I'm Gonna Tell My Daddy

By Gaetane Borders

Recently, my friend wrote an article that truly moved me. It moved me so much that I cried. I cried because despite our friendship…I had no prior knowledge of his traumatic childhood experience. It makes me so sad to know that this was his reality. However, I am so very excited to know the person that he ultimately turned out to be. The power of the presence of a father is immeasurable. My friend learned this at a young age. Here is his story:

By: Cushmeer
5 words. 5 simple words that every child deserves to have in their arsenal. Every child deserves the protection of a caring, loving and most importantly, PRESENT daddy.

Far too often, our children are left to fend for themselves because they have been abandoned by the one who is best equipped to protect them. Far too often our children are preyed upon by those who know that there is no one there to fill the void that only a father can fill.

As I sit here in my office my eyes are filling with tears because I cannot help but feel for the kids out there who can't say these words. I feel for the little girl that doesn't know her value because daddy abandoned her. I feel for the little boy who doesn't know how to respond to situations because he has no male role model to pattern himself after.

Abandonment is a weird feeling. It hides inside of you quietly and unnoticed until the moment that you need daddy. The moment that your instincts tell you to reach out for help, only to be reminded by your mind, that there is no one to reach out to. That is when the feelings of worthlessness creep in and take root in your still forming psyche. When you are watching mommy get her a** beat by her boyfriend, or when you see someone abusing your sister and you have no one to call and you don't know how to respond.

Abandonment does not have to be permanent to leave permanent scars. All it takes is a few months of not being there for life long damage to occur to your child. That little baby that you were so proud of when he or she was born. The little one that made you feel that you suddenly mattered for the first time. The one who gave you the opportunity to be better than your absentee father was to you.

Every time I look in the mirror at my shirtless torso, I am reminded of what can happen when daddy isn't around and when uncles didn't, wouldn't or couldn't step in. I also know the feeling of being all alone in the world, coming home from school to find no one home and the doors locked. Forced to stay with friends, wondering where I was going to sleep. I had plenty of family that loved me, but I didn't have a single phone number to call. Then, after a week of staying at a school mates home, I had worn out my welcome. The abandoned little boy who didn't know his father's phone number got beat up by the school mate who's home I couldn't go back to.

So there I sat, in the lobby of the empty home that my family had left. I was 12. I sat on the steps crying and hugging my skinny little doberman who had been abandoned with me. The plan that my little mind came up with that night was to put the both of us up for adoption. He was all I had in the world. Then out of the blue, the phone rang. "A-Salam-Alaikum"....It was my father. I hadn't seen him for a few months, but at that very moment, I knew that I was safe. Within a matter of an hour, my father was there to comfort me. To protect me and to replenish the self-worth that had been sucked out of me.

He didn't have a fancy house. He didn't have a car, or fancy clothes, but when I saw him that night, he was as beautiful as any movie star that anyone has ever seen. I had a hero. I had a shoulder to cry on without a single string attached. Years later, back with my mother, dad faded off into the distance again. We were in Georgia. Mom was trying to hustle to take care of my sister and I. In and out of jail she went, so my sister and I were forced to stay with strangers for weeks and months at a time. Again, with no contact information, we had to deal with the pain of abandonment again, and again, and again as our mother was in and out of jail.

During my freshman year at Frederick Douglass HS in SW Atlanta, GA, I didn't have any clothes. I wore the same pair of pants everyday until I came up with the idea of turning them into shorts as the weather improved. After all, shorts beat highwaters. Only problem was that I didn't know the rule of "measure twice, cut once", so now my one pair of highwater pants became highwater SHORTS. :)

It was the third day of the spring semester, and Mrs. Fanning had just fronted me out for not wearing deodorant. Mom hadn't been home for a few days, and dad was who knows where at this point. Arizona I think. I noticed that the kids on the other side of the classroom, facing me, were all whispering and giggling amongst themselves. I knew that it was because the teacher had just fronted me out something fierce, but it went on for too long so I knew there was something else. I assumed that they were making fun of my off brand tennis shoes again, and when I looked down; to my horror, I saw that my teenie weenie shorts had let me down. My little nutty buddies, had somehow crept out of my short shorts. As soon as I shut my legs, that entire side of the classroom erupted into laughter. I couldn't take it, so I grabbed my books and ran all the way home to the 2 bedroom Allen Temple sh*t hole that we lived in....crying all the way.

I did not go back to school that year; cutting class by hiding in buildings from April-June. Those were some of the loneliest days of my life, sitting in those stairwells wondering why my life was the way that it was. Wondering why I was being tormented by God in this way.

Fast forward a few months to that summer and we moved to the Kinsgridge Apts near Greenbriar Mall. I got busted shoplifting by the Woolworths plain clothes security. When he saw that I was stealing underwear, I could see the anguish on is face as he tried to figure out what to do with me. Thank goodness for me that he let me go. I also joined a football team, The Buccaneers. I lied and said that I was 12 so that I could get one of the practice outfits. A pair of shorts and a Bucanners t-shirt. To me, it was a new outfit that fit, because, sad as it sounds, YES, I was still wearing those little shorts. Where was mom? Back in jail. This time for a failure to appear violation. She's been arrested so many times by this point, who could keep up with all of the court dates.

All this time that I was struggling, daddy wasn't around. Yes I knew that he loved me. Yes I knew who he was. Yes we'd had a beautiful bond at one point, but here I was, both of their son, lying and stealing for clothing, humiliated beyond imagination.

What would have happened to me if the Bucaneers coach was a Jerry Sandusky or an Eddie Long? Who was I going to turn to if I were being abused? Who did I even think cared enough to do something? Nobody. That's who. And that is what abandonment feels like.

But it can be undone in an instant.

So I am outside playing catch with my friend Ulysses. It is September and I am still wearing my E.D.O. (every day outfit). The Bucanners practice ensemble and my busted a** jeepers when the baseball we were throwing went through the neighbors window. As we stared at the window, with the tenant scolding us from the inside, I could see that I was not going to be getting any new school clothes now because that money was going to have to pay for the window. I had spent the whole summer looking at the sears catalogue in the house, wishing that I could have all of the nice clothes to wear to school and now this. Mom had just gotten out of jail a few weeks earlier and hadn't scraped up enough money except for maybe a pair of Levi's or 2.

As I sat there looking at the window a car pulled up a few yard away on the street. I didn't notice the car until the man in the passenger's seat yelled "Cushmeer!" It was my uncle Rasheed who I had not seen in years. He had just happened to be in Atlanta from Chicago, and was only in the neighborhood because the driver was dropping some money off to his kids. I cannot tell you what it felt like to hear "Cushmeer" at that moment. Only my family knew that name.

The next day, my uncle Rasheed came back to the house and took my sister and I to the Polo Store at Perimeter mall and bought us more clothes than I had even prayed for.

I remember staying up all night looking in the mirror at every outfit combination that I could think of. The impact that Rasheed's love had on me was instant and profound. Rasheed never abandoned us. He made sure that we got out of the new sh*t hole that we were living in. He made sure that we were reconnected with our family, and to this day, we have not been out of contact.

I owe my life to that day. I fear what I may have become had God not brought Rasheed to us at that moment. I was a victim waiting for a victimizer. Fortunately for me, I was rescued by a loving uncle who cared enough to fill part of the void created by my father's absence.

So I say to you, if you know of a child that is missing a father, take the time to help them, to encourage them and to love them; because if we don't, the horrors of Penn State and New Birth will continue to haunt our community for years and generations to come.

God Bless the fathers who, despite the obstacles and roadblocks find it in themselves to MAKE A WAY to be there for their children; and God bless the children who have no daddy to protect them.

Shout out to all of the fathers who stood strong and weathered the storms. Shah Salahdeen, Troy DaGraca, Patrick Hudson, Karriem Shah, WD Shah, Craig Gloster, Jihad Khayyam and Juan Pittman, through thick and thin, you stand tall for yours. 

Gaétane F. Borders is President of Peas In Their Pods, an organization that helps to spread awareness about missing children of color. She has dedicated her life to helping families and children, and is a noted child advocate. Gaétane often lends her expertise to various media outlets such as CBS, CNN, and FOX. In addition, she frequently contributes to magazines and newspapers.

The Role of Good Fathers

By Barry Goldstein

      On Father’s Day it is traditional to praise the role of fathers and speak of “fathers’ rights.”  This is an altogether good and proper activity, but today I would instead like to discuss fathers’ responsibilities and the role of good fathers in ending domestic violence.   Domestic violence is usually viewed as a women’s issue, but as Joe Torre has said, it is really a man’s issue. 


      Good fathers want to make sure their daughters grow up safe from the risk of rape and assault.  They want to provide an example so their sons will never abuse their partners.  Simply refraining from assaulting, threatening or intimidating their partner is not enough.  Good fathers need to speak out against sexism because sexism is the cause of domestic violence.


      When we hear someone tell a sexist joke, make comments suggesting the value of women has to do with her appearance or body parts, engage in blame the victim approaches or minimize the significance of domestic violence, good fathers can speak out and complain the remarks are offensive.  Words matter because they help create an atmosphere where the mistreatment of women is acceptable.  If a woman is only a (fill in the slur), it isn’t so serious if a man hurts her.  This attitude places our daughters, wives, sisters and mothers in jeopardy.


      Recently, the news has included dozens of tragedies across the country in which men have killed their children, partner and others before killing themselves.  Some journalists have tried to make sense of this pattern of murder-suicide by looking at the economy, mental health issues, guns and disappointments.  In many of these cases there was a history of domestic violence and custody disputes.  Unfortunately few journalists have training in domestic violence and this has contributed to their failure to understand domestic violence issues.


      Men and women do suffer depression and tragically too many commit suicide.  Why is it that 94% of the murder-suicides are committed by men?  If someone decides to end their life because they think it has no purpose or value, what gives them the right to decide this for their wife and children?  There is a long history of husbands owning and controlling their wives.  Laws have changed, but the belief remains widespread.  Many men believe their partners have no right to leave them.  This is why 70% of men who kill their partners do so after she has left.  Similarly, abusive fathers have developed a tactic of seeking custody to punish women for leaving or pressuring them to return. Sadly the custody court system has been slow to recognize this tactic resulting in thousands of children being sent to live with abusive fathers.  Abusers like to use the term “fathers’ rights” and pretend to speak for all fathers as they do enormous harm to children and all of society.  It is time for good fathers to speak out, support protective mothers and make it clear the abusers do not speak for us.


      Children who witness domestic violence are far more likely than other children to subsequently engage in dysfunctional behavior that places themselves and others in jeopardy.  This is why up-to-date research recommends abusers should not receive custody, but when battered mothers attempt to protect their children they are accused of alienation.  Society pays a high price in higher crime, losses to the economy, medical expenses and lost potential when courts grant custody to abusers.  The loss of potential and other expenses will ultimately be paid by our daughters and sons.  This is why good fathers must speak up.


      Domestic violence has been a public issue for only thirty years.  As a result judges and many of the professionals they rely on are using myths, stereotypes, outdated beliefs, unscientific theories and bias instead of up-to-date research.  Too often the courts are defensive about their mistakes and discredited practices.  Good fathers can speak out to friends, family and public officials about this crisis.  We can ask journalists to start investigating the pattern of mistakes in domestic violence custody cases.  The male supremacists who dominate “fathers’ rights” groups will call us male bashers, but we can wear these attacks as a badge of honor.  Good fathers don’t let anything keep us from protecting our daughters and sons.


Barry Goldstein is co-chair of the child custody task force for the National Organization of Men Against Sexism (NOMAS) Mr. Goldstein is the co-editor of the recently published DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, ABUSE and CHILD CUSTODY .

Chip StClair - Hero to all the “Children of the Secret”

By Cherry Simpson
As I began to read Chip St Clair’s book The Butterfly Garden I found I couldn’t put it down. It’s a story, you wish wasn’t true, about a little boy whose life was hell on earth. It’s a miracle Chip survives his life on the run with his neglectful, murderous monster of a father. He not only overcomes the pain, the sorrow, and the near death experiences, but Chip fights to put killer dad back in jail where he had escaped from, for the murder of a child. Chip then goes on to investigate this child killer. Was this monster, Michael Grant, really his father or had Chip been kidnapped? Chips birthday was August 1 it was also the day Michael D. Grant stomped, kicked and pummeled the two little Ingersol boys. Killing Scott age 3 and leaving Tommy age 5 barely clinging to life.

The book unfolds with murder and abuses so dark, the reader fears at any moment the child might be lost. I wanted to help him and I heard him say to me, “I have a terrible secret?”

In my mind’s eye I could see this little boy, with sad eyes and mousy brown hair, who would stand in a way that made him smaller. The pit of my stomach ached at every foul name thrown at him, when he was hit I flinched, I was afraid for him each time he hid and tears fell down my cheeks. But then I began to cheer for him as he escaped death; I was amazed at how courageously he went on.



Chip found relief by losing himself in reading, music and art. His favorite poem was Invictus by William Ernest Henley. Chip credits this poem as part of what saved him from drowning in Lake Michigan after his father had thrown him into the cold water abandoning him to drown. He was only ten years old and though he was a good swimmer at the local pool he’d never seen such deep dark swirling water. Yes, I was praying for him, even though I knew Chip is alive and well. I couldn’t help but thank God for saving this little boys life.

In a wonderful narrative voice Chip takes you into the life of an abused child beyond all imagination, escaping his childhood prison into his adult life, where he is Master of his fate and Captain of his soul.

In reading his book Chip St Clair has captured my heart and I now have the understanding of child abuse from the child’s perspective. Children innately love their parents and are confused when they abuse them - the children believe they have somehow caused their own abuse. Sadly at the cost of the child, many families do whatever it takes to preserve their "dirty little secret."

Chip now dedicates his life to helping abused and neglected children as founder and executive director of the St. Clair Butterfly Foundation that helps children heal through the creative arts and literature.

St. Clair is also director of the Michigan chapter of Justice for Children, where he has made tremendous strides in aiding children caught up in the nation's distressed child welfare system. He's worked on legislation with father turned advocate Marc Klaas and the Klaas Kids Foundation.

This summer put his book, The Butterfly Garden, on your list of must-reads. Make sure your library has it and the schoolteachers are aware of it. Become an abused child’s hero and help end the cycle of violence.


A video anthology of TV interviews by author and child abuse activist Chip St Clair, telling his remarkable story as background to his book, The Butterfly Garden (HCI Books)

Daddy’s Girls

By Lavinia Masters




On Valentine’s Day of 2007…Tyler Perry came out with a movie called Daddy’s Little Girls. The movie in short was about a single father that had 3 little girls that meant the whole world to him. In the movie this father showed that he was willing to do anything for the safety, care and well being of his three daughters…and after viewing the movie myself… I was convinced that this father was willing to not only sacrifice his freedom and all that he had for his daughters, but that he was even willing sacrifice his life so that his girls would be able to live without the abuse, ridicule and shame that their mother and her boyfriend had put upon them.


The dictionary defines a father as man who is a parent… or a male parent of a human being… it also states that that the adjective “paternal” refers to father, parallel to “maternal” for mother.


However, I want to stop and pose a couple of questions to you today…or give you some things to think about….one is… what is the definition of a father to you? or how do you define a father? And now that you’ve answered or thought about that question, my second question is this, do you consider yourself a daddy’s girl? Or are you one of daddy’s little girls?


Growing up I did not have the pleasure of that father daughter relationship or bond that all of you may havehad, mainly because my father divorced my mother before I was old enough to even know who he was. I never knew the joy of going to a father daughter dance or experiencing the bond of a father praising his daughter for my strengths and exposing me to the working world. Oh, how I use to envy other little girls as their daddys would swoop them up in their arms and laugh and play for what would seem like forever.

Unfortunately, as I began to get older, I began to accept the hand that I was dealt in life and one of them was this… that I was not a daddy’s girl…I didn’t even know if he loved me, I didn’t even know if he cared or remembered me and, by the time I began junior high, I had literally detached myself of the idea of even having a father…until the night of July 31, 1985.


This was night that tragedy struck, this was night that my life was held in balance by the hands of a deranged rapist, the night my innocence was violated, the night I thought all hope was lost, the night I wanted and cried for my daddy.


Even though I did not have Timothy Ray Mangum to rescue me on this horrific night, I had a man by the name of Jesus Christ to that heard my call.




Now before I go any further, let me stop to tell you that this story is not intended to depress or get you down you, I promise, my purpose today is to empower and uplift you with my testimony because I now know that I am a part of a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that I should show forth the praises of Him who hath called me out of darkness to a marvelous light.


The reason I can proclaim this is because although I did not have that relationship with my earthly father that I was speaking of, I thank God that I had that spiritual bond with my heavenly father, that bond that no man can break.


It was April 2003, when I got the call that my biological father was dying of lung cancer and he wanted to see me before his demise. Was it to tell me that he was sorry that he was not there for any of my birthdays? Maybe he wanted to say that he regrets that he missed my wedding day where I had to have a proxy father stand in for him to give his angel away or possibly that he was sorry that he missed the birth of his grandson.


Whatever the reason he wanted to see me, but I missed the opportunity because the week during the time my oldest brother and I were to make the trip to Amarillo, Texas, he passed. I remember when I got the call at work, I began to cry. I was confused because how could I shed tears for a man that I knew nothing about but his name? How did I have the strength to tell my aunts, yes, I would travel to Waco and make his arrangements and pick his suit to bury him in. How did I stand over his body at the funeral home and kiss him goodbye, what was wrong with me!


You see, if there is one thing that I have learned to do as a child of God, that is to show unconditional love towards my fellow man and that forgiveness has its place in everything, yes even in the case of my “missing” daddy. I do not know nor understand the choices he made in life and why he chose not to be a part of mine, but I do know that, in the end, he tried to reach out to me for whatever the reasons. I also know that just as Christ has forgiven me and given me the opportunity to eternal life…He could have extended that same opportunity to my biological dad. The healing from his death came through my forgiving of his non existence in my life and the only way that I could have done that was through the love that my heavenly father has shown towards me!


So today I know that I am a daddy’s girl because I have a Father that sits high and looks low... a Father that can take away all my tears and fears…past and present. I have a Father that is with me when I am strong and picks me up when I too weak to carry myself. My Father is omnipotent, omnipresent and can do anything but fail! I love my Heavenly Father because He has taught me to love my earthly father in spite of the circumstances and no matter what he has done in the past or hasn’t done for me it does not take away what God has created me to be in the present….a loving, healthy and happy daddy’s girl!


Finally, to all the little girls, young ladies and women reading this empowering message…maybe you were victimized sexually by your daddy or hurt by his physical abuse, or whatever pain or trauma that the man you loved and trusted as your father in your life inflicted upon you…know that he does not have the final say so in your life, do not give him that authority ,take back what rightfully belongs to you…your sanity, your integrity, your life!


Know that although failure came through the hands of your earthly father…that there is no failure in your HEAVENLY FATHER…so yes you, too, are a daddy’s girl!