PRISON FELLOWSHIP: Fatherhood

The following post originally appeared as a BreakPoint radio commentary.

Now that Father’s Day is past, we can ignore dads again for another year. I’m joking, of course, but society isn’t. And that’s the problem.

We’ve discussed the cultural attacks on men many times before on BreakPoint, how pop culture is fond of portraying them as over-grown adolescents, or worse, as sadistic and violent haters of women.

Ninety percent of runaways and homeless children are from fatherless homes. So are 63 percent of teens who commit suicide, and 39 percent of jail inmates. When it comes to kids’ well-being, nothing is more beneficial than a loving, supportive relationship with their fathers.

Being a father is hard work.  Today’s dads have to be part counselor, part confidant, part disciplinarian, part encourager, part teacher, and part advocate.  A good dad has to be aware of all the things happening in his kids’ lives, and be available when those kids have questions, concerns, or fears.

In January, Alyson Quinn wrote a story about Angela Patton and her idea of holding father-daughter dances in prison.  Such a dance was recently held at the Richmond (Virginia) City Jail, and has garnered a fair amount of media attention.

An article in the Washington Post takes a look at the event, giving a glimpse of both fathers and daughters as they prepare for the dance. 

Through a partnership with the Fellowship of Fathers Foundation, 25,000 copies of a new bestselling book about fatherhood will be made available to Angel Tree dads this Christmas.

In the opening pages of Be a Better Dad Today! 10 Tools Every Father Needs, author Gregory Slayton writes, “I didn’t have much of a dad growing up.

The National Fatherhood Initiative is announcing today the release of an updated version of InsideOut Dads, its outstanding program focused on reconnecting incarcerated fathers with their families.

The InsideOut Dads program is composed of 12 core sessions, with an additional four optional sessions. 

All I wanted to do was give the boy a hug – and I couldn’t. Between us stood a large, heavy steel door. We could only gaze at each other through a thick pane of security glass, eight inches high and eight inches wide.