Fathers and sons: the critical connection; from role model and mentor to best friend, the role of dad is crucial

Ebony, Feb, 1990 by Charles Whitaker

FATHERS AND SONS THE CRITICAL CONNECTION

FAR too little attention has been focused on the special bond that links fathers and sons. For some reason, the vital role that many men play in the lives of their children, particularly their sons, is often overlooked. Perhaps this stems from the fact that child-rearing was once viewed as the lone province of women--a misperception that holds today in this era of rampant teenage pregnancy and absent fathers.

Yet, the relationship between a father and son is critical. "It is from the father, or another male figure in the household, that a male child develops a strong sense of self-esteem and identification in this society," says Darlene Powell Hopson, Ph. D., a licensed clinical psychologist and certified school psychologist in Middlefield, Conn.

This is a weighty responsibility, but one that a large and unheralded number of men take pride in assuming. As Rev. Jesse Jackson, president and founder of the National Rainbow Coalition and the father of five, states: "There are no relationships that are more important to me than the relationships I have with my children. And no role in society is more important than that of being a good parent."

Despite the demands of his schedule, Rev. Jackson maintains a special rapport with each of his children. But it is with his three sons (Jesse Jr., 25, Jonathan, 24, and Yusef, 19) that he shares a unique connection. His relationship with his sons is both paternal and fraternal, defined by mutual respect and playful exchanges. The young men, each of whom played integral roles in Rev. Jackson's 1988 presidential bid, call their father "Rev." and joke easily with him in private moments. In public, however, they are deferential and business-like, and "Rev." gives way to "The Reverend" when they address their father in front of strangers.

Democratic National Committee Chairman Ron Brown also enjoys a close relationship with his 25-year-old son, Michael, a third-year student at the Widener University School of Law. "He's probably my closest friend," Brown says of his son. "Because of the demands of my job, I don't have a lot of time to go out with the guys, so Michael, as he's gotten older, has become more of a close friend and confidante."

Brown also is extremely close to his daughter Tracy, 22, but with Michael, the bond is almost symbiotic. Avid sportsmen, they have maintained long-standing, though good-natured, rivalries on the tennis and basketball courts. They also share a love of skiing.

Though Michael's schooling and the chairman's heavy travel schedule keep them separated for long stretches, they talk on the telephone up to five times a week (Brown talks to Tracy nearly as much), and often stay on the line while watching sporting events on television in their respective locales. "I'll call him up while a game is on just to say, 'Hey, did you see that play?'" Michael explains, "and we'll wind up staying on the line watching the game together, making comments in between plays."

It is not always easy, however, for fathers to grow accustomed to their sons' progression to manhood. Take, for example, Eddie LeVert of the veteran recording group The O'Jays. His sons, Gerald, 23, and Sean, 21, are two-thirds of the hit group that goes by the family name LeVert (family friend Marc Gordon rounds out the trio), and is touring the country on the same concert bill with their dad's act. Life on the road with his sons has been eye-opening, the senior LeVert says. "We have a great relationship," he says. "We're like peers now. But sometimes when we're on the [tour] bus and the guys are talking 'guy' talk about women or what have you, I have to fight the temptation not to jump in there and break it up. But I say to myself, 'These are not little boys any more; they're young men. And this is the way young men talk.' And besides, they're usually very respectful."

Yet, no matter how hard he tries, LeVert says he often has trouble reigning in his desire to be overly paternal. "I think you always think of them as children, no matter how big or successful they get," he says. "Even as big as Sean is, I have a tendency to call him 'my baby son.' And, of course, he gets very embarrassed by that."

It is perhaps in the family business--any family business--that father-son relations are the most intense. Just ask E. R. Mitchell Jr., 36, who has worked in the construction firm started by his father since he was 7. His father, he says, has always been a formidable presence, both at home and at work--a tough disciplinarian who quietly, but sternly, kept his four children in line.

"My father was the kind of man who was short on words and long on action," E. R. Jr. recalls. "His way of telling me about the birds and the bees when I was 13 was to call me upstairs, sit me down next to him in his favorite easy chair, and say, 'You know that thing that little boys do to little girls?' And I said, 'Yes.' And he said, 'Well I don't want you doing that!' And that was the end of the conversation."