Can't Be A Daddy's Girl No More

I've been putting off writing this post for a while. Because it hurts. Every little girl is supposed to be able to depend on her daddy; he is supposed to be the one man in her life that will never let her down. But mine has. My father has broken my heart over and over again, as well as several others.

Everything used to be okay. Growing up my family was "normal." Or at least I thought it was. It wasn't until I was out of college and back home that I learned my father had had an affair with my mother's best friend. And apparently on the day of my father's 40th surprise birthday party, my mother found a letter tucked in the front door jamb. I was eleven, my brother was nine.

Throughout my high school years I had begun to suspect my father of running around, and my suspicion became heightened after he was arrested for his first DUI, right after my 16th birthday. That was when his alcohol problem spilled out into the open. Pop was more of a passive drunk, though. He would drink, then work the room with his charismatic self, go upstairs and pass out. Never got a hangover, never raised his voice or his hand to any of us. It was when he got behind the wheel of a car that he became dangerous.


After his first DUI, he made an attempt to quit drinking. But I'm almost positive the affairs didn't stop. Over the years I would confront him, and that was not an easy task, being a teenager and calling my own father out. And every time, he denied it. But I wasn't stupid, and neither was my mother.

My parents' marriage quickly deteriorated after the skeletons started coming out of the closet. I still can't believe my mother let my father stay after she found out about the first affair. As soon as my brother left for college, both him and I urged her to leave him. But she was scared, and I understand now why women stay in abusive relationships. It's out of fear of the unknown. The emotional and mental torment my father poured onto my mother trickled down to my brother and I, and we've become bitter towards him for it. We used to defend my father in a sense, to members of Ma's family.

"If you're going to talk shit on him, don't do it in front of me. He's always going to be my father, because his blood runs through my veins too whether you like it or not."

But now it doesn't really matter. My father has left my mother a crumbled mess. She's had to hold herself up for twenty-five years, leaving me with questions floating around in my head like, "Was he ever really a husband? Was ever really a father?

And the answer to those questions is no. There's so much more to the story, but ultimately the reason Ma and I have to sell the house is because of him. The reason I have yet to have a healthy relationship with another man is because of him. He was able to walk away and get off scot-free. He has a mother to live with, whereas both of Ma's parents have passed away.

He lives in his own world, his own personal hell which he created for himself, and his guilt consumes him. But that doesn't do anyone whose life he's destroyed any good. I may have been a daddy's girl when I was little, but I can't be a daddy's girl no more.