Letting Go…For Dads

  It’s not a requirement, but nothing validates you as a man more than having a daughter. Let me rephrase that. Nothing has validated ME more, as a man, than having a daughter. In the order of all things family, your kids are top priority. You literally have no family without them; you are simply…a generation. I have a son and a daughter. I have a large extended family and as do many people, I hear and share family stories and events with coworkers. My family stories more often than not involve my son because he’s younger, less independent and to cut the crap, he still lives with me. My daughter, however, is on her own, pushing for home and business ownership and unfortunately working hours opposite of mine. I don’t see my little girl everyday like when she really was my little girl. It’s for the best. I’d visit her everyday because I have nostalgia, being the father, and she doesn’t, being the daughter. I’d be annoying and know it and still wouldn’t care. Her only hope to get me out of her hair would be a grandbaby. That wouldn’t change my presence, just my attention. There is no need whatsoever to explain this to a grandparent.

  At my core, not much has ever really changed about me. How I express myself has, over time, as expected. There is nothing about me now that is surprising to anyone who’s known me since childhood. No doubt, starting a family seemed like a not-so-me thing at the time to maybe everyone but how I went about it was all, signature me. Yes we’re all different but I must admit I’m already amongst the atypical personalities. Getting married and having children compounds the interest, if you will. The interest in this atypical story is that little girl of mine. I’m still the same at my core but she is a permanent attachment to that core; worded that way because she came to me as a package along with her mother and she was by far the best part of that deal (😉 Grit). I don’t share pictures at work so outside of HR my coworkers didn’t know her last name. They all heard my family stories and they will all tell you the same, verbatim: he loves his family, he’s obsessed with strangling his son for being too much like him, and his daughter is the apple of his eye. I never use the term step-daughter. I have no idea how anyone else feels but I find it repulsive. I am not half a father. She is not half a daughter. There can be a minefield of emotions to navigate in “step” parenting but that isn’t what this is about. This is just about what she has done to me as a father in general and a man in particular. There was a change in me from day one. I remember the first day I laid eyes on her yet she doesn’t remember a time before me. If someone was to say “I didn’t know she was your step-daughter”, in my head I’m thinking “funny, I didn’t know either”.

  She is not of my blood but she is of my heart. She made me understand more than ever that I had to keep that job no matter what. Love it or hate it until I was able to do more for her. Whatever that job was, some little face was there at the end of the day saying “hey daddy”, ready for our after-work playtime ritual of chases and tickles. Pretty much answering the question of “do I need to put up with that Hell hole of a job?”…yep, see you in that Hell hole bright and early tomorrow morning. I won’t shy away from saying I’ve dabbled in a toxin or two in my life but this was my drug of choice. I could never say no to having that feeling of pure rage all day at work and cursing the whole way home through rush hour traffic all for that reward of hearing “daddy’s home!”. I have so many stories of us growing up together. A funny one to everyone else other than me is not about loving your child and always being there but about knowing when to let go.

  As a young family, a grocery store trip was one of those things we did together and made the most of it. My son was still a baby so all the in-store mayhem was left to just me and his sister. While on her tiptoes trying to look at a higher shelf, I did what any parent would do and from behind, scooped her up from her armpits to give her a better look, only to discover two um…”girly grapes” had been developing on her chest. This had instantly become a trial by fire into fatherhood: stuck between immediately recoil in horror that I no longer have a “little” girl or please don’t drop your daughter on the floor below. I don’t remember but I hope I didn’t sqeek in the middle of the aisle. My wife didn’t see what happened and I’m glad there is no video of my reaction but she later told me I had symptoms of mild PTSD.

I was taught when to let go of things in that very moment. What my daughter and my reaction had unknowingly taught me was I don’t have to let go of what I love. If I embrace change I can hold on and love it as long as it’s there. I didn’t let go. The vomit in my mouth right now as I tell this, shows that I embraced the change and my love is still there today. Love you Sweetle.