-hand, she was incredibly thankful for having the courage to ask.  That one conversation provided her so much insight into her Dad’s heart and mind.  The light bulb came on now she could see clearly.  It all made so much more sense now.

     Blossom kept mumbling to herself, “I am the gift” over and over again.  What really amazed her about her Dad’s statement was also the fact that at fifteen, she was overwhelmed that her Dad still valued her.  After all of the rules she had broken.  After all of the things she had done that warranted groundings and punishments.  After missing the mark in school on a number of occasions, she was blown away that her Dad saw thought of her as a gift.

     “But how could that be,” she asked herself?  “A gift?  Me?  Yeah right,” she muttered alone in her room.  The fact that her Dad still preferred her over everything else he could have on those special days was too large a concept for her to grasp.  To boot, the fact that her Dad would rather spend time with his Princess every day was even more mind numbing.

     Blossom had grown to understand her Dad quite well in her brief fifteen years of life.  Yet the conversation she had with her Dad on that day forced her to realize that there was so much more to discover about this man called Dad.  There was so much more to learn about the makeup of men, she thought.  She wondered if this was just a “her Dad” kind of thing or was this the prevailing thought among men-all men.  In either case, she was convinced of one thing-she needed to know more.  She was now hungrier than ever to learn all she could about her Dad and the way he thought as her Dad but also as a man.  That night was a huge night for Blossom.  That night changed her life.  Her Dad’s few words prompted her to realize how important it was to not take him for granted.  It forced her to get to know her Dad more than ever.  Suddenly, she felt free.  She felt her Dad had given her the key to unlock the miserable feeling of having to find a gift for him on those special days.  For the first time as a daughter, she felt like she could really celebrate her Dad instead of being entangled in a web of preparations and last minute shopping trips.  For the first time in her life, she looked forward to honoring her Dad on those special days and each day.  Blossom was given a new lease on life-a new lease on her relationship with her Dad-a lease that didn’t have to wait for a certain day.  But a lease that could be reviewed every day, all the time.  Even as a young person, an adolescent girl, she realized this is what relationships should be about.  But then she also realized that everyone is different and that she would have to take time enough to really learn what family and friends preferred and to act accordingly.  So many things filled her young mind that day.

     “Me?  A gift,” she blurted out in uncontrollable laughter.  “I can only hope I find a man like my Dad,” she thought.

Join us for upcoming installments of...The Daddy Pages!