My father was a bridge of strength and inspiration

The Golden Gate Bridge, the Brooklyn Bridge, the George Washington Bridge and the Edmund Pettus Bridge are among the most revered architectural and historical landmarks in our nation. Bridges are beautiful, spanning structures that are built to provide passage over obstacles without inhibiting the way beneath. They are lofty mass transit conveyers, moving people toward their destinations.

Bridges are resilient, daunting, formidable, even heroic. Suspended in mid-air above the most intimidating conditions, often with what seems like minimal support, they are able to bear substantial weight.

My father, the late Rev. Dr. Curtis Tolbert, was a bridge — strong, formidable, even heroic. He was a connector, a means of passage over the most daunting obstacles and points of contention within our city — race, religion, education and opportunity. His life’s work was dedicated to removing the inhibitors that kept people from their goals and aspirations.

It was not haphazard or coincidental that upon his passing in 2004 he was memorialized by the naming of a bridge in his honor: the Rev. Dr. Curtis Tolbert Memorial Bridge. Neither was it fortuitous that the bridge bearing his name serves as a connector between Mercer University village and the historic Montpelier community.

My father used the fusion of education and ministry to bring healing and hope to humanity. He levied history and academics to debunk the traditions of men and opened the middle passages of opportunity, advancement and empowerment to those who otherwise would not have access.

Mathematician Sir Issac Newton said, “we build too many walls and not enough bridges.”

Father’s Day habitually pales in comparison to the fanfare of Mother’s Day. For many, the annual celebration of dads erects walls of anger, abandonment and contention.

We need men who, in the words of Simon and Garfunkel, will be willing to lay down like bridges over troubled waters in our communities. We need men who will sacrificially become conveyors of hope and reconciliation, providing safe passage for past, present and future generations over the waters of fear and inhibition, over the floods of failure and lack of support.

Quite often, I take an alternate route to my destination just so I can drive over my father’s bridge. In my passage, I always recall how he fought for so many — at times seeming to lay down so others could utilize him to cross over. Imagine what it means in the life of this African American woman to have had such a man affirm and empower her until the time of his death. He was a great man of faith who never saw an obstacle that could not be overcome. If the obstruction could not be removed, we could always build a bridge over it.

I’m thankful for the impact my father had on my life and for the many others who fondly speak of how knowing him blessed their lives. I am equally grateful for the other dads who pour into the lives of their children and others in need affirmation from strong, positive male figures.

To that I say, my dad was not the only bridge, because every man who accepts the call to fatherhood becomes the means through which others can cross over from helplessness to hope, from despair to destiny, and from trouble to triumph.

This story was originally published June 16, 2017 at 11:30 AM with the headline "My father was a bridge of strength and inspiration."