Daddy's Little Girl
I was 25, a nontraditional college student, if you will. A group of equally elderly students and I were having a between-class bull session. My best and only female friend, Steph, was talking about her children's deadbeat dads. I also dealt with a deadbeat dad, but poor Steph is burdened with two of those evil creatures. Her beautiful daughters are adequate compensation, I'm sure, just as my sons are, but things can get trying at times. It's a typical story. Boring, even.
In response to Steph's comments, I went on a 20 minute tirade about the uselessness of fathers. After all, why are they necessary? Mothers have more than enough love, compassion, understanding, and as well as the ability to support the child by herself if necessary. Who needs dads, anyway?
"You're just saying that because you don't have a dad," Steph replied cruelly but truthfully.
"Yeah, but I'd like to have your dad," I replied lasciviously and just as truthfully. Her dad is pretty dang hot.
Yes, I'm one of those girlies who grew up without a father. I'm a bastard, to cut straight to the point. My mother never told my father that I was his. They were both 17 when they conceived me at the junior-senior prom. He then moved away, married, produced a half sister for me, and died when I was 6 during a work-related accident. All without ever having known me.
I've met my sister. I refuse to say half sister because I don't believe in halves when it comes to family. She and I look amazingly alike except that she's missing a few teeth and, probably due to her having married at 15, she looks older than I do. Our kids even look alike. However, after our first meeting, we didn't communicate any more. It's my fault, I suppose. My questions were answered, so I didn't need anything to do with my paternal relations. Sometimes I don't like myself for being this way. Really.
Anywho, I was basically raised by my grandparents. My grandfather filled the role of father, but I always knew that he was not my Daddy. He was my grandfather whom I called Daddy because my uncle, who is only 7 years older than I, called him Daddy. I've never had the opportunity to be Daddy's girl. I've always felt adrift, knowing that I carried my mother's maiden name, which I didn't feel was rightly mine since she was adopted. I couldn't carry my father's name. Only when I married did I feel as if I were taking a name of my own.
So, my five-year-old twin boys and I married my husband, Mac. Their bio-father was nonexistent in their lives by then, my poor little boys. They accepted Mac grudgling at first, but now he is Daddy and loved accordingly. I must say, though, that I'm the one they are close to. It helps that I'm a tomboy who loves football, baseball, basketball, and pro wrestling. I can pitch, catch, throw the old pigskin around. All of this is the happy result of being raised with 3 uncles.
Two years after we married, I gave birth to a daughter. She's gorgeous and strange to me. I've never really bonded well with females. A psychologist would shout that I've searched for Daddy by surrounding myself with men. This is probably true. I love that girl, though. She's my last child (I'm tubally ligated now ;)) and by far an easy tempered baby.
I've seen something strange, though. Mac works 6 days/week. He leaves the house at 9:00 p.m. and comes home around 10:30 a.m. He stays up until about 12, then goes to sleep until 6 or so, which is when I call him to dinner, then goes back to sleep until 9. The boys see him for the dinner hour and that's about it. The girl gets an extra hour and a half in the morning. I've worried that she wouldn't know him or even love him.
She loves him to death. Really.
It's a phenomenon that I cannot explain. He can make her laugh when she's fevered and snotty. He can make her giggle when she's teething. He can get her to nap when no one else can.
I'm so glad, so very thankful, that she's Daddy's girl.
In response to Steph's comments, I went on a 20 minute tirade about the uselessness of fathers. After all, why are they necessary? Mothers have more than enough love, compassion, understanding, and as well as the ability to support the child by herself if necessary. Who needs dads, anyway?
"You're just saying that because you don't have a dad," Steph replied cruelly but truthfully.
"Yeah, but I'd like to have your dad," I replied lasciviously and just as truthfully. Her dad is pretty dang hot.
Yes, I'm one of those girlies who grew up without a father. I'm a bastard, to cut straight to the point. My mother never told my father that I was his. They were both 17 when they conceived me at the junior-senior prom. He then moved away, married, produced a half sister for me, and died when I was 6 during a work-related accident. All without ever having known me.
I've met my sister. I refuse to say half sister because I don't believe in halves when it comes to family. She and I look amazingly alike except that she's missing a few teeth and, probably due to her having married at 15, she looks older than I do. Our kids even look alike. However, after our first meeting, we didn't communicate any more. It's my fault, I suppose. My questions were answered, so I didn't need anything to do with my paternal relations. Sometimes I don't like myself for being this way. Really.
Anywho, I was basically raised by my grandparents. My grandfather filled the role of father, but I always knew that he was not my Daddy. He was my grandfather whom I called Daddy because my uncle, who is only 7 years older than I, called him Daddy. I've never had the opportunity to be Daddy's girl. I've always felt adrift, knowing that I carried my mother's maiden name, which I didn't feel was rightly mine since she was adopted. I couldn't carry my father's name. Only when I married did I feel as if I were taking a name of my own.
So, my five-year-old twin boys and I married my husband, Mac. Their bio-father was nonexistent in their lives by then, my poor little boys. They accepted Mac grudgling at first, but now he is Daddy and loved accordingly. I must say, though, that I'm the one they are close to. It helps that I'm a tomboy who loves football, baseball, basketball, and pro wrestling. I can pitch, catch, throw the old pigskin around. All of this is the happy result of being raised with 3 uncles.
Two years after we married, I gave birth to a daughter. She's gorgeous and strange to me. I've never really bonded well with females. A psychologist would shout that I've searched for Daddy by surrounding myself with men. This is probably true. I love that girl, though. She's my last child (I'm tubally ligated now ;)) and by far an easy tempered baby.
I've seen something strange, though. Mac works 6 days/week. He leaves the house at 9:00 p.m. and comes home around 10:30 a.m. He stays up until about 12, then goes to sleep until 6 or so, which is when I call him to dinner, then goes back to sleep until 9. The boys see him for the dinner hour and that's about it. The girl gets an extra hour and a half in the morning. I've worried that she wouldn't know him or even love him.
She loves him to death. Really.
It's a phenomenon that I cannot explain. He can make her laugh when she's fevered and snotty. He can make her giggle when she's teething. He can get her to nap when no one else can.
I'm so glad, so very thankful, that she's Daddy's girl.
posted by Deonna at 9:44 PM
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