When my husband Dave and I decided to start a family, I point blank asked him: “If things don’t work out between us, promise me, you’ll still be there for her.” Through all my insecurities he assured me he would be. My husband, the sensitive soul he is, knew my struggles with not having my dad in my life and he too struggles with a dad’s absence in a way different than mine. We came together vowing to do different for our child.
The family joke is that my dad doesn’t know my name.
He calls me daughter. I met my dad at the age of 8. I answered the door at my grandmother’s house one cloudy day and was bewildered by the dude standing there. I shouted for my granny, telling her some guy was at the door. She looked around the corner from the kitchen and shouted back, “Dummy! That’s your dad.”
I’m sure my mom had shown me pictures and told me about him, but I had more important things to commit to memory, like Nickelodeon’s schedule.
Suddenly, I was excited and wanted to tell him all about myself and I wanted to learn all about him. After about an hour or so he left, and I was giddy that I finally had this thing I never did. Sadly, once the novelty of him being in my life faded, I was left facing an addict who wasn’t at all interested in knowing about me. But I did gain two older brothers and an amazing stepmom who became the parent my dad wasn’t.
I had parental love, just not from him.
Over the years, I chastised myself for wanting something I could never have. I couldn’t make my dad have an interest in me. A fact that burrowed deeper and deeper when I invited him to events like graduations and he wouldn’t show up. When I got married in 2017, I didn’t invite him. I actually had no idea how to even give him an invitation. I haven’t seen my dad since my early 20s. He’s never met my husband or my daughter and I’m not sure I want him to.
Since the day Luna was born, Dave dived into fatherhood feet first.
Being an only child, he had no child care experience, but was eager and excited to learn. Poop explosions and 1 a.m. bottles he met head on. In a world where dads are given credit for the bare minimum of "babysitting" their children, my husband has overachieved. He and Luna are BFFs. Mornings while Mommy sleeps in Dave wakes with Luna and they have "daddy-daughter time." Morning snuggles with Sesame Street, milk, and coffee is their routine. During day care pickup, Luna often runs right past me to her dad for hugs and kisses. She is the definition of a daddy’s girl and that makes me delighted. Yet at the same time, their connection is foreign to me.
It’s still confusing when I think about the connection between fathers and daughters.
I have no experience, but everything I’ve learned about that relationship has come through cultural osmosis. The sitcom version of a girl attached to her dad used to make me scoff. Now I know that’s a real thing. When I watch Dave and Luna play together, I mourn the little girl version of me that didn’t get to have that. The little girl who cried in bed at night asked God why she wasn’t good enough for her dad to love her. I wish I could hug that child and tell her that through those tears she learned what not to do for her daughter.
