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If you’re looking for a quick read that will help you understand the fatherless crisis in America, please pick up John Sowers new book. You’ll be glad you did, and you’ll never look at culture the same. You’ll see the crisis in movies, hear it in music and be able to respond when you see it in your own community, even your friends and family. A person prepared to help heal the fatherless wound will be needed by all. Here is the second excerpt from John’s book: Left: To face death and life alone Haunted by the face that was once one of our own. Now, a disembodied cry hangs stranded— Afloat on the howling wind, No anchor to plant us amidst our growing strife, No touch to give us feeling, No breath to give us life. Dad and I kept in touch a couple of times a year.  I continued taking my obligatory visits to Austin every summer.  But those visits were awkward.  Like trying to catch up with someone that you never knew in the first place.  My entire world was in Little Rock.  My best friends, my little league baseball team—the Coyotes, my neighborhood pool, and the [...]

John Sowers is the President of The Mentoring Project, and his book came out last week. I thought I’d feature an excerpt. If you’d like to understand the fatherless crisis, John’s book would be an excellent place to begin…. Fatherless Generation: Redeeming the Story The earliest memories of my father are the few times he came to visit us during Christmas. About once a year, he would drive up from Austin to Little Rock for the weekend. My brother and I usually stayed with him at the Motel 6. Back then, Motel 6 had the big mechanical beds that, for only a quarter, would shake and make a low humming noise. Sleeping on them was like riding a giant, lumbering submarine. My father usually smelled like an odd mixture of Old Spice and musky sweat. And for most of my childhood, I just thought that was how a man was supposed to smell. Sometimes he let me “drive” his burgundy Monte Carlo, which consisted of sitting in his lap and playing with the dark hair on his arms. My brother Bill and I always ended up fighting for his attention. To us, his attention was a prize to be won. [...]