Daddy's Little Girl

“A girl’s father is the first man in her life, and probably the most influential.”

— David Jeremiah

Father's Day is coming up and this year I'm making a conscious choice to make sure I acknowledge it in a way that I never have, by owning my truth.  You see, I grew up without a father, even though one was in the house.  Makes no sense, right?  But this was very much my life.  In order to prevent confusion let me define the terms I'm using here.  Father refers to my biological father.  Dad refers to my stepfather. Let me go ahead and say here that you may want to brace yourself because it gets a bit confusing and I've got quite a bit to share. So here goes...

**Trigger Warning**

I didn't develop a relationship with my dad until I went away to college.  I call him my dad now, but throughout my childhood I called him by his name.  That was the most respectful thing I could think of.  

A little background...

Ok, let me back up.  So my biological father died before I was born.  My mom explained to me very early on that he had gotten sick with pneumonia and had died while she was still pregnant with me.  She told me how he was so excited to have a little girl on the way and he would say I'd be his princess. (There's so much more to this story but I'll hold it until the end).  I knew my father's side of the family existed, I just didn't know them very well.  One time my mom dropped me off at my grandmother's house to spend the summer.  I hated it.  I was the only child there and I just remember having to be outside all day, but there was no one to play with. I remember calling and begging her to come and get me because "I didn't know those people."  I never knew of any cousins on that side of the family.  Only an aunt that everyone told me I looked like.  But that was really it. Time and Hurricane Katrina created a more permanent divide between myself and my father's side of the family.  In recent years, I've found that my grandmother and grandfather had passed away and that aunt lives in Texas and has no desire to come back.  Facebook allowed me to reconnect with my uncles who had been looking for and wondering about me for years.  So I hope this side of time will bring about the answers to so many questions. 

My dad came into my life when I was 5 years old.  I remember being so happy to have a "daddy."  My best friend at the time had 2 parents, and that just wasn't my reality.  It wasn't really the reality of anyone in my family, to be honest.  I never really knew a grandfather.  My mother never talked about her father. One of my cousins had a father, but the other one didn't.  So it was pretty normal to not have a father.  So of course it was pretty cool to finally have a dad at home.  My dad was so much fun. He treated my sister cousins and  I like little princesses.  He was the tickle monster.  He'd let us sit on his feet while he walked around the house.  He took us to chuck E. Cheese (well Showbiz Pizza at the time). He would take us on the lake to slide down the levee on cardboard boxes. This dad thing was pretty great and I liked it. 

After a few years my mom and dad shared the news that I'd be having a little brother.  I was super excited to be a big sister.  I was ready to take on the responsibility of teaching him everything I knew.  But this is when I started to see things change.   My dad stopped talking to me so much.  The tickle monster stopped. The rides on his feet around the house stopped.  And a gaping divide became our reality.  In my young mind, it became very clear that my new dad didn't want to bother with me.  The years following the birth of my brother were filled with cold interactions between my dad and I. Conversations sounded like...

Me: Good Morning
Dad: Hello
Dad: Your mother is on the phone
Me: Thank you
Dad: Dinner is ready
Me: Ok  

Ya'll that was it.  There were no deep conversations about boys or how I was a princess or what to expect when dating.  There was nothing.   Just dry, awkward, lack of conversation.  

Daddy do you love me?

I went to an all girl's high school and each year there were father/daughter activities.  My dad joined the dad's club and was pretty active in the planning and execution of the different activities.  The highlight of the year was always the Father/Daughter banquet.  It was an extravagant event put on by the dads with a guest speaker and a fancy dinner.  I always attended, but made sure to sit at a table with all of my friends so at least I'd have someone to talk to since I couldn't talk to my dad.  One time I remember being at the banquet and the speaker was talking about how important it is for dad's to express their love to their daughters.  At the end of his presentation, he asked every dad to turn to their daughter and tell them that they loved them.  I looked around the table and saw the rest of my friends' dads telling their little girls how much they meant to them.  I looked to my dad and he started laughing. 

**insert awkward silence** 

He laughed.  And then he said, "I love you Kim." 

**insert awkward laugh**

I really didn't know what to feel.  I mean, he said it so I should have been happy right?  But I was so...sad. Clearly he didn't mean it.  What had I done for him not to love me?  I really was a good girl.  All I ever really wanted was a dad.  I mean I never had one and it really would have been nice to see what that felt like.  

Understanding

Once I got to college I began to understand why my dad and I were never close.  The light bulb went off one day when my mom was "putting me in my place."  I was set up very well at school.  Though I was there on a full scholarship, they still made sure I had food in my room and lots of things that I could make if the cafeteria was closed.  I never had to eat ramen noodles.  Not once.  I was super fortunate that way. One day my mom was going off on me about something and she said something that planted the seed of understanding. It sounded something like this (loosely paraphrased). 

Blah, blah, blah...with your ungrateful ass (she always called me ungrateful and selfish). 

If it was up to me, you wouldn't have none of that shit. 

I wouldn't spend my money to get you anything. 

You're so damn ungrateful. 

That made something click in my head.  Because, before that point I thought my mom was behind all the care packages (since I'm HER daughter).  But that day I began to think about all the things "they" had done and realized it was all my dad.  So, I decided to give my dad a chance.  The closer we got the more evident it became to me of how things had been orchestrated for me to have an unfailing loyalty to my mother and not to my dad.  The process started when I was really young. "Always have your own.  Don't ever depend on a man.  You ask me if you want something!"  My mom was in charge and it was clear that she was the one who was running things.  So if I wanted permission or anything I could ask her and only her. 

I vividly remember a time when we had first moved into our house that set the tone for many years to come.  We didn't have central air/heat which left us with a heater in the hallway and window units in the living room and in my parents' room.  I'm sure I don't have to tell you that New Orleans is steaming hot during the summer time.  I had a ceiling fan in my room, but it didn't always do the trick.  My usual routine was to crawl into my parents' room that had the window unit and lay on the floor until I got cold enough to go back into my room and make it through the rest of the night.   This one night I did just that.  But shortly after I went back into my room my mom burst in and angrily flipped on the light.  She was very upset.  I wasn't sure why.  She kept screaming, 

Did he touch you!!
Did HE touch you!! 
DID HE TOUCH YOU!!!! 

I was so confused.  

Who? 
What? 
NO!!!  
I was just trying to cool off.  

She kept yelling and I started to cry.  I was so scared and confused. I didn't do anything.  She then proceeded to have me pull down my panties so she could examine me and make sure he hadn't touched me.  Then she turned off the light and sent me back to bed.  

 

Let me pause right here for a second and unequivocally state that my dad has never in any way done anything inappropriate to me.  EVER.  But I grew to understand that he was constantly accused of as much.  Because of the accusations he figured that it was safer for him to just not talk to me.  He chose to keep his hands clear of any further accusations by dealing as minimally with me as possible. Here I was, thinking that he didn't want to be bothered with me because my brother was born.  When in actuality it was his way of protecting me and him from further trauma. 

Now back to the thing about my biological father.  In 2005, at the age of 24, I learned through a 3rd party that my father didn't actually die from pneumonia.  Turns out he committed suicide.  I'm not really sure of the details because all of the information that I have about him is second hand because my mother refuses to talk about it.  My uncles on my father's side have told me all that they remember from what was told to them.  But I still have so may questions.  I only have one picture of my father and only recently learned his birthdate.  I still don't know where he is buried or when he actually died. It's a part of myself that I long for.  I look forward to the day when God allows me to discover the whole truth about who he was and what happened to him.   

Lessons Learned

I've forgiven my father for leaving me.  Things must have been pretty bad for him to decide to leave his princess. I've forgiven my dad for distancing himself from me.  I now know that it was his way of making sure I was ok by sticking around.  Ultimately, I learned quite a bit from him. He is the picture of calm strength and consideration.  I look for those qualities in my future mate.  He also sacrificed a lot to make sure that we were safe.   I've also forgiven my mom for making it difficult for me to have a relationship with him and not being honest with me about what happened with my father.  She must have gone through some pretty traumatic things to accuse the father of her son and stepfather of her daughter of such horrendous acts while still marrying him and keeping him in the home.  That's some type of trauma.  She truly did the best she could.  I pray for the day that she gets the help and support that she truly needs.   I guess I've said all I've said today to bring a few things to light. 

1. You never truly know why people make the choices they make.  There's always a story behind the story. Before judging we have to find out the root cause of the presented issue. 
2. Dads,  fight to be involved in your kids lives. They need you so much.  Especially your daughters. 
3. Mothers, don't rob your children of the chance to have a father.  If he's willing to be involved, let him.  A mother will never be a father, no matter how hard she tries.
4. Get help with your trauma.  The phrase, "hurt people, hurt people" is so very true.  Make a choice to break the generational cycles by talking to a professional and getting help.  Future generations are depending on you to break from business as usual and save your bloodline.