Growing up I didn't have a father. I had a daddy. A father is a distant being that you know is responsible for you, but you don't exactly know anything else about him. A daddy is a person who tickles you so hard you almost swallow your loose front tooth. A person who tries to race you Every. Single. Time. you get out the car. A person who freaks out when he sees you talking to a boy, and then proceeds to have a talk that is awkward for the both of you. That's what my daddy was, at least. He was my supporter, my biggest competitor, my favorite debate partner, my favorite valentine and the COOLEST dude on the planet.
I have always been a daddy's girl. Daddy would always say that he didn't think parents should be friends with their kids, which I understood, but we were friends. Whether he liked it or not, lowkey, we were best friends. We would have long conversations about things he wished he'd done, places he wished he'd visited, his childhood, and even his relationships (I didn't ask for that one. #gross). There was never a time I felt like my daddy didn't love me. How is that possible, you ask? Well, he would tell me every chance he got. At some point in every conversation, he would say how much he loved me, how much he loved being my daddy, or how good of a daughter I was. Without fail.
In May of 2011, my daddy passed away. It was the worst day of my life. Nothing is worse than losing your best friend. He was very ill and couldn't talk at that point, but the way he squeezed my hand I knew he was saying he loved me one last time. Or at least I thought it was the last time. About a year later, my best friend and I were going through my storage facility looking for a single piece of paper. Spoiler alert — I didn't find it. But what I did find caused me to break down into hysterical tears. Tucked deep away in some random box under a table was a picture I drew of me and my daddy when I was about 6 years old. I couldn't believe he had that. Out of all the things he could possibly have. He had this oddly drawn portrait of he and I. I was in utter shock. I don't know if I was crying because I was happy, or because I was so sad that he wasn't there.
In that moment I knew my daddy loved me way more than I could ever imagine. Why else would he save the exact drawing he was extremely salty about because I drew him with a bald spot? That memory meant as much to him as it did to me.
That moment made me realize that love, not just the devil, is in the details. Even though my daddy is gone, I still carry the love he had for me every day. Whenever I feel low, I have that love to pull me through. With every venture I take, I do it with the intent to make him proud. I can't help but feel that I am. I hope to one day be as loving as my daddy (hell, as loving as both of my mushy gushy parents) to my future kids. He left a great example and huge shoes to fill.
Although, I would give anything to hear him ask me, "Who does Daddy love?"
Brought to you by Fences, in theaters nationwide Dec. 25.
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