I don't have a dad.
I never have.
The S.O.B. is out there somewhere. Just nowhere I've ever known about.
I've only ever been Debbie's daughter.
I was briefly a stepdaughter - by law - to a very cruel man that my Mother married when I was a child. Father material, though, he was not. The only positive male role model that I can remember early on is my Grandfather, Inez. And when he was around, which wasn't too often because we lived far away, I'd feel like a princess. Still do. (All his granddaughters do. He's our hero.)
So, when social media is saturated on Father's Day with images of loving, attentive, present Daddies, I find myself in foreign territory; somewhere on the outside looking in on a strange exhibit. I equate it to going to a history museum and staring blankly at a scene set in olden days. I can't relate. That's how they lived? How strange.
I'm not sad, really. Or jealous. Anymore. I'm at an age where I can take a step back and see the events that transpired to get me right where I am; also known as where I'm supposed to be.
Not having a Dad shaped me into the fierce woman I am.
It is said that a Daddy is a girl's first love and the model for all her future relationships. Of this, I am sure. Although, he was not my first love, he and the man my Mother chose to marry later gave me a clear outline of everything I did NOT want. I know now how important these lessons were. The dynamic in my future family would be different. My child would have more.
He would not be cruel. He would not be absent. He would not be unintelligent, possessive or malicious. To these traits, I became intolerant. For this type of man is not a man at all.
Still, I wonder sometimes if he's ever thought about me. Are we alike? I like to think he'd be proud of how I turned out and who I ended up with. I know I am.
My little girl has a Daddy.
She always has.
He's upstairs.
She has never wondered and that is all that matters.
Vanessa Sully
I never have.
The S.O.B. is out there somewhere. Just nowhere I've ever known about.
I've only ever been Debbie's daughter.
I was briefly a stepdaughter - by law - to a very cruel man that my Mother married when I was a child. Father material, though, he was not. The only positive male role model that I can remember early on is my Grandfather, Inez. And when he was around, which wasn't too often because we lived far away, I'd feel like a princess. Still do. (All his granddaughters do. He's our hero.)
So, when social media is saturated on Father's Day with images of loving, attentive, present Daddies, I find myself in foreign territory; somewhere on the outside looking in on a strange exhibit. I equate it to going to a history museum and staring blankly at a scene set in olden days. I can't relate. That's how they lived? How strange.
I'm not sad, really. Or jealous. Anymore. I'm at an age where I can take a step back and see the events that transpired to get me right where I am; also known as where I'm supposed to be.
Not having a Dad shaped me into the fierce woman I am.
It is said that a Daddy is a girl's first love and the model for all her future relationships. Of this, I am sure. Although, he was not my first love, he and the man my Mother chose to marry later gave me a clear outline of everything I did NOT want. I know now how important these lessons were. The dynamic in my future family would be different. My child would have more.
He would not be cruel. He would not be absent. He would not be unintelligent, possessive or malicious. To these traits, I became intolerant. For this type of man is not a man at all.
Still, I wonder sometimes if he's ever thought about me. Are we alike? I like to think he'd be proud of how I turned out and who I ended up with. I know I am.
My little girl has a Daddy.
She always has.
He's upstairs.
She has never wondered and that is all that matters.
Vanessa Sully
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