If you’ve heard me talk about my family at any length, you’ve likely heard me talk about my dad. Now, he is quite the complex person. He is my role model in so many ways, and in other ways, we are very much different people.
He was my “morning parent” growing up, meaning that he would wake me up for school or wherever I had to be, and ensure that I was fed breakfast and got to school on time. Our mornings were filled with music from various bands, but mostly “The Cure” and “Paloma”. He taught me to have an ear for music. We were always dancing around in the kitchen as I got ready for school, especially when I was really young, and my dog Jasmine was still with us.
My dad and I would often sit together at the kitchen table to share a meal, and it was always a good day when he made me a bowl of oatmeal–or as he called it, “goatmeal”. We had races to see who could drink their bottle of cranberry juice first (which in first grade landed me in the bathroom for an hour because I didn’t have anything else in my six year old stomach to soak up all the acidity of the juice and it made me so sick), but he was truly competitive with me and often would finish the bottle before me!
I have so many fond memories of growing up with him by my side. He always let me be intellectual with him from a young age. I have memories of sitting in his van, looking forward to when I could chat with him about whatever was going on in my life at that time, or psychoanalyzing a friendship I had. He always allowed me to talk without me worrying about being annoying to him. He’s truly a gift to me in that way.
My dad and I had a more complicated relationship starting in middle school. He and I would often fight, and there was a period of time where I couldn’t have a civil conversation with him. We would spend hours after he got home from work, arguing and debating.
I couldn’t stand who I was at that time and I was sick of being a kid in his eyes when I so desperately felt like I needed to be treated like an adult. How could my dad who always supported me so deeply suddenly want to debate my every opinion and treat me like I didn’t deserve a civil talk?
He and I were in a rough patch until I started school at SBU. I went through a few weeks where I didn’t call him, but he came to campus, usually with my mom, and I was still seeing him. I can’t quite place when I could feel our relationship shift to something greater, but for the sake of time, I’ll say our relationship changed when I started my summer at the Mountain.
He was not in support of it, I’d say, but he knew that it was my calling and I felt inclined to do it. He was worried that I didn’t have a car of my own there and that I was too far away, being two hours from home.
During my summer at the Mountain, I saw him twice, I believe. We hardly ever spoke, as his job required him to work more of a 9-5, which was an absolute shift for him. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and while it sounds silly to say it about my dad, I think it’s true. Our relationship began to build into something good once more when I came home from the Mountain.
He and I have differing political views, and as much as it isolates us from one another, I think my own growth and independence have helped me to see the benefits of this. I tend to surround myself with people who are left leaning and more Dem, but to know how another viewpoint sees the world makes me curious and interested.
My dad and I by no means have a perfect relationship, and we definitely have a lot of growing to do, but I know that we both see the value in each other. He was one of my first best friends and that’s something that will never leave me. I was called “Daddy’s Little Girl” because I was just that–his (kind of spoiled) only child/daughter who meant the world to him.
I love my dad and I know he loves me.