My father flunked the 6th grade twice. He was probably dyslexic, among other things, back in the days when dyslexia was called “stupidity.”
He wasn’t a high school dropout, because he never made it to high school. He dropped out of the 8th grade to support his widowed mother in the Great Depression. He ultimately died early of liver cirrhosis.
He sometimes predicted that I would wind up in prison if I didn’t first get sent to the state mental hospital.
But he was always around and had a good job. He helped raise four children who earned a total of nine college degrees including a Ph.D. in Physics and a J.D. in Law. His presence was the main reason that I defied his prediction, despite my worst efforts.
The illegitimacy rate among blacks in America is 77%. That’s right, over three-quarters of black babies in America are born to single mothers. Of the remaining 23% of black babies born to a mother with a husband, that husband frequently disappears.
By the way, this 77% figure for black illegitimacy is up from only 19% in 1940. That was back when racism was truly alive in America but before Great Society programs in the 60’s started paying unmarried women to have children.
Call me racist, but I think having a father is important.
Maybe science is racist too, because science agrees with me. Studies show that children growing up with fathers are less likely to become criminals and less likely to be poor. They do better in school and are more able to hold a job. The real white privilege is the privilege of white children to have a father.
I’m not saying this is all the fault of black culture. Maybe it’s the fault of that systemic racism thing, as in …
Or maybe it’s just bad luck. Or maybe something else. But whatever the cause, it’s a catastrophe.
My mother was my father’s wife. (These days, that statement is not obvious.) She was the only person he was close to. She mattered to him. It was his love for her that kept him around. If not for that one key fact, my life would be completely different. If not for the fact that his wife mattered to my father, I would probably be imprisoned or dead today.
Black lives matter. I’m not saying, of course, that the lives of other races don’t matter, because that would be racist. And I’m not saying that the lives of other races do matter, because that would be racist as well, I’m told, and could even get me stabbed by someone at a big accounting firm.
I’m just saying … um .…
Anyway, as Joe Biden might say, let’s on move. We can all agree that black lives matter without getting sidetracked on the troublesome tangent about other lives. So a question presents.
What can we do to preserve and enhance those black lives?
The feel-good cause du jour is that we should stop the police from murdering them.
OK, I agree. But that seldom happens. If we stop all police murders of blacks, that would save at most a few black lives a year. (Query: While we’re at it, could we stop the cops from killing other races as well, since that’s also rare but more common than cops killing blacks? Or would that be racist?)
The studies I cited above suggest that a better way to preserve and enhance literally millions of black lives is for their fathers to be married to their mothers when they grow up, as my father was married to my mother. How about a culture among black men where not just their lives matter, but also their wives?
We once had a president who was uniquely qualified to speak to this issue. Although he was biracial, he identified as black which was the race of his absent father. But instead of leading his people out of the wilderness, he pandered to them. He wanted to be black more than he wanted to be a man.
Will another black leader be more courageous? For the sake of whites and especially blacks, and for all of America, let’s hope so. Let’s pray for a black leader — and in the meantime for white leaders — with the courage to say, “black lives – and wives – matter.”