Mara Brock Akil strikes gold with Forever. The 1970s Judy Blume classic has been adapted into a Netflix series, and one of its standout themes is the positive portrayal of Black fatherhood through a progressive lens on Black parenting.
There’s no doubt you’ll fall in love with the ebbs and flows of the complicated teenage love story between Justin and Keisha. But masterfully woven into their journey is a standout character: Eric Edwards.
Eric, the father of lead character Justin, is portrayed by Wood Harris. His perfectly crafted character is guaranteed to make good Black dads feel seen. It’s rare to see this kind of Black TV dad represented in today’s, or even yesterday’s, television landscape.
Despite running a successful business, Mr. Edwards remains present in his son’s life. He’s patient, emotionally mature, affectionate, and affirming. He creates open and healthy conversations while giving Justin the space to explore and discover himself, which serves as an extension to his understanding of his son’s condition. That understanding is also reflected in Eric’s fearless love, which comes without critique, coercion, or correction.
The “Boy Dad” champions his son’s loss of innocence, but not in the ways we’ve seen before. Mr. Edwards isn’t the typical portrayal of a Black father. He’s not the enforcer; he’s the gentle parent. He doesn’t perpetuate the tough-guy trope or lean into misogynistic rhetoric.
Instead, Mr. Edwards is tender, validating, and a scene-stealer. He’s the kind of father you dream of having to raise your son.
Then there’s Quincy, Keisha’s father, not a deadbeat, but an absent one. We often use those terms interchangeably, but Akil takes a closer look at how absent fathers can overcompensate and showboat in certain areas out of guilt.
We can debate whether his interrogation of Justin was simply a father being a father, or a man desperately trying to prove he is one, even when it’s clear he hasn’t been present. Quincy knows his pursuit of an unconventional life has contributed to both his career and personal regrets, as well as his failure to show up in his role as a father.
Forever demonstrates how Black upward mobility can be a pathway to healthy and progressive parenting—parenting that begets Black love, a healthier Black society, and a stronger economy. Beyond that, we witness the benefits of this mobility through access to private schools, tutors, speech therapists, driving lessons, and summers in Martha’s Vineyard.
The show explores how children internalize the values reflected in the image their parents present at home. That’s why Justin’s parents were over the moon about the idea of “Black” Keisha; it reaffirmed any doubts they had about whether they were parenting the right way. It was pure Black affluence at its apex, made to feel tangible, and it added another rich layer to the show’s narrative.
Although this isn’t your typical teen drama, it still dives deep into the intense bond between two teenage lovebirds, tethered and barnacle-like, as they navigate first love and life.
Everything about this series feels intentional. From the history lesson about Oak Bluffs, to the portrayal of how Black mothers began parenting differently in 2018, to how Akil made 2018 feel nostalgic, even though it wasn’t that long ago. And most notably, we witness Black love without trauma, in a cultural landscape where trauma porn has become so prevalent in art.
From neurodiversity to emotional innocence, Forever is both refreshing and raw in how it unpacks teenage love as something fleeting, yet essential to self-discovery. It does a fantastic job of distinguishing a crush from a first love, reminding us that sometimes it’s about the moment—not everything is meant to last forever.
