Daddy's Girl...

When I think about my father, a mixture of feelings and characteristics comes to mind. For the first 10 years of my life, I was definitely a “daddy’s girl”. It didn’t matter how much time, or even the quality of time I had with him, whatever he had to give was all good to me. He was cool, a musician, an artist, and he was mine. We would come home from school and hear him playing the congas from down the street. He was fun and he could make the best KoolAid around. Yes, I noticed the drunken stupors, the absence at dinner time, the late nights out, and the arguments, but none of that overpowered my deep love and commitment to him. And then everything changed...

When I was nine, going on ten, my mother sat my sister and me down, and explained that we were going to be moving into my grandmother’s house (who had passed away earlier that year). Of course, my first question was, “what about daddy?” When the words, “Daddy isn’t coming”, came out of my mother’s mouth”, I could feel my heart break into pieces. I grew up in a neighborhood with kids that I had known my whole life, and they were like family to me. My father (my world) was not coming with us and my life as I knew it (as dysfunctional as it was) would never be the same… It was at this point that I learned what the word depression meant.

I had just recovered from a bout with pneumonia, and had just begun the 5th grade when we moved to 235 Cleveland Street. It was a big, old, house in a tough neighborhood. The freedom and safety I felt in the garden apartments that were so familiar to me, was forever gone and replaced with “do not go off of the porch”. My sister, my mom, and I were on this lonely journey to find some kind of normalcy in a place of sadness, anger, disappointment, resentment, and for me just plain withdrawal. I withdrew from my mom, because she changed my world without consulting me on what I wanted. My sister was angry and mean, and my mother was sad and lost. What a team we were. I was determined to maintain the “fairytale” of my father and my importance in his life, so I called him often, but many times he did not return my calls. About two weeks after we left, I would call, but a woman would answer, and I quickly hung up the phone. Astonished that someone else would be answering the phone, I could not imagine what could possibly be going on. I soon realized that my father had been having a relationship outside of our home, and that he now had a new life with a new woman, who was also having a baby. What was left of my heart was crushed once again, but I didn’t give up. I wanted my daddy back, and I needed to do whatever to get him back whether he was putting forth an effort or not (there had to be some explanation as to why he kept making promises and braking them). I still called often, and he promised to come and see me, and often never showed up. I still didn’t give up and would get angry at my mother or sister if they said even an inkling of a negative comment about him. I defended him endlessly. I quickly realized that if I was going to have a relationship with him, I had to be a part of his new family…so that’s what I did. Over the next couple of years, I genuinely cared for his new wife and fell head over hills for my new little sister and later little brother. Unfortunately for me, though this period had some great times, the lows would forever stay with me and some of the things I witnessed would forever change the unrealistic fantasy that I had created of “my daddy” and “my new family”.

Though there were many problems between my mother and father, my mother did a hell of a great job of protecting me and shielding me from the worst of it. Now that I was enveloped in a new family dynamic and much older, that protection and shielding was gone. I won’t go into details, but I was exposed to most everything from alcoholism, drug abuse, awful arguments, inappropriate settings, manipulation (from all ends), and that is just to name a few…This went on from about 6th grade through high school.

Once I went to college, his second marriage had already ended very badly, drugs had become a big part of his life, and I made somewhat of a break from that life that was so very haunting for me. I stayed in contact with my stepmother, little sister and brother, but for the most part I was away and learning who I was, where I fit, and letting go of the image of a person that was never quite what I needed or wanted him to be. I periodically checked in on him, but at this time life really took a downward spiral for him. I remember during one of my breaks, I went to his house, and there were a bunch of strange men (drug dealers), and he was not there. He soon came in, and one of the guys commented on how beautiful his daughter was. Sensing danger, I quickly left with tears in my eyes, and looked back at him with tears in his eyes…after that there was years between our next encounter. I heard he had lost his job, his apartment, and was even on the streets for a while, but all I could do is block him and that experience out of my mind. I went on about my life and being a young college girl…

I had seen him briefly around the time my older sister got married, but then lost complete contact with him again. I had no idea where he was or how he was living. Once I got engaged, for some reason, the thought of not including him in this milestone of my life started to weigh heavily on my heart. I had not seen or heard from him in years at this point, but I went on a quest with my fiancé’s help to find him. We did find him and I introduced him to my prince, and we began a superficial, yet functional relationship. One night I called him, and we had a serious conversation. He was honest and answered a lot of questions and it was the first time I felt close to him in years. I invited him and his girlfriend over for dinner. I was so excited. My fiancé began to worry, because he saw me revert into “daddy’s girl” again. He saw the excitement in my eyes and the desire to reclaim that “fairytale” relationship again. When he tried to talk to me, I told him I was fine, just excited about the possibilities…after all this time, I still hadn’t given up on him…or the image…

I went to pick him up after work, and by the time we arrived to my apartment, all the excitement had deflated and I realized he is who he is, and though I made it through dinner without a hitch, I was completely disappointed. At the end of the evening, we dropped them off at their house, and I cried the whole way home…my prince held my hand and hugged me…and no words were necessary. It was that night that I was able to forgive my father for all he had done or “not done”, and it was that night that I decided to love him for who he was and not who I desired him to be. He was never going to be the Cosby dad…but nonetheless he was my dad.

Today, we have a nice relationship. We talk every few months. He has visited me in my home in Atlanta, and my kids refer to him as Pop Pop. They love him for all the reasons I did as a kid. He is cool, he is an artist, he is a musician, and he is human.

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