"he called a little child to him, and placed the child among them and he said: 'truly i tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.'"
- Matthew 18:2-3
Yesterday while my boyfriend was playing a computer game after i had washed my hair, i lay in bed winding down for the evening. I was combing my wet hair, and crying softly. For all accounts, it had been a perfect day. I spent quality time with my boyfriend, got some good news about a money matter, had a perfect dinner with a glass of pretty good wine, a pint of my favorite ice cream for dessert while watching a movie, and then i lay crying softly in my bed.
It honestly didn't make any sense. Then i remembered why the sensation of combing my wet hair was so comforting. My father used to comb my long wet curly hair for hours until it was dry when i was a child. In wintertime i would wear my long sleeved nightgown, and listen to the sounds of the fire crackle and pop in the fireplace while i perched on the ottoman to my dad's armchair. I was never a calm child, diagnosed with ADHD at an early age it was miraculous to see me sit so still on that ottoman. But i would sit there for hours until my hair wasnt even damp anymore.
It's hard to explain or describe but the act was soothing, it made me feel safe. I was honored and humbled to be loved so much by someone. And my father never rushed, he never yanked the comb through my curly hair in frustration at a particular knot. He started at the bottom, gently working the comb through my difficult hair talking to me about his brother, my uncle who had died years before i was born. Or telling me stories about my grandfather who fought in WWII. Saying something silly to make me laugh, or asking me about school that day and how i was coming along on my times tables.
It's a beautiful memory, my dad brushing my hair. And it confused me that my reaction was to cry, I was blessed with wonderful parents and a pretty spectacular childhood. I had nothing to feel sad about. Except for the fact that I was no longer my Daddy's little girl. I didn't even have the same last name anymore. I was too big to perch on the ottoman and too big for my Daddy to make all my problems go away. He couldn't be my champion anymore. And the man who was supposed to take over those duties, to protect me and scare away the monsters under the bed, to know that some nights i may want him to brush out my wet hair, he was the one who hurt me the most. He lied, and called me names. He blamed me for things i had no control over.
I chose wrong.
And i guess there will always be a part of me that will be embarrassed by that. Just like there will always be a part of me that wants to be that little girl on the ottoman in front of the fire, begging her daddy to make hot chocolate before bedtime. It's hard to face my father now. He doesn't judge me, he doesn't really talk about the divorce. But I can't help but feel as if i've disappointed him somehow. That my poor judgement seems like a reflection of his parenting. But that i didn't represent his parenting well, that i tarnished the honorable life he and my mother built for my family. They just had their 31st anniversary, my parents, and i couldn't even make it to my 1st.
I know that things will get better, that i'll make him proud of me again. That somehow across the years, i will become a new version of his little girl. That i'll give him grandchildren that he will cherish as much as he's cherished me. I can't help but mourn the loss now, even though i know it'll be better later on. I can only hope that my efforts to make the right choices, to be true to myself, to make it over this mountain victorious will honor him. Lord knows, I want him to see my solitary struggle as a sign of strength, and know that it was he who helped me get that strong.
This is dedicated to all the Father's out there who have done right by their daughters and sons. You are rare, beautiful people who deserve to be known to the world as the heroes that you are. Thank you.
-Murphy.
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