in the exclusionary white middle-class breadwinner ideology. Program messages co-opted the language of provision to challenge the notion that responsible fatherhood requires race and class privileges. In doing so, they helped men resolve identity challenges rooted in fears of being failed fathers.
Hence “being there” was not just about presence. It was about becoming and being a different kind of person who put their children first in terms of money, time, and identity. A responsible father is someone who identifies foremost as a provider, protector, and teacher of his children. Living up to this identity entails changing into a person worthy of these responsibilities, a goal that drove many men to DADS. Alex, a twenty-four-year-old Latino father of one, described in another focus group to passionate nods of agreement how society expects so little of poor fathers of color: “It would be easy to walk away from being a dad and confirm all those stereotypes. But we’re here, we’re students, we’re making money, which can take us away from our families. We’re trying to actually take that step forward and raise a kid in spite of all of it.” To Alex and his fellow participants, being there as responsible fathers involved more than just being around. It required defying racist, classist, and gendered labels about who they fundamentally were and what they were capable of for the sake of their children. “Being there” meant not confirming stereotypes about men of color being mere “sperm donors” who “just hit it and leave,” even when others believed that was all they were fit to do.
Like James, who felt changed the moment his daughter’s footprints were stamped on his shirt, most men described becoming fathers as the most profound experience of their lives. This was true even for those whose children were unplanned. Children’s existence—and their fathers’ reckoning with such an awe-inspiring responsibility—altered the fathers and their sense of self, despite how much they were able to see their kids. Peter, a twenty-three-year-old Black father of two, did not find out he was a father until his oldest son turned a year old. This discovery filled a void in his life and in his identity: “I prayed for this child. I just wanted someone that I can love, support, and everything. My son filled a hole. . . . A good dad is a provider. He also knows how to relate to his child. He always knows what the child is doing, what they can do, what they can’t, their personality.” This deep knowledge of his son gave Peter’s life meaning it was missing before. Unfortunately, that was tempered by the reality that he barely saw his children after their mother got a new boyfriend. “It’s been three weeks since I last saw them, and when I leave, I don’t know when I’m seeing them again.” This uncertainty devastated Peter, but it did not undermine his motivation or identity as a parent. He concluded after describing to me the pain of separation from his children: “You still got to wake up. Either way it goes, you’re a father.” For Peter, being there as a responsible dad meant persevering in the face of extreme hardship and having someone to love unconditionally, someone whose mere existence rendered you valuable despite any personal, social, or economic shortcomings. This life purpose was a gift, one that fathers believed they were beholden to give back by being there in mind, body, and spirit. As men talked about what they believed fathers should provide for their children, they also revealed what children provided for them: a sense of purpose and a vicarious upward mobility.18
BRIDGING THE GAP BETWEEN IDENTITY AND INVOLVEMENT
Although almost all the men told me they identified as good fathers committed to being there for their children, many were involved much less than they wanted. Several indicated that participating in DADS was a way of “being there” because it meant they were working to improve their parenting skills, employability, and coparenting relationships. This aspirational way of thinking about involvement came up most when talking with nonresident fathers who believed that time spent away from children now because of work or school would ultimately allow them to be better, more involved dads in the future.
One particularly poignant conversation about this was with Emmett, a twenty-four-year-old Black father of one deceased child, who described through tears how participation in the program allowed him to maintain his identity as an involved father. He was grieving the death of his daughter, Shannon, who died of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome when she was twenty-eight days old. During our interview eight months after her passing, he expressed deep regret that he did not spend more time with her during her brief life: “I came for [Shannon]. I didn’t come back for myself at all. . . . I continue on the right path to better myself and live, or I go back to what didn’t get me nowhere . . . , making me more depressed. Now I’m here for myself to better myself and possibly for my children in the future. . . . I don’t have her, but I am a spiritual dad. I’m not a dad on this earth, but I’m a father to a child in heaven.” Being in the program allowed fathers like Emmett to claim identities as good dads and providers who showed up to work or school each day and strove for upward mobility for their children. DADS offered men a way of being there when they were unable to see or spend more money on behalf of their children.
Thus, to fathers, being there was not always about direct interaction with children. It could even mean the opposite, in the sense that long stretches of time away from children, especially due to work, indicated commitment to families. The reasons for separation determined if they were “there” or not. Fathers believed they were involved dads even when they were incarcerated or otherwise rarely saw kids. They rationalized that intent mattered more than the level of interaction, especially when they were trying to improve their own lives on behalf of their children. Orlando, a thirty-five-year-old Latino father of five, told me: “Kids need to know their father’s time.” By this, he meant that children knew where their fathers were and when they would see them next. Childhood memories of not knowing when and how much they would see their dads motivated men to prevent this doubt and disappointment for their own children. This is also why men understood participation in program activities as time spent physically away from children, but emotionally and psychologically with them. Knowing a father’s time meant children knew that their dads were safe and doing something for their benefit.
Still, money was central to men’s understandings of responsibility, and many felt demoralized as failed providers when they lacked the means to give their children more. Despite fathers’ efforts to rationalize their relational, rather than just financial, value to children, many still grappled with the breadwinner ideology. Aaron, a twenty-one-year-old multiracial father of three, tried “not to shut myself out of their lives because I’m not providing enough.” His children’s mother would give him a list each month of the items his children needed. He was proud of the times he could afford to buy every item. Yet some months he came up short, prompting him to look for a second job. He too emphasized the importance of being there by “listening, physically and mentally, and understanding my kids’ habits.” But he dreamed of being able to buy anything his children needed or wanted. When their mother gave him that list, he wanted to be able to “tell her, ‘OK, sure, give me a second. I’ll go get the money and bring it right over,’ without even really thinking or worrying how I’m going to make it and help them pay the bills.” A truly responsible father, he concluded, was the kind who could take his child to a store “and say, ‘Pick out anything you want,’ without giving it a second thought. He’s not someone who encourages their child to want less than the best because that is all he can afford.” Like Aaron, many fathers described being there in aspirational terms, as in what they would do if unconstrained by lack of money. These descriptions conjured up images of possible selves who were successful earners and financially comfortable family men. They saw DADS as their only route to making these aspirations a reality.
This is likely why forty-five of the fifty fathers I interviewed told me they believed they were good fathers doing their best to fulfill their parenting responsibilities. Four others told me they were at least moderately good fathers. Only one said unequivocally that he was a bad father. Alas, almost everyone admitted they had doubts about their claims of being good dads, sensing that their actions did not always fully align with their understandings of being there in terms of how much they gave to and saw their children. Fathers blamed themselves for these shortcomings, while simultaneously acknowledging the barriers that prevented them from living up fully to their own definitions of responsible fatherhood.
