Daddy’s Girl: Part 1
“Even if my father and mother abandon me, the LORD will hold me close.” (Psalm 27:10 NLT)
A father teaching his baby girl how to ride a bike, patiently instructing her how to drive a car, consoling her when her heart has been broken by a guy, sending her off to the prom and the most coveted display of affection that every woman hopes to experience; a bride sharing a tender moment on the dance floor during the father/daughter dance at her wedding. Whether it’s watching a commercial, going to the movies or witnessing the above mentioned scenarios in real life, you simply cannot escape seeing the loving bond between a daughter and her father. These are some of the moments that may create warm and fuzzy nostalgic memories for some but for me and others they are more so bittersweet fantasies that we have always dreamed of living out in reality with our fathers.
Like myself and many other women, I grew up without my father being present. In my case, I was too busy living my life like it was golden as any little girl should, rocking rose colored glasses and completely oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t in my life full time. My mother who was a full time public school educator and my dad who served in the military and later as a correctional officer, divorced when I was 18 months old. Even though their relationship did not last, God strategically placed individuals, like my grandfather and other male figures, in my life who surrounded me with love on all sides and (over) compensated for the missing piece of the pie.
I never knew much about my father except I was his only child, he remarried, lived two hours away from me and I was a spitting image of him. He would call, send gifts on special occasions and come visit me from time to time. Every time I had the opportunity to hear his voice or spend time in his presence even if it was for a small amount of time, I always remember beaming with joy. I never wanted those precious moments with him to end because I knew it would be possibly be another six months to a year before I would see him again.
Even the busyness of being an innocent child who was maturing wasn’t enough to keep me shielded from the emotional pain that I experienced from the increasing absence of my father.