A MESSAGE FROM THE PUBLISHER
By Bobby R. Henry, Sr.
As I sit here reflecting on Father’s Day, this one feels different.
For the first time in my 71 years, Father’s Day arrives without my father, Rev. Levi Henry Jr. For more than seven decades, I had the blessing of being able to call him, seek his counsel, hear his laughter, and draw strength from his wisdom. Today, there is an empty chair where his presence once sat, and like many families who have lost their patriarch, we are learning how to celebrate while carrying grief.
As I reflect, I find myself asking a question that may sound strange to some: What would my daddy use his belt for today?
Growing up in our home, the belt represented more than discipline. It represented direction. It represented correction. It represented accountability. It represented love wrapped in responsibility. My father never used it to destroy us; he used it to keep us from destroying ourselves.
And if Daddy were here today, I wonder what he would say about the state of where we are as Black people and as a country.
Before he became Reverend Levi Henry Jr., Daddy was simply Levi Henry—a Black man who stood up to obstacles while navigating a world that was often unfair, unforgiving, and unequal. He wasn’t always a preacher. He knew what it meant to struggle. He knew what it meant to work hard, to face disappointment, to encounter injustice, even death and still keep moving forward. He understood life from both the pulpit and the pavement.
Because of that, he never looked at the world through rose-colored glasses. His faith was not blind faith. It was tested faith.
I wonder what he would say about Congressional District 20 and the conversations taking place about Black political representation and the fear that’s choking the district. Daddy knew firsthand the importance of political power in the Black community. He worked closely with the late Congressman Alcee Hastings and understood the sacrifices made by those who fought to ensure that Black voices had a seat at the table.
He knew that representation was never simply about holding office. It was about protecting opportunities, advocating for justice, and making sure communities that had long been ignored were finally heard.
Would he be disappointed by some of the divisions we see today? Perhaps.
But I suspect he would remind us that our greatest victories have always come when we understood that the mission was bigger than any individual personality, bigger than any election cycle, and bigger than any one candidate.
I wonder what Daddy would say to a judicial system that too often appears to deliver different outcomes depending upon the color of one’s skin. He lived through segregation. He witnessed the promises of Reconstruction being denied to generations of Black Americans. He watched as laws changed while many attitudes remained stubbornly the same.
Would he be surprised? Probably not. Would he be silent? Absolutely not.
He would likely tell us that justice delayed is still worth pursuing and that progress is never achieved by those who stop fighting for it.
And what would he say about the confusion, division, and at times what seems like pure idiocracy coming from Washington?
My father was never impressed by titles. He believed leadership was measured by service, character, and integrity. He believed that power without purpose was dangerous and that public office was a sacred trust.
He would probably remind us that presidents come and go. Members of Congress come and go. Political parties rise and fall. But our obligation to family, faith, and community remains constant.
Most importantly, I believe Daddy would offer us hope. Not the kind of hope that ignores reality, but the kind of hope that survives reality. The hope that carried Black people through slavery. The hope that carried us through Reconstruction. The hope that carried us through Jim Crow, voter suppression, discrimination, and every attempt to silence our voices. The hope that built churches, newspapers, businesses, schools, and communities when society told us we could not. The hope that allowed generations before us to endure so that generations after them could thrive.
Daddy would remind us that we have survived too much to become discouraged now.
On this Father’s Day, I believe his message would be simple: “Don’t let anyone steal your faith. Don’t let anyone divide your family. Don’t let anyone convince you that your vote doesn’t matter, your voice doesn’t matter, or your future doesn’t matter.”
And perhaps most importantly: “Stand for what is right, even when standing is difficult.”
The older I get, the more I realize that my father’s greatest gift was not what he left behind. It was what he placed inside us. His faith. His toughness. His compassion. His commitment to community. His belief that tomorrow could be better than today and his will to live standing up!
So, this Father’s Day, while I miss him deeply, I can still hear his voice. Not in sorrow. But in strength. Not in despair. But in hope.
And if Daddy had one final use for that belt today, it would not be to punish us. It would be to straighten us up, remind us who we are, remind us whose shoulders we stand upon, and send us back into the world with our heads held high, our faith intact, and our eyes fixed on a brighter future.
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. Your lessons are still holding us together.