I Never Had a Father

I never had a father. I had a Daddy. There’s a difference, you know.

A father plants his seed with his DNA into a woman. She gives birth to a baby. The seed planter is a FATHER. I could go on about what his responsibilities to that baby are, and tell you that some men live up to them and some don’t, but that’s a story for another time.

But a Daddy, oh, that’s a whole different story. A Daddy smiles and laughs when he looks into his little girl’s face, even if it’s scrunched up from infantile screeching. A Daddy changes his little girl’s dirty diapers and walks the floor with her in the middle of the night, trying to calm her screams.

A Daddy takes his little girl to the park and lets her have a bag of popcorn, even if at 4 years old, everyone else says she’s getting too fat.

A Daddy drives. EVERYWHERE. The mantra in this little girl’s house was “Daddy will do it.” Meaning Daddy would drive the girl and all the friends who could fit into the car to the movies, the school play rehearsals, the neighborhood zoo at the local park, birthday parties, and bowling alleys.

A Daddy endures the cold and takes his little girl to the frozen pond in the dark of night so she can skate under the stars.

A Daddy holds his little girl between his legs on the sled as they barrel down the snow-covered hill because she’s too frightened to do it by herself.

A Daddy holds his little girl in his arms and lets her sob into his chest over her parakeet, dead at the bottom of the cage. A Daddy gets a shoe box, lines it with tissues, gently lays the bird in the box, and buries it in the backyard.

A Daddy knows what his little girl’s shrieks from her bedroom mean and he’s at her side in a second with a rolled-up newspaper ready to smash that spider to dust – the one that frightened his little girl so badly.

A Daddy teaches his little girl to dance by letting her stand on his feet as they twirl together around the living room.

A Daddy sits quietly and watches his baby girl go on a date. He whispers to his wife – who tells the girl – “Daddy doesn’t think you should go to the drive-in with that boy. He knows what boys are like.”

A Daddy knows what boys are like and doesn’t want them near his little girl.

A widowed Daddy drives two hours to be with his weakened, devastated little girl, whose husband brought her home from the hospital after a heartbreaking miscarriage. A Daddy stays overnight, watching over her as her husband has to leave for a pre-planned out-of-town business trip.

Now a nonagenarian, a Daddy sits in his wheelchair in the Assisted Living Facility next door to his little girl’s home.

For the first time, this quiet man gives a glimpse of the man behind the Daddy. Captivating his little girl’s interest, he tells tales of the explosive temper he exhibited as a young man. The little girl’s quiet Daddy? A temper? She never knew.

He shares stories of his life in England during WWII. He tells of he and the other soldiers sleeping in their clothes with their boots standing up next to the bed, so they would be dressed and ready to slip into those boots when the air raid sirens went off.

He tells of having to go to sleep as soon as darkness fell because lights would alert the German bombers to their location.

He tells of the English beauties who propositioned him, but how he remained faithful to his young wife at home in the States.

He tells of his love for the little girl’s mother, but that his deep, abiding, true love came later - for the woman who entered his life and became his second wife after the little girl’s mother died prematurely at age 49.

He says he’s tired. Barely able to speak, no longer able to swallow solid food, he asks the question that seemed most important to him at that moment. “Was I a good father?”

Sitting by his bedside, holding his hand, the little girl sees a lifetime of car rides, sledding, ice skating, bird burials, dancing, care, and concern – all that made him her Daddy plays through her mind like a fast-forwarding movie as she quietly answers him – “You were the best Daddy EVER.”

The thought that intrudes on her sadness as she hears him draw his last breath is how lucky she was to have never had a father. She had a Daddy, and that was so much better.

©Copyright 2022 Joan Gershman