By Orisanmi Burton


Earlier this month my partner and I attended Unity Day, an event for members and their families at The Brotherhood-Sister Sol, a youth development organization in New York City. We ate good food and laughed with the extended family that sprawls outward from the bustling West Harlem block. When Kvonne, a 14-year old boy who sporadically attends the rites of passage program approached me I was standing alone, observing some of his peers start up a game of basketball.

That your girlfriend? he asked with a grin. I nodded.
She pretty, he continued. I smiled relieved that he didnt take the opportunity to jab at me with an insult as he so often does. Why you didnt get her pregnant yet?
We are not ready to have kids, I reply.
Why not? You dont want kids?
I do want kids. But it is good to have a plan first. A plan for how you are going to raise the child. He starts to get upset. You dont need no plan. All you gotta do is get her pregnant. You scared.

With that he ran off to get another hamburger from the grill. I was left to toil over the weight of his words. It then became clear to me that for this boy the concept of fatherhood was analogous to sperm donation. To become a daddy, one simply had to find a pretty girl and get her pregnant. This, of course was the way he had seen it done for all of his life. Boys learn to become men by imitating men.

As a boy I remember marveling at the way people looked to my father for leadership. I hoped that one day I would be someone for others to depend on. This is why Kvonne snickered at the mention of forming a plan before deciding to have a child. The social order of his block – and therefore of his universe expected nothing of him in this regard.

This was highly disappointing because at any given moment between 10:30am until well into the night there are no less than three generations of extended family out on his block. Folks grew up, spending time at each other's cribs, playing, crying, fighting, learning and struggling together and always in the presence of elders. There's always a celebration going on that brings everyone together, a child's birthday, a holiday barbeque, a block party. The communalism is beautiful and ideal for passing down values. But the disconnect is clear. The mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and sisters make sure the children are fed, clothed, and sheltered as the fathers, brothers and uncles negotiate their roll in the dichotomy of the block. No one has schooled Kvonne and boys like him, to the fact that in order to be men, they must choose to be so by honoring their responsibilities, even if the elders themselves have not lived up to this ideal.

Although many of the brothers on this block have not completed their high school educations, contained within the community is a wealth of knowledge and experience. It is the responsibility of the elders to treat that knowledge as if it were valuable and to make sure that it is passed on to posterity. Before Kvonne approached me and started up our exchange I stood at the perimeter of the basketball court watching his peers pick teams and decide the parameters of the game. I remember marveling at the efficiency with which they - the same 12 and 13 year old boys who are unable to work together long enough to form a circle in workshops - were able to organize and carry out a basketball game using leadership, communication, patience, and character. I thought to myself “I want black boys to choose to become black men as beautifully as they play basketball”.

Orisanmi Burton is an educator and writer living in New York City.