“My baby is home!” my dad screams every time I walk in the kitchen door, returning from college. The outburst is quickly followed with bear hugs, which the only way to get out of is by saying “alright, alright, I’m here.” I have always been a “daddy’s girl.” Being the first-born daughter in my household, I like to believe that neither of my two sisters is better at it than me.
Despite my love for my dad, when I was growing up, the man drove me crazy. My father spent his career in the Federal Bureau of Prisons. He worked his way up the ladder until he became the warden in both Terre Haute, Indiana, and Coleman, Florida. Besides the constant moving that was a condition of his job, my dad also tended to forget that home was not the same thing as a prison. My childhood and teen years were spent following rules made up by my dad and getting a real look at what a warden looks like off the job.
He was a strict parent, but he was also the best dad I could ask for. Here are eight points from my childhood on what it was like with a warden as a father.
- Before leaving the house, I had to answer 20 questions
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When I was younger, trying to make plans with my friends was a painful activity. For one, my dad had to know their parents. You wouldn’t think it’s that big of a deal, but, my dad wasn’t big on social activities with other families, so getting him to meet anyone required a carefully orchestrated plan.
Once he met their parents, I had to know every detail about the activity we were doing. Where were we going? What friends were going with us? What parent would be supervising? When would I be back home? If I couldn’t answer each of his questions, then I might as well go upstairs and start cleaning my room because that was the only place I’d be going for the rest of the weekend.
- I got in trouble for not giving “relevant” information
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In middle school, I spent the night at one of my friend’s houses frequently. We played volleyball together, so it made it easier for our moms to have us in the same place and take us to tournaments and practices. My dad was fine with this idea, in theory.
My friend lived in one of those neighborhoods where kids were always outside playing in the street, and we would play with them, usually kickball or scavenger hunt. One night at dinner, my brother mentioned to my dad that boys lived in the same neighborhood as my friend (duh?). My dad was instantly upset and accused me of purposefully withholding information, which he claimed was lying. Lesson learned: apparently, before spending the night at my friends’ houses, I was supposed to give a detailed report about the neighborhood demographics.
- My phone was constantly in jeopardy
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After a detailed essay outlining the reasons, I needed a cellphone, my parents cracked and got me one when I turned 10. I quickly realized that this was a burden just as much as it was a gift. My dad would always get upset when I didn’t answer my phone, even if I called him back two minutes later. “I am going to cancel your phone and use the money to get a maid,” was his favorite line to use. Conveniently, that line also worked when he didn’t think the house was clean enough. The man had a way with words.
- I had to learn to be crazier than his crazy
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Because my dad ran prison institutions, he always thought that he was right. Even when he was wrong, he was right. This resulted in several fights in which he would try to make a point by doing some overly dramatic act.
One weekend, we had just moved into our new house, and my dad and I had painted my room. While we were cleaning up the supplies, I set a used paintbrush on the kitchen counter. While this wasn’t my best idea, it could have easily been remedied by telling me to move the brush. Instead, my dad picked it up and started on a long rant about how disgusting it was that I had put it there. “You wouldn’t bite this brush, so you shouldn’t put it where you eat,” he kept saying. I could feel that this was going to be a long lecture, so I took a big bite of the used paintbrush. I got lavender paint all over my teeth and tongue. My dad screamed in shock. To this day, that is my favorite argument I ever had with my dad. I know I won.
- The only shorts I owned until I was 13 were Bermuda
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My dad was super strict about what I could wear. While everyone else was wearing cute little shorts from Limited Too and Justice, I was on the playground with my plaid Bermuda shorts from J. C. Penney. My shorts (and pants) also weren’t allowed to have any writing on the back. The cute sports shorts that had “cheerleader” printed on the back? Forget about it. By the time I was a teenager, my dad had relaxed on telling me how to dress. Although, when I go home, I still get comments that maybe the shorts I’m wearing are a little too short.
My dad also thinks he is an expert in women’s fashion. He is constantly telling me how I should style certain pieces, or that I need a pair of heels to wear with this or that outfit. My father: warden by day, fashionista by night.
- Despite his “fashion” sense, he only had two categories of dressing
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My dad was the king of suits in his prime. He had at least one in every color, usually multiple. He used to pay me to organize his tie and bowtie drawers by color, and he wore hats with literal feathers sticking out from the side. His coworkers used to say that they could tell what mood he was in depending on whether he came in with a bowtie or a regular tie. For work, he was always dressed as his classiest self. It was the weekends that always threw my mom and me for a loop. He would sit down on our couch with stained cargo shorts and a torn white or black t-shirt, usually sipping a beer. It was either suits or stains; there was no in-between.
- Every work event was a family event
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One of the best things about my dad is that he is a true family man. He always said that he didn’t need friends, but he did need family. As a result, whenever there was an event at work, someone in our family always got guilt-tripped into going. It was usually either my brother or me. I would put on a dress, my brother would don a suit and our little clan would head out to whatever dinner or party was happening that night. It always felt like we were the first family of the prison system. What an honor.
- No matter how tough he seemed on the outside, my dad was filled with love
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Growing up, my dad and I got in plenty of fights. There were times when I remember thinking that I wish he had a different job because I knew it would have made growing up different for me; however, I know that my mom and dad did the best that they could to raise me. Besides, I like the way I turned out.
My dad retired from the Federal Bureau of Prisons in January. He enjoys staying at home watching Netflix, taking care of the house and helping care for my younger siblings. His warden days are behind him, but he is still my dad. While having a strict parent may have seemed difficult at the time, I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without him. Strict parents teach us to abide by certain rules and to think our decisions through. Even though I live on my own now, I know there is always a bear hug waiting for me when I go home.