Daddy's Girl: A Memoir

Daddy’s Girl

They say you can never go home again.  Whoever said that never had to move back with their parents and never knew my dad.  Since our savings ran out and my husband still had not found a job, we decided to pack up our three room apartment and rent a room in the basement of my father and stepmother’s house.  The arrangement has its perks.  Cheap rent, a beautiful house, and most of all, the chance to reconnect with my father. 

            “It’s so nice having you here,” He said as I pass the open door to his home office, lugging a blue mesh bag stuffed with dirty laundry.

            “Thanks so much, Dad.  It’s been nice being here.  Thank you for letting us stay with you.”

            “No problem, honey. You can stay as long as you want.  It’s nice getting to see you and the baby…and Lisa likes the rent.”

            I forced a courtesy laugh. “Yeah, I knew she would.  I’m glad we aren’t driving you crazy. Thanks again.”   I continued to the laundry room and poured the contents of the bag into the welcoming mouth of the washer.  I’ve always found laundry comforting in an odd kind of way.  The sound of the water cleansing the fabric, the smell of cotton shirts fresh out of the dryer, and my favorite part, the instant gratification of a floor clear of dirty clothes. 

            “You sure do a lot of laundry!”  Dad said as I passed by his office again on the way to the stairs.  

            I laughed again, this time it was genuine. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you have a baby with acid reflux.  Lots of puke on clothes and blankets!” 

            “Oh…OK.”    

I could tell he felt uncomfortable with the remark and I smiled as I walk down the stairs to my bedroom.  My father liked to think that he is a person who enjoys having children around.  But really, he enjoyed the thought of having children around, not the reality. 

            I heard the jingle of my cell phones ringtone when I opened the bedroom door.  I dropped the mesh bag and scurried to uncover the vibrating phone from under the mound of blankets piled on the queen size bed.  The screen glowed and displayed a cartoon image of a girl with long brown hair, big dark eyes, and oversized glasses perched on the top of her head, the avatar of choice for my sister, Brandi.

            “Hey!” I answered.

            “Oh…hey!”  Brandi always sounded surprised when I answer her calls because she is usually in the middle of reprimanding, instructing, or physically intercepting my three year old nephew and eighteen month old niece.  “Hold on just a sec…Orion! Get off her!”  I heard a small voice slur protesting words.  “Ok, sorry. Hey! How are ya?”

            “I’m doing pretty good, how are you?”  I probably didn’t need to ask but I liked to give Brandi the chance to vent.

            She heaved a sigh. “Oh you know, it’s one of those days. The kids need to get some wiggles out but it’s still too wet and nasty outside.  Do you want to go to lunch?”

            “Sure! Where do you want to go?”

            “How about the McDonalds by Dad’s place.  They have an awesome Play Place.”  My sister and I often meet for spur-of-the-moment “play place” lunches on days when she needed a break.  “Will you ask Dad real quick if he wants to come?”

            “Yeah hold on…” I jogged up the stairs again and present my father with the idea of lunch.  He leaned back in his over-stuffed office chair and let out a pensive groan.

“Well…that sounds good but I need to take a shower and get ready first.  So about twenty minutes okay?”

“Alright,” I said and headed for the stairs once again.  “Brandi, you there?”

“Yeah I’m here.”

“Dad says he wants to come but he needs to shower and get ready first and to give him twenty minutes,” I said.

            “Oh okay, so about an hour then?”

            “Yeah, that should be ‘bout right.”

            “Okay! See ya soon!”

            An hour later I buckled my three month old daughter into her car seat carrier, tucked light blankets over her lap and draped a large thick blanket over the top of the top of the carrier.  It was time for the mental check list.  Baby, check, diaper bag, check, phone, check, keys...I patted down the pockets of my jeans, check.  I picked up the carrier and started walking towards the front door.  My dad was pulling on his shoes in his office and is in the middle of tying the laces as I passed him. 

            “Wow, I’m sure glad I got you that jacket for Christmas!”  He called to me, voice dripping with sarcasm.  “It’s nice to see you wearing it. You know, keeping all nice and warm…”

            I stopped and let my head drop back, and stared at the ceiling before taking a few steps backwards until I was outside the office doorway.  “Oh yeah!  You know me, I always wear my jacket!”

            “Oh yeah, right, whatever,” He scoffed.

            “You ready to go yet?” I said, trying to change the subject.  The argument over jacket wearing had been a long standing family tradition christened by my older sister and stubbornly kept alive by me and my father.

            “No, no, no. You’re not getting off that easy. Why don’t you wear a coat? It’s freezing outside!”

            “It’s not that cold, Dad. I’m fine.”

            “You’re crazy! It’s cold out there.  Put on your jacket.”

             “I don’t want to.” I protested.

            “You have to.”

            He probably could have convinced me to wear my jacket but with that last comment, his argument took a kamikaze nose dive by solidifying my resolve to win this battle. “No, I don’t, Dad.”

            “It’s freezing!”

            “Dad, I’m okay, I promise.  Let’s go.”

            He threw his hands in the air and lets them fall to the side in a sign of defeat.  Ah ha, my battle to validate myself as an independent adult is victorious.  Now for a greasy victory lunch.

            My father and I arrived in separate cars and after navigating our way through a narrow parking lot full of minivans and SUVs we joined my sister at McDonalds, the mecca of the young mothers who come to watch their children run, jump, bounce, slide, and scream without the fear of something being broken, and only a mild fear of injury.   We found my sister already seated at a booth just inside the entry arch that opens into a giant hall of primary colors.  The air was thick with the energy of dozens of children with my nephew and niece somewhere in the midst of them.  Other mothers sat alone at most of the tables, some sending text messages from their phones, others reading magazines and books as if lounging at a paradise retreat.  After we ordered, an annoyed looking high school student tossed our burgers onto dingy brown trays and pushed the trays toward me without saying a word. 

            “Thanks…” I said without much thought and took the food to my sister’s table.  Children’s excited shrieks echoed off the brightly colored walls. 

I could see my nephew in a neon pink tube that looked like a giant hamster’s cage suspended high above the ground.  Looking down on us, he pressed his nose to a bubbled plastic window and chanted “Mom! Mom! Mommy! Mom! Mommy! Mom look! Mom!...”

“I think someone is trying to get your attention, Brand,” I said while making room for my tray on the cluttered table. 

“Oh thanks,” She said looking up, “Look how high you are! Wow!”  Fully satisfied, Orion giggled and scurried to the end of the tunnel.  

“I need some Tylenol!”  My father declared as he returned from filling his soda cup. “It’s so loud in here.  Why do they have to be so loud?”

            My sister and I exchanged glances of surprise and amusement.  “Because they’re kids, Dad.”  I said.

“That’s what they’re supposed to do here. It keeps them from doing it at home.” Brandi added.

            “Oh, I guess that makes sense.  But I still have a headache.”

“Here ya go.”  I pulled a half empty bottle of extra strength Tylenol from my diaper bag and slide it across the table towards my dad.           

“Thanks.” He said and popped two of the gel coated pills into his mouth and took a long drink of his Diet Coke. 

My sister waved and beckoned to three year old Orion who was about to jump off the knee of a seated Ronald McDonald statue onto the padded floor.  He successfully landed the vault onto the floor and made a mad dash towards us.  His run was interrupted when he tripped over his loose sock and tumbled to his knees.

 My father jumped to his feet and displayed his concern by yelling, “Oh! Orion! Oh no!”  He scooped Orion from the floor and firmly sat him on the table before looking him in the eye and with the intensity of an Emergency Room physician questioned, “Are you okay?”

Orion’s already naturally large eyes widened to their maximum capability and he stared at my father with a look somewhere between fear and total confusion. 

“Are you okay?” My father repeated, time softening his tone.  Orion continued to stare unwavering, before slowly looking to my sister.

“I think he’s okay, Dad.  He does that all the time,” Brandi said.

“What? He just falls like that?”  Orion reached for Brandi and she lifted him to her side of the table.

“Yeah, he likes to jump off the couches too.” She said, humored by his shock and disbelief.

“Well, okay…” He said and returned to his Diet Coke.

“Two more bites of your cheeseburger then it’s time to go bye-bye, Orion.  Do you understand?”  He nodded his head and slowly chewed his food, carefully avoiding eye contact with my father.

My father’s overreaction comes as no surprise to me and my sister.  Our childhood memories are filled with accidents and tears not created by the resulting pain, but by terror caused by my father’s reactions.

 “Okay, time to go guys.”  Brandi said while trying to feed the arm of her daughter into the child’s small coat sleeve. 

“You ready, Dad?” I asked.

“Yup, I just need to refill my drink.” He said while popping the foggy plastic lid off of the paper rimmed cup.

“Alright, well, I’ll meet you at home then.”

“Okay, honey. I’ll see you at home.”

I carefully passed through an obstacle course of children and distracted parents before reaching the restaurant doors.  The outside air connected with my skin with a frosty blast as I open the second set of doors and step into the parking lot.  A light snow fell against the graying sky and I could see my breath as I lugged the baby carrier to my compact car.  I hurried to open the car door and shielded my new baby from the cold wind.  After placing the carrier safely in its base I hurried to the driver’s side of the car, trying to be careful not to slip on the ice that coated the pavement. I slid into the driver’s seat and shivered as I turn on the car.  I should have worn my jacket.