A Daughter Growing Up Without Her Father

 Wasn't I worth the time?

A boy needs a daddy like a dance to mime 

And all the time, I looked up to you

I paced my room a million times

And all I ever got was one big line

The same old lie, how could you?

Well, I was eighteen years and still talkin to myself

Where were you

Where'd you go

Daddy, can't you tell, no

And I'm not tryna fake it and I ain't the one to blame

No, there's no one home in my house of pain

And I didn't write these pages and my scripts been rearranged

No, there's no one home in my house of pain

- House of Pain by Faster Pussycat released on their 1989 album Wake Me When It's Over

What a powerful song. This one was definitely one of the many anthems of my angst-ridden teen years. Faster Pussycat put into words what thinking about my father did to me, much better than I could at that time. The pain and anger in Taime Downe's voice was a living expression of my own feelings. This song was Emo way before Emo was cool. 

I am really putting myself and you guys through the emotional wringer, lately. But it has been very cathartic for me. It has also played a nice role in helping me free myself, find myself, and open myself back up. So, thank you for putting up with my craziness and coming on this journey with me. 

Now, let's talk about fathers. More specifically, absent fathers, neglectful fathers, fathers who walk away without looking back. 

My father was all of these. Well, for me, anyway. He was perfectly happy to stick around and be a part of my siblings lives. Maybe he knew how damaged I was going to be. But I am getting ahead of myself. 

My father was around - when it was convenient for him - the first couple years of my life. He was a truck driver and - according to Ma - incapable of remaining faithful. I lean toward believing this since he left me and Ma for one of these women - or so the story goes. 

I was about 2 years old when he decided that I was no longer important to him. One day he walked out the door and didn't come back. Until I was 12 years old, I never saw or heard from him. It was like I had ceased to exist for him. 

When I was 12 years old and in the 7th grade, I discovered that I had cousins that went to my school. One was a year ahead of me and one was a year behind me. I can honestly say that I do not remember how I found out about them or how we started talking. I just remember that, suddenly, we were spending all our time together and I had added to my family. 

For months, I was at their house every weekend. We liked the same music and talked about boys and everything else. It was heaven for this 12 year old girl to finally have a connection to that side of her self. 

One weekend, my Uncle - my fathers brother - told me that my father was coming to meet me. I was both excited and terrified. What would I say to him? What would he say to me? Would he like me? Would I like him? 

The visit went well, or so I thought. We spent hours talking and getting to know each other. He apologized for leaving and for not trying to contact me. He had his excuses and knew how to make that damaged, lost 12 year cling to every word that he said, He found that little girl inside that longed to be loved by her Daddy and he played on her emotions. 

I met his wife and my two younger sisters. I held no anger towards those little girls. I was wise and mature enough to know that it was not their fault that our father loved them and not me. 

At the end of the visit, he made all sorts of promises about staying in touch and seeing me as often as he could. He gave me his address and phone number. When I returned home, I wrote him a letter telling him how excited I was to have him in my life and how much fun I had with him. 

I never heard back. 

At first, I thought maybe his letter had gotten lost in the mail. For the kids out there, back in the day we had to hand write letters - or type if you had a typewriter - then seal them in an envelope and mail them out. Depending on where the letter was going, it could take a few days to a few weeks for the letters to get where they were going. And for a response to come back. 

Anyway, for about a month and a half, I wrote him letters every week. I never got a response. Twice, I tried to call. He didn't answer. I finally accepted that - again - my father had decided I was not worth his time. Everything he had said to me on that visit had been a lie. Not long after, I drifted apart from my cousins. That one was on me. It was just too painful to be around that side of the family. 

Over the years, I bounced back and forth between not caring, to hating him, to wondering what the hell was so wrong with me that my own father couldn't love me or want to be around me.

That last one really hit me hard and coloured a good portion of my life. The thought transferred to every other part of my life. Constantly wondering why I was not good enough for people who were supposed to be my friends or people that claimed to care about me. It became my worst habit to constantly end up around people who were bad for me and didn't truly care about me. 

I pushed away and ran away from anyone that showed even the slightest bit of actually caring about me and that wanted to be a part of my life. Perhaps this is why I did what I did to the guy I ran out of town. There was another guy that I ran from who was one of the best guys I knew and treated me better than anyone ever had up to then or since. But that is a story for another day. 

I did not hear from my father, again, for years. About 15 years ago, my siblings found me on Facebook. I started talking to them through the site and, in 2009, I was invited to the wedding of one of my sisters. I will be honest, I agonized for weeks about whether I should go or not. I had told her I would, but I was leaning more and more toward not going. 

I confided this to my friend, Faith, and she convinced me that I needed to go. If for no other reason than to be there for the sister who seem to really want me there. Faith agreed to go with me and be my moral support. We had a good time - well as much as I could with all the anxiety and emotions that were swirling through me. 

Again, my father apologized for not being there for me. He had more excuses. He swore he was a different man and that it would be different this time. He promised to stay in touch. 

He lied, again. But I had expected it, this time. 

I did not see or speak to him again, until he got sick about 8 years ago. He was in a hospital here in Columbus and I was told that he wanted to see me. Being the way too nice person that I am, I went to visit him. It was the same as before. Apologies and tears and all that. But that little girl inside of me still wanted her daddy to love her. I knew this would be my last chance to win that. 

I have often wondered if he wanted to see me just so he could clear his conscious and try to make sure that he got into his heaven. I never got a chance to ask him. He died in June of 2015. I did go to the funeral - mostly for my sisters. 

I stayed in contact with them through Facebook, for awhile. They were posting all these great memories of their life with him. They went on and on about what a great dad he was and how much they loved and missed him. My heart broke for them. It broke for myself, as well. I did not have those memories. All I had were memories of years of silence, empty promises, of being the daughter that didn't matter, the daughter that was unlovable.

I was the forgotten daughter. 

It was getting harder and harder to see those posts and not comment about how nice it must have been for them. It was getting harder and harder to keep all my pain and anger to myself. Ultimately, I decided that it was better for me - and for them - if I just walked away. I didn't tell them that I was removing them. I knew that they would ask why and I did not want to have that conversation with them. I was sure that there was no way they would understand. Their experience with our father was the opposite of mine. So, I just disappeared. 

If I am being honest, part of me was jealous. It was painful for me to see the life they got to have. The life I was denied. We were all grieving, but in completely different ways, and it was too painful for me to witness their grief. No one from that side of the family had giving any thought or consideration to what he had done to me. And that made me angry. Looking back now, I see that I handled it all very poorly, but it is what it is. 

With time, countless internal pep talks, music therapy, and conversations with my baby sister - the one I helped raise - I was finally able to put all the anger and hurt to rest. I had to accept that I would never get the answers that I was looking for. He was gone and the truth went with him. 

I also had to accept that it wasn't my fault that he didn't choose me. Whatever his reasons, they were his and had nothing to do with me. 

These were good lessons to learn. I was able to use what I had been through and what I had learned to help my oldest son. He grew up without a father, as well. Through his childhood, he had questions. 

He would ask why he didn't have a father. He would ask why Jayden's dad couldn't love him. He would ask if people couldn't love him because his skin color was darker. It broke my heart. But I reassured him that it was nothing to do with him. I explained to him that the problem lay within themselves. I was firm in making him understand that he was very lovable, very beautiful, and very special. 

I must have done a decent job, because he has grown to be a very well-adjusted, funny, intelligent, young man with high goals for his life. He definitely handled the not having a father thing way better than I did. 

To all my fellow 'no father' people out there - please know and be confident in the knowledge that them leaving has nothing to do with you. Whatever their reasons, it's on them. You are beautiful and lovable and special. 

Focus on the people that show you this, every day. Those are the people that matter. Those are the people that deserve your thoughts and attention and love. 

Learn to let the rest go. 

Originally posted on April 2, 2023

UPDATE - I have to admit that this whole thing with my father was one of the hardest parts of my life to accept and move past. Even after posting this, originally, I still struggled with accepting that I was not at fault in any way. Being rejected by a parent - a person that helped give you life - is absolutely crushing. I realize now that it played a major role in why I was the kind of teenager I was. And it played a role in why I ended up in the relationships that I did. And it played a role in why I felt the way I did about myself for so long. But I have, finally, moved past it. All this healing I have allowed myself to do, includes healing from this. It is a relief to be able to walk into my better future without this hanging on in my heart.