Why Are We Coming for LeBron and Bronny? The Hypocrisy of Black Fatherhood in America

By Kenneth Braswell, CEO
Fathers Incorporated

Ever notice how we talk about Black fathers in this country? We ask them to show up and be engaged and present in their children’s lives. We write think pieces and host panel discussions on the importance of Black fatherhood. We run PSA campaigns pleading for fathers to be in their kids’ lives. But then — when one does everything we say we want — we move the goalposts. We throw stones. We whisper about nepotism. We find reasons to critique the very thing we claim to want.

That’s why we’re here talking about LeBron James and his son, Bronny. It ain’t really about basketball. It’s about a deep-seated discomfort with the sight of a Black father doing precisely what he’s supposed to do: ensure that his child has every opportunity to succeed. It’s about America’s complicated, schizophrenic relationship with Black men, where we demand their presence and then resent them when they show up in full force.

Let’s be real: This is personal. Any father watching this unfold knows what it feels like to want nothing but the best for your children. Any parent who has sacrificed and maneuvered through life’s obstacles just to carve out a little space for their babies to flourish can feel this in their bones. And that’s why this entire debate over Bronny James getting drafted into the NBA rubs me the wrong way. Because if you dare to utter my child’s name disparagingly, I don’t care what your justification is. I don’t care how much logic you think you’re standing on. We got a problem.

LeBron James is a father before he is a basketball player, before he is a businessman, and before he is a global icon. And like any father, when you come for his child, you will get a response. That’s exactly what happened when Stephen A. Smith decided to open his mouth about Bronny. And the moment LeBron confronted him, Stephen A. wanted to play the victim. He wanted the conversation to be private, to be behind closed doors. But where was that same discretion when he spoke on Bronny in the first place? If you put your opinions in the public square, don’t be surprised when a father meets you there.

What’s wild is how people keep bringing up LeBron’s fatherless upbringing as if that’s a credit to his greatness, but then want to cap how much fathering he gets to do. We celebrate him for making it out, succeeding against all odds, and becoming the man he is without the presence of his own father. But now that he is present, engaged, and using his influence to create opportunities for his children, we want to police how much he gets to be a dad.

Let’s flip the script for a second. If LeBron were out here neglecting his children, we’d be having a different conversation. We’d say he’s another absentee Black father, another rich athlete too caught up in fame to care for his kids. We’d drag his name through the mud, talking about how he’s abandoned his responsibilities. But because he’s doing the exact opposite — because he’s using his power, resources, and influence to create opportunities for his son — we have a problem with that, too? Nah. Pick a struggle. Either you want Black fathers to show up or you don’t.

And let’s talk about the idea of “nepotism” like it’s some kind of new concept. Nepotism has been baked into the foundation of America since its inception. White families have been passing down wealth, power, and opportunities for centuries, and nobody bats an eye. Nobody questioned when Archie Manning ensured that Eli Manning ended up on the team he wanted. Nobody talks about the countless sons of former NBA and NFL players who get drafted and fizzle out. But the moment LeBron James does what any father with power and influence would do, suddenly it’s a debate.

You know what’s really happening here? It’s not about Bronny. It’s about LeBron. Some people just can’t stand to see him win. They can’t find any dirt on him, and it eats them up inside. He’s a great husband. A great father. A great son. A great businessman. A great teammate. He’s never been involved in a scandal. He has no arrest history, cheating allegations, or tax fraud. There’s nothing to tear down, and that drives some people crazy.

They want to believe that a Black man who came from nothing, who was raised by a single mother, who defied every statistic, must have some fatal flaw. But when they can’t find one, they come for the next best thing — his children. Because if you can’t break a man, you attack his legacy. And that’s what this whole debate is really about.

I thought about my own kids as I watched this play out. The years of work I’ve put in, the sacrifices, the long nights, the moments of doubt, all for the singular purpose of making sure they have more than I did. If I have a connection, an opportunity, and a way to put them in a position to succeed, why wouldn’t I use it? What kind of father would I be if I didn’t?

The worst part is that people don’t realize this stuff doesn’t go away. Years from now, Bronny’s kids and his grandkids will look back and see this mess. They’ll see how his father was ridiculed for wanting the best for him. They’ll see how the world told them they didn’t deserve what their family had built. And for what? Because some people can’t stand to see a Black man win without limitations?

Stephen A. Smith can hide behind his journalism credentials all he wants. But the fact is, when you talk about a man’s child, you better be ready for the consequences. That’s a universal rule. Go to any AAU game, any Little League game, any Friday night high school football game, and you’ll see it play out in real time. The second a parent hears someone coming for their kid, gloves come off.

And let me tell you something else — Bronny is already proving his value. Over 500,000 jerseys sold. Over $50 million in revenue for the Lakers before he’s even played a full season. Business is booming, and yet we’re still questioning his right to be there? Meanwhile, the NBA has drafted plenty of players who never amounted to anything, but nobody cared because their names weren’t attached to LeBron James.

This isn’t about merit. It’s about a discomfort with Black excellence when it isn’t through struggle. It’s about a society that doesn’t know what to do with a Black man who wins on his own terms and then ensures his children get to win, too.

There’s no perfect pathway to success. Some kids go straight to the league. Some go to college. Some grind it out overseas. There’s no one-size-fits-all. But what is consistent — what should never change — is a father’s right to fight for his child’s future. And if that bothers you? That’s not a LeBron problem. That’s not a Bronny problem. That’s a you problem.

The next time you think about speaking on another man’s child, ask yourself if you’re ready for the response. Because when it comes to our babies, there is no logic. There are no rules. There is only love, protection, and the willingness to do whatever it takes to ensure they have the life we never did. That’s not up for debate, period.

Kenneth Braswell, CEO of Fathers Incorporated, leads efforts to promote responsible fatherhood and strengthen families nationwide. With extensive experience in community development and father engagement, he drives impactful initiatives and policies. Learn more at www.fathersincorporated.com.