Father Figure

I heard something come out of my daughter’s mouth the other day – something I had never heard her say before. We were at Six Flags with my father, and we were having a great time. It was a gorgeous day, the sun was shining brightly but it was still comfortably cool. Surprisingly, the park wasn’t that crowded, so there were barely any lines for the rides. We challenged the roller coasters, plunged to earth on the Giant Drop, and went on a simulated ride through space. At one point, Lexie was jogging slightly to catch up with grandpa (who has a tendency to walk very briskly), and had an excited smile on her face. I forget what exactly it was that she was excited about, but the next word that came out of her mouth hit me like a ton of bricks.

“DAD! I mean, Grandpa!” she called, quickly correcting herself.

It was over in a split second, and I don’t think my dad even heard her Freudian slip, but I did. In all her ten years and nine and a half months on this earth, she has never had the chance to call anyone “dad.” At least, not to their face. And it suddenly struck me how sad that is.

I watched her catch up to her grandpa, and saw her laughing and him smiling broadly at whatever his granddaughter was saying. Lexie’s bond with her grandpa is a strong one, and I’m glad she has men like him and her Uncle Bob in her life, but the bottom line is that neither of them will ever be “dad.” Because “dad” is a loser living in a trailer park in Florida who really doesn’t give a shit.

I’ve been replaying that scene over and over in my head, and it really bothers me. Probably because I love her so much, and I feel guilty for sticking her with such a loser for a “dad.” It also could be because ever since she was really little, I was always up front and honest with her about her real father, and told her that someday maybe mommy would get married and she could help pick out her “dad.” But as we know, that has never happened – not even close. So I let her down on that front, too. In fact, the probability that I heard the one and only time my daughter would EVER call someone “dad” (even though it was a mistake) is huge.

People are always telling me that it doesn’t matter, that I am a great mom and that makes up for the absent father. And although I try to convince myself that that is true, deep down I don’t believe it. See, I have a great dad, and I can’t even imagine my life without him. He was the one who sat down to tea parties with me and my stuffed animals when I was little, the one who hoisted me to his shoulders at parades, the one who pushed me to always be my best, the one who fought with me over anything and everything throughout my teen years (but always “for my own good”), the one who I can still argue with as an adult, albeit more good-naturedly. My dad has always been there for me, and always will be. He may not be perfect, and Lord knows there were times when I swore I hated his guts (and he swore he hated me too, I’m sure), but that only made me love him more. Know why? Because my dad is human, and real, and although I may have considered him Superman as a little girl, I much prefer having a mortal for a father. It makes things a little easier, you know?

My dad has a way of driving me insane at times, and frustrating the hell out of me, but I thank God he is a part of my life. When I try to think about what my life would’ve been like without him in it, I literally draw a blank. Because it is incomprehensible. I honestly can’t even imagine growing up without my dad. Heck, I can’t imagine what my life would be like now without him, either. And then I look at Lexie.

Here I am, totally taking my dad for granted my entire life, while my daughter lives hers without a dad. Without someone to give her big bear hugs, to teach her about sports and cars and math (because I’m not that great when it comes to ANY of those), to take her to Father-Daughter Dances and (hopefully) walk her down the aisle on her wedding day. She’ll never be able to say “Yeah? Well, MY dad can beat up YOUR dad!” or hear me say, “Just wait until your father gets home!”

I guess when you have never had something, you may not really miss it. Lexie occasionally will get melancholy talking about her father in Florida, but those times have become fewer and far between as she gets older and more philosophical about the whole situation. In fact, lately she doesn’t even bring him up at all. Which I guess is good, but kind of sad, really.

Funny thing is, it probably bothers me more than it does her. Because I know what she is missing out on, and she doesn’t. All I know for sure is that I will never forget the day she trotted happily ahead of me, blonde ponytail swinging as she called “Dad.”