My Daddy Issues

It’s not uncommon to see discussions of adult women who engage in Daddy/girl relationships having “Daddy Issues” negatively affecting their dynamic. That the women bring in baggage. I think this absolutely can be true.

One day I was sitting down, talking to a butch Daddy, about an online discussion on the topic of “Daddy Issues” among some women who participate in D/g relationship. I am sure some women and men for that matter, do have some “Daddy issues” that may adversely affect their relationships, but I am also sure many do not. I’ve never felt confused or unclear about my feelings for my father and the feelings and desire to seek D/lg as my relationship dynamic. I’ve always felt my desire for this dynamic has come from a healthy place. I believe it is heavily in part, due to this self-awareness and ability to explain why I chose this dynamic, that I earned my IPE title. And so this is how one night, Sir Raven found herself sitting quietly across from me and listened as I went on to talk about my Dad as I described him, my relationship with him, and about my family…

I was born in Venezuela. As an adult woman, I came to understand that my father’s cancer was diagnosed when I was about four. My family moved to the United States so he could get medical care, first to Ohio, and a year later we moved to Minnesota. By nine years of age my father was dead.

At four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine, I didn’t have a clear understanding of what cancer or chemotherapy really were. I did understand that my dad always knew the day before that he was going to be sick. He would let me and my siblings know, “Tomorrow Daddy is going to be sick and need to have quiet and rest.” I had a sister and two brothers and looking back I can say we were pretty damn well behaved.

I loved my father with all my heart. I tell people that time does not heal all wounds. My father is a person I still miss to this day. Sometimes time softens and dulls the pain and we are able to move forward, but the wound is still there. That is enough. I still miss him and that is okay.

“The wound is the place were light enters.”

I feel when my father died a part of me was suspended. He was the best part of my life. When people say remember a time when you were happiest it is often those memories of my Dad and my childhood in Minnesota. My dad was my sun and my world. He was the best father a girl could hope for and he was mine. He filled my mind with a lifetime of happy memories in nine short years. You see one thing I realized as a woman was that my father knew his days were limited and each day he needed to give me enough to last my lifetime. I was the youngest and so I would have the least and in the end the most of him.

Reading, reading, and more reading, yea!

My dad took us to the Hennipen public library every Friday night. He coached my brothers little league baseball team to the championships. He brought me along and taught me about recording stats and scores. He helped me catch my first fish, took me night fishing and ice fishing. He bought me a violin, private lessons, and when I needed help he took his violin out and tutored me himself. He bought me a flute and private instruction. He let me stay out until dark ice skating in the rink behind my school. He took us to the apple orchards to pick out our own bushel, the forest to cut down a Christmas tree, and explained to me about bees making honey. He taught us to grow strawberries, sunflowers, and winter squash. He took me to compete in three legged races, watermelon eating contests, and broom hockey. He made me play on a soccer team (my sister coached my team), softball team, and drove me to every girl’s hockey team (I was the goalie) practice and game. My dad introduced us to oysters, salmon, and escargot. When I was tired he let me get on his lap as he sat in his E-Z chair and use his belly as a pillow. I could go on and on… He made every day count, because it did, it does.

I’m grown up now and I have met a lot of people over the years. One of the saddest realities I have learned to be a fact is not everyone gets an incredible parent, much less two, like me. He gave me a lot in those nine years. I wish it had been more. I never stop missing him. I do have gratitude though. I really do. My mother and my father modeled what healthy love is for me. I have a good idea of what that looks like. I only remember voices raised between them one time in my life. I remember him as a man of great patience. My Dad was a person I could go to even when I screwed up and after he died I could say the same of my mother. Not matter how bad I screwed up I could talk to them. They taught me trust, honesty, and loyalty. With my Dad there was discipline, but rarely punishment. There was no real need for it, because we respected him. He was a large man who didn’t need to speak loudly to be heard. He was a man of deeds not words.

My friend, Sir Raven, was sitting this whole time quietly listening. This leather Daddy spoke to me and said, “The person who wants to be your Daddy has some really huge shoes to fill… and that is scary!” I was very quiet and I realized she was right. And I thought to myself…

“‘My Daddy Issues’ are that I have very high standards and expectations”, and I can see that trying to fill those shoes would be intimidating for many. I don’t need many though, I just need one.