My Dad does not exist in my life-- Not the Way You Would Think

My Dad does not exist in my life.  I can call him whatever dads are supposed to be called- Papa, Daddy, Dad, Father.  None of those names are relevant and none exist for me.  Not now, and not ever.

After 40 years, It took a 16 year old girl to teach me that I have spent all these years I've been waiting, hoping, wishing, praying, and looking for something that was never going to be.

What I wanted-

Someone who would sing to me,
             pick me up and swing me around,
                  read me bed time stories,
                     give me piggy back rides
                         take me sledding.
                            Answer all
                                         my Whys

Kiss my boo-boos
       Tell me about how stupid boys are and how they'll break my heart.
              Give me chicken noodle soup when I was sick


High five me when I brought my 100s home from school
               teach me how to swim
                    climb trees
                         swing a bat.


Ask me "What do you want to be when you grow up?"
           watch my soccer games,
                  listened to my awful saxophone solos.
                           explain how to do my physics homework.


               In high school he'd proudly watch me
                          win all Northern in Soccer and Softball
                              earn certificates in academics
                                  smile wistfully at me in my prom dress- remembering his little girl.
                                         and when I walked across the stage that summery June evening
                                                    to take my diploma, a little tear would slip through.

And my wedding...
      There he is, graying now, but still strong, watching me approach in a beautiful white dress...
               his baby girl.
          He would fold my arm under his, and hold back a river of tears that he has dammed.
The father daughter dance he would whisper in my ear about that time I
 "accidentally" cut my hair on one side of my head- looking like I came straight from Mad Max movie
             and say "You're so beautiful.  I'm lucky to be your dad."


And even years later, he'd be waiting while I push and Push
          waiting for that blissful moment
                  when he holds his granddaughter in his arms,
                          like he had his daughter.

And now, with the grandchildren growing,
           I would call him with my sadness, my joy, and my fears, my disappointing and remarkable moments as a parent.
                      He would be a solace for me.
                              I would joke about how he's getting older and pretty soon,
                                          I'll be taking care of him.


This is the dad I dream of... but he never happened.
    What did happen were various father figures through my life- my grandpa Ronnie (my rock),  my high school softball coach- Joe Jubinville, my advisor in college- Dr. Paul Johnston, my step dad Clayton (who is awesome step-dad and Papa), my father-in law- Mike Murtagh, who is a great father figure,
              All these men have been father figures to me.  They have filled the role that my real dad couldn't.  They did all the dad things that a girl needs a father for. 

They may not realize it, and I haven't until now- but I never needed that DAD because I've had many dads.... who took it upon themselves to care about me and for me.  Just because I wasn't born their daughter, they've shown me the love I needed at the time I needed it.  For all these men, thank you.
                          Thank you all for loving me like a dad should love a daughter...