One evening a week, for about 2 1/2 hours, men gather in a Walnut Hills storefront next to the Cuts Plus barbershop.

At the Fatherhood Center, 1007 E. McMillan, the 20 men attend a free "Nurturing Fathers" course. They discuss personal issues and feelings, along with the mechanics of being better parents - how to discipline your child, how to build self-esteem, how to set family goals.

Not surprisingly, some of the men talk as much about their own fathers as they do about themselves.

"My father vacated the scene when I was 12," said Larry Mitchell Jr., a 25-year-married father of five. "I don't want my children going through that. I asked myself what kind of improvements I could make in my life so that doesn't happen."

Mitchell, a laborer who lives in Price Hill, saw a brochure about the fatherhood center at an employment agency. Since joining, he's learned that children need a lot of both parents' time; he'd been leaving too much of the burden on his wife, he says.

William C., one of his classmates, is 15 and preparing for fatherhood in December, when his girlfriend's baby is due. He knows he can't support his family by himself yet, but he's planning to help raise his child, he said. Daily.

He's been raised by his mother and aunt; his father is in prison.

"I don't want my mom taking care of my kids; that's my responsibility," the teen said. "My dad wasn't there for me, and that hurts a lot. I don't want my kid growing up without a dad."

Fatherhood, however flawed, is crucial to young lives, says Calvin L. Williams, who runs the 14-week course, part of the Fatherhood Project, a national movement that posits that "men want to father well."

Williams, like his students, tackles his fatherhood issues by coming to grips with his difficult childhood and young adulthood. At age 11, he chose to live with his father after his parents divorced.

His father was a loving, nurturing role model, Williams said.

"When I think about my dad, I remember his hands," he said, "real big, soft hands, and the smell of Old Spice, and his pleasant and positive demeanor."

Williams recalls hearty home cooking, the "ridiculously fat" hamburgers his dad would make, and the smiley faces his dad drew on his lunch bags.

But his father, Clarence Williams, had problems Calvin didn't know about.

After Williams joined the Marine Corps, his parents reconciled. In 1981, his father shot his mother in their Louisville home; she died two weeks later.

Williams spoke with his father afterward, but he didn't appear to register what had happened. At age 69, Clarence Williams was sentenced to 20 years in prison, where he suffered dementia and died 10 years later.

Now Calvin Williams finds working with men, and even raising his own 9-year-old son, Aaron Jamal, healing. He says he draws from the best memories of his father to encourage fathers to be their best.

"We talk about making deposits into our children," he said. "These types of deposits my dad put into me ... helped me maintain the light inside of me."

E-mail damos@enquirer.com or phone 768-8395