Family
Daddy’s Girl
It was Thursday night and I was excited. Even though I had school the next day, I could not sleep. Dad worked the second shift, and on Thursday nights he always brought pizza home. I skipped supper just to make sure I could have room for the pizza. I lay in bed just counting the minutes before he came home.
It wasn’t so much the pizza as it was the special time we had together. We would laugh and joke. These were our moments.
Dad was my hero. There was nothing he could do wrong and I was gullible enough to believe anything he said. We lived in a small town in Michigan and the Kalamazoo River flowed through our town. It was our swimming pool and fishing hole. Dad told me he was the one who discovered that river. Oh how proud I was of him! So proud, that I went to school bragging about it. You can imagine my dismay when I found out that it wasn’t so.
Yes, he was a joker. Today I have a warped sense of humor that I credit to him. Somehow, he gave me the ability to not only laugh at life, but to laugh at myself. It is a trait that I often thank him for.
But, on the other hand, Dad also gave me an ability that I wish I did not have. He gave me the ability to keep people at an arms length, not to allow anyone to get too close; the ability to shield myself from being hurt.
Mom and Dad divorced when I was just a teen. For awhile he kept in contact with us. In fact, I even lived with him for awhile. But, he married another woman and it came in between him and his children.
Eventually I moved out of state with my mother. I got married and had my first child. I was so excited to send Dad a picture of my daughter. In return, I received a letter from my stepmother that they were moving and I would no longer be able to contact them. Even though I was now married with my child, I felt abandoned and deserted. I cried for months. Eventually, the tears dried up and pledged that no other human would cause me that much pain again. The only ones I allowed inside of my self made shroud were my children.
Ironic, how even though the tears stop, the questions, the wants and needs still linger. I searched for years for my father. Even though I was told he was dead by his own brother, I refused to give up the search. Thirty years later, he answered a letter. Thirty years later he came back into my life.
Again, I was excited. Again, I became Daddy’s Girl. I called him frequently. The first time I got to see him again, I regressed back to that little girl. Oh how I wanted just to climb into his lap again. Yet, reservations held me back and I kept myself in check.
I went to visit him for Christmas. I felt estranged from my own father. The children he had raised had become more his children than I was and their children, his grandchildren. How unfair it was that my children and grandchildren had no grandfather, yet, his step children did. The closeness they had was unmistakable.
Dad came up to visit and stayed at my brothers. I was excited. Maybe now I would be able to somehow reach my father again and my children and grandchildren have the chance they rightfully inherited to know him. One day, I rushed to my brothers’ house to see Dad after work, only to find a note saying they had left out. Only though I worked only a few blocks from my brother, they could not even stop in to tell me bye. No phone call, nothing, just a cold letter saying bye. We were supposed to have dinner with my daughter that night and my grandson was excited. The tears I saw him cry over my father and the pleading he did for me to take him to my dad crushed me.
Fear of being hurt again crept in and once more I threw up my guard. No longer did the frequent contacts take place. I protected myself the only way I knew how, avoided contact.
It’s amazing how parents shape and mold their children, even after their children have grown.
I know though that this pain has strengthened me as a parent. Knowing that pain first hand keeps me closer to my own children, with me constantly affirming my love for them to them. But, I also know that I have made my share of mistakes and in some way or another let my children down.
As human beings, we will always somehow fail; somehow hurt those whom we love the most. However, I have found a Father though who will not desert me. A Father who is always there for me regardless of what I do. A Father who listens no matter what time of day or night I call upon him; a Father who desires a constant relationship with me.
I realize that I am not the only person who has been disappointed by a parent. To the other parents I say, run to your children, they always need you, regardless of how old they become.
To the ones who have lost trust and faith, I say turn to Yahweh for comfort. He is the only Father, the only parent who will never fail you in someway or another. He is the only one you can truly depend upon.
Kathleen Ann Shelton
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I know, I'm a bit silly.
Good job.
God Bless.
Sincerely,
Dan