Last decade, I had two opportunities to travel back to Oxon Hill, Maryland, the suburb of Washington, D.C. where my family lived in the late 1970's and early 80's.
On one occasion, as I stood out in the front yard that was the scene of epic football games with my friends during warm weather, and snow ball fights during the winter, Mr. Williams, our next door neighbor whose son, Jay, was one of my close friends back in the day, emerged down his driveway to chat.
The Williams house (left) and Hobbs house, Oxon Hill, Maryland via Google maps…
As we began to catch up with over 35 years of lost time, he paused and asked, "what's Colonel Hobbs up to these days?" Sadly, I told him that my father had died back in 2000—a few days short of his 60th birthday.
After extending his sympathies, Mr. Williams chuckled and said, "your daddy was the most physically powerful man that I ever met." My interest piqued, he added with an even heartier laugh, "I remember one Saturday afternoon when I was out cutting the yard and the front tire on your dad's Volkswagen Bug was flat. Chuckie, you and my son Jay couldn't have been no older than maybe eight or nine, and instead of asking to borrow my jack, your dad lifted that car up from the front and held it steady—with no visible stress—for what seemed like forever while you and Jay removed the flat tire and put a concrete cinder block into place."
Being blessed with a razor sharp memory myself, I recalled that precise moment so vividly that I could still smell the jasmine plants that lined our yards 😆!
Now, at that age of eight or nine, while I surely was enamored with Superman, Batman, and the Incredible Hulk, you couldn't tell me that my father wasn't a mixture of all three—at least in my little mind.
Dad circa 1980
Thus, as Father's Day weekend 2022 approached, I've spent some time reflecting on my father, Charles, his father, Robert Hobbs, and my own almost 13 years of experience being a proud #GirlDad!
Now, I state from the outset that my old man was far from perfect and, because I always strive to keep it real, I admit that I loved him despite his imperfections. And while my grandfather died in September of 1968, four years before I was born, I've heard from my relatives who knew him that his positive traits far outweighed the negative, the proof of which is shown by the children and grandchildren that are his legacy!
Part of what my predecessor Hobbs Fathers did exceptionally well was that they were present; they understood the importance of men being present protectors in the literal and figurative senses, as well as the importance of raising Black children in an America where racism went from overt during the Jim Crow era (Grandpa Robert's entire life, and Dad's until he was a 28-year-old Army captain), to mostly covert (but just as potent) racism in the 70's and beyond.
Make no mistake, while I have always been teased by my relatives and friends for being a "momma's boy," I am very much my father's son in many ways, thankfully, because he was a GREAT teacher and role model. I can still hear his admonitions when I was a little kid to use “proper diction and grammar," to "look a man in the eyes and give a firm shake," to “fear no man,” and to remember that I was “the man of the house when he was not around."
That last part, the "man" of the house, struck me as odd at first because I was the youngest child (and only boy) in the family. But seriously, my very first time training with a real weapon was around second grade, as my father taught me where his rifle and pistol were located, how to maintain safety while loading, and how to aim "center mass" in the event that some intruder broke into the house while he was away on Army drills or deployment.
I can still remember during my teenage years when my father would tell me "to stay out of those malls with all those little mf'ers," as he often pointed out that if one was caught doing something wrong, like shoplifting, that I, too, could be in trouble. I also quite vividly remember him telling me when I started driving to be careful if ever pulled over by the police, as a scared cop “can kill you and not give a damn about how it reads in the report."
Indeed...
Because I shared my father's passion for history, many of my earliest lessons about American history came straight from his mouth, or from one of the books or magazine articles that he would leave on my bed (with handwritten notes) that hammered home his constant refrain: "Chuckie, I've been around this world one and a half times and have seen folks who despise Black people in every land."
While that may seem harsh to those who didn't know him, the elder Hobbs was also quick to point out that I should never "judge a book by its cover," or a person by their "color," because in his own military career, that he had several white mentors who were instrumental in his progression; if I could wake him up now and chat, I would confirm that such has been the case with several “woke” white mentors and benefactors in my own professional careers as well!
Looking back, I think that I first realized how blessed I was to have a father when we moved to Tallahassee and I enrolled at the Lucy Moten Elementary School on the campus of Florida A&M University. I soon learned that a good number of my new friends either did not live with their fathers—or didn't know them at all. Which is why it became so important that many of our Black male teachers, coaches, scout leaders, and the like either supplemented the journey to manhood for those of us living with our fathers—or served as surrogate dads for those who did not. (Nota Bene: A special Father's Day shout out to my two mentors, my FAMU High Band Director, Arnett Moore, and my Kappa League adviser, Laverne Washington).
I get choked up sometimes reflecting upon how many of my very best friends in life, my figurative brothers, didn't grow up close to their fathers—but have become AMAZING fathers themselves! Those Brothers are none dissimilar from the first Black President of the United States, Barack Obama, who said upon launching his "My Brother's Keeper" initiative that:
“I didn’t have a dad in the house and I was angry about it, even though I didn’t necessarily realize it at the time. I made bad choices. I got high without always thinking about the harm that it could do. I didn’t always take school as seriously as I should have. I made excuses. Sometimes I sold myself short.”
I can relate to some of what Mr. Obama said because I am unashamed to write that my entire first year at Morehouse College was an exercise in academic futility as I spent far more time on bacchanalian pursuits than I did appreciating the sacrifices that my parents were making to ensure that I attended one of the most prestigious academic centers in America.
While its funny now, I was rather disconsolate when my first grade transcript came home in December 1990—barely over a 2.0 for that Fall semester—and I didn't even get cussed out by Pop (or forced to put my fists up and defend myself). I was wondering "who is this guy" when my father showed some uncharacteristic vulnerability and told me that his first semester as a scholarship football player at FAMU went very well on the gridiron in 1958, but not so well in the classroom as he adjusted to living far away from his Miami home.
From that conversation forward, my father’s 6:00 a.m. calls to Atlanta always ended with, "are you getting your lesson," an ominous reminder that helped me to focus!
Which leads me to conclude that what makes fathers matter, particularly Black fathers, is our role to teach real truths; to inspire with a mix of tender talks or stern lecturing— depending on the issue, and to protect our children from a society that grows more violent by the day, from their peers and, most crucially, from themselves when the occasion warrants.
Now Brothers, we will not always "get it right" and more often than not, our arduous tasks of being good fathers seem to be taken for granted; I always chuckle at the social media posts about how folks will go all out for Mother's Day—but treat Father's Day like any given Sunday 😆. Not so humorously, I know that the difference usually stems from the strained to non-existent relationship that so many people have with their fathers...
Which leads to my final word, and my public thanks for what Robert Hobbs poured into Charles Hobbs, and what Charles poured into Chuckie, which is that a man shouldn't spend too much time worried about getting credit for the things that he is supposed to do for his children!
Fathers Robert, Charles, and Charles II
Nevetheless, I am still honored to give credit to all of the real men who are holding it down for their children and their mentees!
I loved it as I love all you write!
Well said my brother!!!