Category: Family

A Father’s Day tribute to the fathers who are doing what they should, when they should, and how they should for their children.

Hey, Daddy. Is it okay for me to still call you, “Daddy?” At my age, it seems infantile and off-key… somehow, I feel that you don’t mind. I know you don’t mind. Over the years, I’ve taken the time to reflect on what it must have been like for you, a young father in your teenage years, trying to raise a daughter. What did you have to learn and how? Did you have questions? Were you afraid? Did you look at me and see hope, fear, and pain? How did you manage to pour so much love into me as a man I never knew I needed when you didn’t have a father yourself?

I’ve never met my grandfather. He died while you were still eating icies on park benches or chasing girls on skates. Remember that story you told me about that one neighborhood chick who smacked you in the face with her skate and chipped your front tooth? What were you doing? Ah, yes… you smacked her on the ass when you saw her walk by. Serves you right. I think I even told you that. And you mentioned, Grandma Tiggs (your grandmother, my great-grandmother) whooped your behind shortly after for good measure. Ha! Again, serves you right! You told me you learned a valuable lesson; women’s bodies are sacred and should be treated as such.

You still have that chipped front tooth.

Yet, that didn’t stop you from dipping into and dodging multiple women. You were a quiet ho. You have told me this a number of times. Said you couldn’t outrun the blood in your veins–the many men before you who’d ho’ed around and gotten away with it. Multiple Rolling Stone Papas in our family. You were just following suit–raised by the role models who were too busy modeling in between the sheets instead of teaching you how to properly treat a girl/young lady/woman.

And there you were, looking at a baby girl with your entire face staring back at you. 360° of change crept into your heart. You saw a version of yourself you knew you needed to take care of–needed to protect. I became a means to an end for you… a savior of sorts? Yes! Isn’t that what you said?

Mama mentioned being jealous of me the first few years of my life.

I stole her man.

Me with my big, bright brown eyes. Me with my uneven lips. Me with my smooth, sandy red hair, laid evenly on my head. I stole her man. How could someone fix their mouth to say something like that to their child? I remember cocking my head to the side, shifting my expression, and rebutting, “Oh, is that right?” to her because what else was there to say?

But I look back at our pictures and I notice your smile is a bit wider–a bit happier–a bit more focused, and it was all for me. I was your show-stopper, your new reason for living. So, maybe jealousy was warranted from a woman who spent her high school years chasing behind a man, catching him, then breaking his heart before he could break hers.

I doted on you. Everything you did mesmerized me–I longed to be at my Daddy’s side. 19 years later… after the divorce… after the boys… after trials, errors, tribulations, and victories, you created another version of yourself who looks so much like me. Together, we’ve stolen your heart. You no longer have it. It’s split in half between the two of us. And as much as I wanted to fight her for it when she was born, I cannot deny the fact that she needs it just as much as I do.

And you never loved me any differently. You never changed. You still, Hey Baby’d me every time I called. I only felt like I was losing you because you no longer lived at home. Home was another place for you. In another world, far from what my longing heart needed. I was left with a mother who didn’t know herself, so she ran behind men to find the pieces of her life she dropped in the dank spaces of clubs and hot corners.

I don’t think the boys will ever understand what your girls have with you–what we mean. The first and the last. They’re all in the middle. You have to gather them up one by one and spew different, varied versions of the same scripture into their minds:

• Proverbs 4:1:“Hear, O sons, a father’s instruction, and be attentive, that you may gain insight.” 

• Proverbs 4:1:“Hear, O sons, a father’s instruction, and be attentive, that you may gain insight.” 

• Psalm 103:13:“As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him.” 

• Hebrews 12:7:“It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline?” 

• Colossians 3:21:“Fathers, do not provoke your children, lest they become discouraged.” 

But you can utter only one to me and my sister, and we hear you loud and clear: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him.”, Psalm 103:13.

Now that I am 45 years old, I wonder, how are your early 60s treating you as you still parent me? You are patient. You are kind. You are a critical thinker who passed these characteristics onto me, and you haven’t flinched in your actions toward my womanhood. I can call you with my worries, but I don’t–not often. I can call you when I am crying, but I don’t–not often. I can call you when someone has broken my heart, but I don’t–not often. But when I do, you offer me your undivided attention and you give me the floor. And with this, I throw every inch of pain at it and watch it dance before me in waves.

And most calmly, every single time, you tell me that if life were easy, I wouldn’t grow. I wouldn’t learn. There would be no lessons for me to share with those coming after me. You let me wail into the receiver, you give my tears the greeting they deserve. And then you remind me of who I am and of the strength coursing through my veins.

You are not going to save me from adulthood. You let me lean into it and feel it as I need to, and then… You love me even harder. And this is what I’ll remember, Daddy. It is why I love you as hard as I do. It is why I know until the last breath I breathe, your heart is mine. And my heart is yours.

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For the fathers braving every single day, raising their daughters. For fathers who fall short, yet still pick up the slack. For fathers who give everything they have of themselves to their children without hesitation. For the young ones who manifest greatness, and it seems to wither before their eyes. For every uncle, grandfather, big brother, and caring neighbor who took on more than they should have… I see you, and I love you for your existence.

Happy Father’s Day!