My Father sounds too formal, he’s always been Daddy to me. Which seems funny because I’m a 31 year old woman.
He’s my daddy anyway. He was in his late 40′s when I was born, I was the youngest, a child of his old age.(His words not mine.) The baby they never expected. And I was the only one out of four older sisters and one older brother who he ever carried as an infant.
It was a sign I was spoiled my mother would say. It was a sign I was a brat my siblings would say. I was his last child I would say, of course he carried me.
I wish I remembered more of my father when I was younger, I see him in bits and pieces. He worked alot and then he hung out with his friends in his little garage in the very back of our yard. If I snuck back there, because I had to sneek to go back there, I was sent inside for more beers and griped out by my mother for going back there in the first place.
By today’s standards he might have been called distant but he was just a man raised to be the man that he was. He was kind when I had moments with him, I remember that.
I began drawing because of him. One rainy Saturday one of my nieces was drawing a girl’s face and I saw that this got his interest, because he was an artist, a drawer of wild stallions. He put down what he was reading to pick it up and look at it. He smiled and praised it.
I had never really tried to draw before but I picked up a pen to draw then. I was jealous of my father’s attention.
And I soon had it, as soon as he saw my picture. And it filled my heart with joy to the point I thought it would burst out of me. And that’s all I could see at that moment. Every moment after that was filled with moments of trying to gain that again.
Now, I see something else. I see that I stole his attention from my niece – I didn’t let her bask in her heart filled to bursting moment.
And she probably needed that more then I did. It’s something that I think on and regret now that I’m older. I just wanted him to be proud of me.
And he was, many times he has commended me for being talented at baking or being smart or good at drawing. It made up for those moments when I felt like I failed him. Failed him by not being more traditional, failed him by talking back, failed him by “never being the type of woman any man would ever marry.”
I believe my offence was forgetting to get him a drink with his meal and having my eyes flash in anger at the reminder. Because I can bite my tongue if I really, really try to, but I cannot hold back anger from flashing in my eyes. (He shouldn’t knock it though, I get that from him.) And I ended up being the type of woman that two men would marry, although I’d be foolish to make a point of that.
My Father, my daddy is many things. But when I think on it, it’s the things that he never got to be that I wonder at. He was the eldest in a very large family, which meant he had to drop out of school at a very early age to start working. He loves Science and Astronomy and has tried his hand at inventing things but everything he knows has been self taught. I admire him, and I still try to make him proud of me. Every day I try to make him proud of me. I am after all the daughter who looks most like him. ( His words, not mine.)