Daddy's Girl

Last night I was up late doing taxes, or more precisely waiting for Turbo Tax to file my taxes, the actual process was less than 30 minutes and was one of the best paid 30 minutes of my life so far at $33 dollars earned per minute. Anyway, I was up late and had the joy of a nice long talk with a dear friend. I had another talk with another friend the night before as well and there was a common thread in both conversations (though for different reasons and different amounts of time), my father. Further when I visited a dear and almost lost friend over a week ago (for the first time in over a decade!) he was discussed then too. It got me to thinking about who and what Dad's are.

The most immediate part to that discussion is who my Dad is. My Dad is tall and straight with a worry creased forehead that his receding hairline doesn't cover and deep set eyes. He has defined brows that he can raise one at a time. He has a "perfect" straight nose, surgically created after he broke his twice and thin lips that get thinner when he smiles, rarely showing white teeth. His eyes are a piercing blue and his hair is slowly becoming all white, especially at his temples and surrounding the increasing circle at the top of his head. I have always thought he was handsome, a cross between Liam Nieson, William Hurt with a little Harrison Ford thrown in for attitude. He was a career military officer, 22 years in the USN (on top of a childhood as a Navy Brat to his father's 30 years of distinguished Naval service), and now has a PhD in Public Administration and policy. His specialties are Human Resourse Management and Ethics. He occasionally teaches, writes, goes to conferences, supports his wife in all her endeavors and keeps a close watch on his single daughter in Atlanta and a casual yet careful eye on his married son in Vermont. When his first wife left him with two devastated teenagers to raise (one a girl and he didn't even have sisters!), he took a deep breath, leaned into the harness and became one of the best fathers I know. Not perfect, but very good. Many people find him dry, but astute, cynical yet kind and very wise. To me, he is simply Daddy.

As a teacher I meet Dad's all the time, though not as much as mom's. Dad's are often swifter to discipline and harder to impress. Students who have fathers with an active roll in their life tend to speak about them with slightly awed hushed tones, even if there is also disdain or dislike. Sometimes I can tell someone is a great Dad and sometimes I can tell when they are not, but mostly I can simply tell that they are Dad's. Understand I am talking about a man who is actively involved in the raising of a child, not someone who has submitted his genetic material to create a life. Dad's are definitely uniquely positioned in our memories, whether by their presence or their absence.

But the thing I have really spent the second half of my life learning is that Dad's are above all else, people. They are subject to the same fears, concerns, mistakes and joys that the rest of us are. They are fallible, some of them their single flaw simply being absent (and that can be a physical or emotional thing). Some of them would be less flawed if they were not around. Those of us that have father's active in our lives often have a moment when we finally realize that they are simply human and that not only were they once young like us, but that the human soul is ageless and they are often uncertain, scared and sad just like we are. We also learn that they are not so much smarter, better or stronger than us, they have simply been at life longer and have learned more tricks of the trade.

The beautiful young lady I spoke to last night has to make that difficult transition from child to adult in her father's eyes. It is a long, hard struggle and a major part of growing up for us Daddy's Girls. Thankfully, she, like I, was blessed with a terrific and loving father. As I listened to her struggling with her desire to love and honor her father and her desire to make her own choices (and her own mistakes) I found myself going back through my own moments in that process. These are the things that I saw and the things that have caused my reflection (and therefore Blog Entry) today.

The day I knew my father was above all, just a man, a human man whose soul could bleed, was one day while my parents were still living together, though they had already decided to separate. I was cleaning my room, which meant I had a huge garbage bag full of papers and was picking up more. My parents were arguing and my father left his room, ran into mine and grabbed me to him so tight I couldn't breathe. He sobbed into my shoulder for a few minutes, as I had sobbed into his so many times. Then he took a deep breath, stood up straight and smiled at me, sadly. He finished helping me pick up the papers and then he went out to the garage to take the car to go get my brother from some activity or another. It was the first time I had seen my father in tears. While it has not been the last, it was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I was not only afraid for him, I was afraid of him. He was supposed to be my protector and if he was falling apart then what did I have to cling to?

Later that year came the fights. Horrible things were said and I imagine worse things were thought, though unlike arguments with my brother (or even my mother) I learned to trust that Dad and I had boundaries, we could argue and it wasn't the end of the world and that there were rules I could trust, things we would never say or do to hurt each other. I have found true confidence in that truth no where else in my life.

Now, 15 years later, he is truly one of my best friends and he has told me I am one of his. I find myself so honored and proud of our connection. We talk a few times a week, sometimes briefly, sometimes over an hour. I visit four times a year or so and we stay up all night sometimes. Often we talk of important things, but just as often we talk about books or science fiction (or lately, the TV show House). We laugh and sometimes we even cry. When I need him to be my Dad or my Daddy, he opens his arms and he is, but more often than not now, I just need him to be my friend and he opens his arms and is. Sometimes he calls me, just to talk, and I just listen and sometimes he laughs and sometimes he cries and I just listen and love him as his daughter and as his friend and it's okay. When his mother died, like I had all those years ago when my Mom left, I held him and let him cry into my shoulder (his wife did too, but I am a foot taller than she is and so I was better at holding Dad up... ) and this time I wasn't terrified. Mostly I was honored. I also found myself recognizing that if we had not had the horrific terrifying moment, if we had not built trust through adversity, this moment would not have been possible. As awful as those moments were, being my father's friend, has made them worth it.

I think there is a reason people talk to me about their fathers and a reason people always remember and ask me about mine. What my Dad and I have is special, but it was born of fire and testing and it was hard work. So as I pray for my friend today, that she will get through a difficult time and that she will someday be as blessed in her relationship with her Dad as I am in mine, I find myself confidant that this time will be worth it and will bear for her that same fruit, though it will take time.

As a final thought, I can't help but think it's funny that many people like to tease me that I am a "Daddy's Girl." It always makes me smile and I always say, "thank-you!"