Claiming My Voice: From the darkness, the light emerges.

I’ve never met my father. It was only a year ago that I found anyone on that side of my heritage. Turns out dad died when I was 10. I’ve spent countless hours and money looking for him…apparently in vein. That’s Ok. I’ve been given other gifts.

Let’s be clear…I have daddy issues. When I was young and someone implied that I did, I would always get defensive and deny it. I saw having “daddy issues” as being broken and I refused to acknowledge I was broken. More important was that others not know I was broken. It made me feel weak and vulnerable. After lots of self-searching, I can now admit I have daddy issues. What does that mean? For me it has meant that I tend towards wanting to find a man to “fix” me. I thought that if I could only find the right husband or father figure, they would tell me what to do and I’d stop being so screwed up.

What this means is that I put a lot of pressure on my boyfriends and any older man who had the misfortune of having me think highly of them. As I got healthier, so did my relationships. I still have daddy issues but seeing them helps me put my relationships in more perspective.

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A few years back, I had the great fortune to befriend a man who I have come to regard as the closest thing to a father I’ve ever had. Why you ask? Well, it turns out that for every girl with daddy issues, there is a man with daughter issues. One Father’s Day, I took him out to dinner because that year had been particularly hard for him: It had been over 20 years since he had talked to his kids.

We were having a lovely dinner and I was telling him about my new promotion. He bowed his head and started shaking it back and forth, and mumbling something I couldn’t quite make out. I leaned in closer and realized he was crying and he was saying “I’m not allowed to be proud…she isn’t mine.” I would love to tell you that other people’s opinion of me doesn’t matter but that would be a lie. And in that moment, I am pretty sure I sat a little taller and beamed a little brighter. I felt loved in a way I never had before. He loved me and was proud of me and his pride felt inspiring. That was one of the most defining moments for me as a person…and my acknowledgment of these issues.

A year or two later, we drifted apart. It was OK. We had both known it wouldn’t last forever.

Fast forward a decade or so…

Since last year when I found out my dad was dead (and had been for a long time), I have been thinking about my friend. I tried calling but the number I had wasn’t working. I tried to reach out via social media and got no response. Then I got invited to breakfast by another friend and my old friend was there. Those kids he had not heard from had started talking to him again…only to stop…again. My heart broke for him. I wished to ease his pain but the time apart had been gaping and he almost felt like a stranger. I hugged him and told him I loved him and we parted.

The next weekend was volunteering for a local event and the gal I was working with happen to be in a concert for the local orchestra. She offered me tickets to go see her. Of course I would go! My old friend was a huge fan of the symphony. I went back to where I thought he’d be the next weekend and invited him. Due to the pandemic, he had not been to the symphony in years and agreed to go with me.

That night I sat beside him and listened to beautiful music. I don’t know if our friendship will ever be like it was but there was beauty in that moment. Maybe something akin to what other daughters and fathers feel: Comfort in the simple presence of one another and knowing there is love in the in-between.