Father’s Day

Happy Father’s Day 2026!

Some popular media would have you believe that good black fathers are like Carolina cougars — rarely sighted, semi-mythical. But I grew up in a community in which they were thick on the ground, and today I honor my own father, Rederick C. Henderson, and all the fathers (and father figures) of my childhood “village.”

In Bel Air Forest, across East Wilson, and beyond, the protectors and providers I’m shouting out include, but aren’t limited to, Harvey Reid Jr., Thomas O. Lofton Sr., Avant P. Coleman, Bennie J. Woodard, Crawford E. Lane, David J. Speight, Herbert Woodard, Nathaniel Roberson, T. Roosevelt Ellis Jr., Howard C. Jones, LeRoy Barnes, William E. Myers, George K. Butterfield Jr., J. Douglas Hagans, Louis Hall Sr., Charles E. Branford, S.P. Artis, Willis Peppers, James E. Farmer Jr., Elmer J. Cummings Sr., Benjamin A. Harris Jr., Julian B. Rosemond Jr., Clarence Hoskins, Daniel McKeithan, Kenneth Speight, Booker T. Edwards, Franklin D. Jones, James T. Forbes, Chester Ward, Harold Bullock, Charles C. Allen, John C. Allen III, Hayden B. Renwick, Fred L. Valentine, Lucian J. Henderson Sr., and Jesse A. Henderson.

Only a handful of these men remain with us, but their legacies live on.

On Father’s Day.

I talked to my father a lot about his early life in Wilson. Even when his memory began to fade, he enjoyed a ride up East Green Street, where he would marvel that so many of the “big dogs”‘ houses were gone, and the tiny cottage on Elba in which he’d been born was still standing. We talked about a lot of things, but I never thought to ask my father what he remembered about what he would have known as Rountree Cemetery. If I could have one more conversation, Rountree wouldn’t be the first topic on my list, but I wish I’d asked when I had the time. He always enthusiastically supported all I did and would have lent his voice to those crying out for justice for the Lane Street Project cemeteries.

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out here loving and encouraging and inspiring their children. I surely miss mine.