Growing Up Baltimore – “Fathers”
Reginald Smallwood is a handsome, slightly-built 13-year-old honor student, entering the second semester of his freshman year at City College High School. His awards for oratory and debate line the living room bookshelves in the comfortable home where he lives with his mother, Danielle Ward, in Northeast Baltimore
A petite woman with caramel-colored skin, Ward raised her son alone since he was an infant. A graduate of Poly, she works as a medical secretary at Mercy Hospital. Reginald’s an only child and the two are understandably close. But as Reginald moves through adolescence towards manhood, Ward feels that she’s provided with everything she can give – except the unique guidance of a father.
“As a woman, I can only show him so much. I can’t actually teach him how to be a man. I can try to show him what a good man should do, but I still feel that he needs that male figure.”
Ward had Reginald when she was 21. She never married his biological father. Even though the couple parted ways long ago, Reginald’s father lives in Baltimore and talks with his son regularly, even though he does not see him every day.
Reginald says that not having his father around, on a daily basis, has created a distance that makes it difficult sometimes for the two to communicate. For example, he says his father doesn’t recognize that he’s growing up.
“I think he’s stuck with the mindset that, well, I am still a child. But he’s still stuck in the mindset of me being four and five and not understanding the fact of me being older. And still that hovering over the top of me. That’s where we collide, definitely.”
But Reginald concedes he does need a man’s wisdom. Danielle’s brothers have served as surrogate father for Reginald, attending school programs, oratorical contests and taking him to ballgames. As far as Reginald’s concerned, he’s done just fine having his uncles as father figures.
“I think having at least a male figure, definitely should be put in someone’s life, especially a male’s.”
As far as Reginald is concerned, he’s done just fine having his uncles as father figures.
“I think many people get confused that your father has to be your male figure. But it doesn’t have to. It just has to be someone that you have to have a good relationship with, someone that you can trust, and someone that you can just be open and honest to. And, I think many people just try to reflect on what their father do. And that’s why, if their father ain’t doing to right, that’s why they might feel it’s appropriate that what they’re doing wrong is right.”
Across town, in Park Heights, two boys — the same age as Reginald Smallwood have skipped school for the day, as they often do.
“I ain’t had that father figure in my life, for real, for real, so the streets just got my mind.”
That’s “Louie,” a hard-edged, wirey 13-year-old who “traps” or sells drugs as part of a local branch of the Bloods said his father was incarcerated for most of his life. He feels that his life may have been different if his father had been around to guide him.
“’Cause that’s the person that brung you in this world. He make you into a man when you growing up. He tell you right from wrong. He will basically be showing you responsibility. I ain’t never had that, for real, for real.”
The second boy, “Ross,” a hulking 13-year-old trapper, who says he spends most of his free time selling dope on the streets and smoking marijuana, lives with his mother and five brothers and sisters – all but three have different fathers. He says his father was also in prison for most of his life.“Ross” says he holds him responsible for the life he lives now.
“Well, who failed me was my father. Well, I see him, but he ain’t been there in four years. He ain’t give me nothing in four years, so, that’s why I was doing what I had to do.”
Col. Jesse Oden heads the Juvenile Warrant Apprehension Task Force for the Baltimore City Police Department, which is devoted to arresting youthful offenders, like “Louis” and “Ross.” He says he’s not unsympathetic to the situations facing many local teenagers, but he stresses that extended family, even neighbors, can help fill the void created by absent fathers..
“My parents died when I was very young. My father died when I was 4, my mother died when I was 8. My mother’s oldest sister took all seven of us and raised us. Many days I went without, but they didn’t allow us outside past a certain time, when that porch light came on, we knew we had to have our butts on that porch, or in that block, or they came looking for us with sticks, switches, whatever, and they would beat us back from where we were at to the house. We had neighbors that took care of us. If I was doing something wrong, Mrs. Young would call my aunt, and I got in trouble again, they were strict back then.”
Destiny Matthews is an 13-year-old honor student at the Stadium School, who is interested in modeling and acting. She’s says that some of the other students tease her.
“They’ll say, ‘You’re a teacher’s pet,’ or ‘You’re always doing the right thing,’ or ‘You almost never get in trouble.’ And it’s hard because you want to be like the other kids. And you want to fit in.”
Supporting Destiny all the way is her father, Eric Matthews. He was raised in a single-parent household by his mother in Cherry Hill. He said he had to learn how to be a good father.
“I have to commend her mother, because her mother is very family-oriented. She helped me buy-in, too. Because I was more like a man needed to provide work, take care of home. You know, do that responsible kind of thing. Now, I feel that just being a part of my daughter’s life is more rewarding than just putting food on the table. …”
Inside the Maryland Penitentiary, another father, 49-year-old Terrence Perry – the father of five children –says that he can see the results of decades of absent fathers inside the prison walls every day, in the form of increasingly younger inmates, many in their late teens or early 20’s.
“It’s saying that guys in my generation basically blew it. The children that we’re raising, it seems we’re unfortunately raising them to follow in our footsteps in greater numbers. It’s like the problem that we had, instead of solving it, it’s gotten worse, to the point where it’s consuming our young ones at greater numbers than it did ourselves.…”
Perry has been in and out of prison five times since 1979 and has battled heroin addiction and alcoholism. But he said he’s shocked at the changes he’s seen in the prison population.
“What I’m surprised about is the degree of the youth that’s coming in now. It’s a lot more of the young ones coming in, to the point where prison is mostly a place for young guys as opposed to older guys.”
Another inmate, who gave his name only as “Paul,” is doing a 10-year stint for armed robbery. Only 45, he has two grown children, one of them who works, ironically, as a prison guard. He said he’s trying to counsel some of the younger inmates, in part, to make up for the parenting he never did.
“I believe if I had been a better influence, at least to guide somebody, instead of letting them fend for themselves. Now, I’m afraid of the kids I’ve abandoned. I want you to understand that, because most older people are afraid of their own kids, because of what’s going on.”
“Paul” and others talk about wanting to return to their families and their communities, to make up for what they did not do when they were on the outside. But, even those sentiments aren’t enough to make a difference.
I’m Sunni Khalid, reporting in Baltimore, for 88.1, WYPR
Our series, “Growing Up Baltimore,” is made possible, in part, Annie E. Casey Foundation and the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg Center for the Prevention of Youth Violence. The findings and conclusions presented in our series do not necessarily reflect the opinions of these organizations. For more on Growing Up Baltimore, log on to our website at wyprnewsroom.com. Listen next week during “All Things Considered,” as we conclude our series with a final look at the problems facing local youth and possible solutions.
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