The effect, as Obama's sister Maya Soetoro-Ng saw it, was to make him more independent. "It made him perhaps more introspective, perhaps more thoughtful than many people his age," says Soetoro-Ng, the daughter from Dunham's second marriage, to Lolo Soetoro, an Indonesian student she met at the University of Hawaii. Soetoro moved the family to Indonesia, where Barry lived for four years before returning to Hawaii to live with his grandparents and to attend the prestigious Punahou prep school. The Dunham-Soetoro marriage would not last either.
Every adult in Barry Obama's life, it seemed, was something of a rolling stone -- his grandparents had moved around, and his mother had hopscotched back and forth from Indonesia to Hawaii, getting her master's degree in anthropology and becoming an expert in microfinance. His father? He wrote occasional letters, on a single blue sheet, with messages that seemed disingenuous, sometimes baffling.
"Like water finding its level," the father once wrote, "you will arrive at a career that suits you."
It would take Barry years -- and a 1987 sojourn to Kenya -- to unravel the mystery of his father, who died in a car accident in 1982. The painful truth was that his father had a series of tangled relationships -- by some accounts, four wives and nine children. When he came to the United States, he left behind a pregnant Kenyan wife and a child. And when he returned to Kenya, he took with him an American woman he had met at Harvard, with whom he had a brief marriage and two children.
Professionally, he was prosperous enough to drive a Mercedes and generous enough that family members and friends knew where to go for handouts. But he often drank too much, stayed out too late, mouthed off too frequently. Though a respected economist in his country, he never reached the heights he set for himself.
"His ideas about how Kenya should progress often put him at odds with the politics of tribe and patronage," his son said in a 2006 speech in Nairobi, "and because he spoke his mind, sometimes to a fault, he ended up being fired from his job and prevented from finding work in the country for many, many years."
Abercrombie witnessed the crumbling of Barack Obama Sr. during a trip to Africa in 1968. He and a mutual friend from Hawaii stayed with their old pal in Nairobi. "It was clear to us how disappointed he was," Abercrombie recalls. "He was drinking. There was a bitterness in him, an edge."
Years later, after "Little Barry" had become an Illinois state senator and had unsuccessfully challenged Rep. Bobby L. Rush (D-Ill.) for a congressional seat, Abercrombie telephoned Obama to let him know that he had been a friend of his father's. Obama was grateful for the call, Abercrombie says, but left the impression that "he didn't want to pursue it."
Though both now serve in Congress and Abercrombie is an ardent supporter of Obama's presidential campaign, they have never discussed his dad. "We've never explored it, not even a little bit," Abercrombie says. "And that might have something to do with him."
Obama says he normally sees Abercrombie on Capitol Hill and the conversation is typically about politics and legislation. "It's certainly not out of a sense of avoidance."
But it is also true that Obama, after his election as the first African American president of the Harvard Law Review, wrote a 442-page memoir, published in 1995, that deeply explores his father's absence. It is rich with dialogue, precise recollections and emotion-laden self-analysis. It concludes with several chapters about his visit to Kenya, where he meets siblings, aunts, uncles, his grandmother and his father's ex-wives, and he finally understands the turmoil that consumed his father's life. At the end of the book, Obama is sitting between the graves of his father and paternal grandfather, weeping.
"When my tears were finally spent, I felt a calmness wash over me," he writes. "I felt the circle finally close. I realized that who I was, what I cared about, was no longer just a matter of intellect or obligation, no longer a construct of words. I saw that my life in America -- the black life, the white life, the sense of abandonment I'd felt as a boy, the frustration and hope I'd witnessed in Chicago -- all of it was connected with this small plot of earth an ocean away, connected by more than the accident of a name or the color of my skin. The pain I felt was my father's pain."
At some point, maybe enough is enough.
"I think that book was very cathartic for him, and it was a hard book to write," Michelle Obama says. "It was very hard for him to get all the pieces and make sense of them. But once you do that, you're done. I think he has clarity on that part of his life."
* * *
Those who know Obama say he didn't seem to need a replacement father.
He was always good at finding "different kinds of people he could learn from," says Jerry Kellman, a Chicago community organizer who worked with Obama for three years. Abner Mikva became one of those people, as did the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, his pastor, as did Illinois Senate President Emil Jones Jr., among others.
Kellman notes that "mentors very quickly ceased to be mentors with Barack, they became collaborators. . . . He was able to form intimate relationships with people, but they were friendships. He was not in search of surrogate fathers."
In a speech he gave just before Father's Day this year at a church in Spartanburg, S.C., Obama told some stories. One was about Frasier Robinson, his late father-in-law, whose multiple sclerosis was diagnosed when he was 30 and who made it to work every day at a water-filtration plant, even if he had to rely on a walker to get there. He sent two kids to Princeton. To Obama, a model father.
And then there was the story of 22-year-old Joshua Stroman, now a senior at Benedict College in Columbia, S.C., and president of the student body. His journey brought the church audience to its feet.
"Joshua never knew his father," Obama said, "and when he was very young, his mom and stepfather both died from cancer. . . . He was then taken in by family members who were involved with gangs and drugs. He experimented with that lifestyle for a bit, and his low point came when he went to jail at 18 years old. That's when he decided that his story would have a different ending."
Asked about his encounter with Obama months later, Stroman says he felt the pull of Obama's presence during the few minutes they shared in a holding room. He wanted more connection, but there was not enough time. It would have been "cool," Stroman says, to talk to Obama about what it meant to lose a father. "I guess we do share that link, and we're not the only ones."
W.E.B. Du Bois, Jackie Robinson, Ralph Ellison, Clarence Thomas, Al Sharpton, Shaquille O'Neal, Samuel L. Jackson. All are black men who grew up without their biological fathers. More than half of the nation's 5.6 million black boys live in fatherless households, 40 percent of which are impoverished.
"It's an enormous problem," Obama says, but one he has been willing to engage, including highlighting examples of good parenting, co-sponsoring a "responsible fatherhood" initiative in the Senate and sometimes prodding black men to do better.
"If we are to pass on high expectations to our children," he said in a 2005 speech on the South Side of Chicago, "we've got to have high expectations for ourselves. . . . It is a wonderful thing that you are married and living in a home with your children, but don't just sit in the house watching 'Sports Center' all weekend long."
Sometimes when Obama sees friends who have their fathers to rely on for support and advice, "I look at them with a little bit of envy," he acknowledges. But not remorse. The abandoned son is still working to carve out something positive from the legacy of the goat herder, who also dreamed of changing a nation.
A lot of Democrats offer programs, Obama says, but his personal history has given him something more: "the ability to connect with men who didn't have fathers themselves and to tell them, 'Your obligation is not to perpetuate that cycle of absence but to engage with your child.' " Maybe, he says, that's "something I can offer as a candidate and a president."
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