I Was A Happy Daddy’s Girl

An essay about dads raising girls, and moms raising boys

In light of the Tyre Nichols situation I wrote about earlier, some commenters were upset when I said “women were not meant to raise men” — they forgot to read the part where I said that they could, but sons require unique answers from men and vice versa when it comes to men raising girls to be women. I decided to share my story here, briefly in honor of my father who transitioned from this world on December 2012.

I remember my father telling me one day,

“Erica — I did not see myself as a 24-year-old man, raising two girls by myself. No young man sees that.”

I nodded my head because of course, most young men of today do not even dream of caring for children.

My father did not say this to say he did not dream of a family. He said it because it was surprising. He and my mom got married a few years after I was born, and I recall her always fixing hot oatmeal in the mornings and later she and I watching the small television set waiting for Wonder Woman to come on, and then her stories.

My father worked at the shipyard at first, for a few years — working odd hours into the night to provide a roof over our heads and other necessities. At the time, my mom didn’t work. She took care of me and my sister at home.

Over the years, like most American families, mom and dad could not make it together anymore. Some would gossip and say my mother was a part time mother, she was too young and immature, or that she was an unfit mother. What they did not know, was that dad made most of the money. Sure, she was working, but the courts awarded us to him and he was glad. He fought to have us, and won.

Mom had visitation rights of course. We saw her weekly, but dad took care of us 99.99% of the time.

I became a tomboy.

I had male friends while in elementary school. I fought and defended myself. Became excellent at kickball, baseball, and entered tennis tournaments through a tennis program dad signed me up for. My sister became a cheerleader one year, took a dance class with me and played baseball too for a little while.

I sparred with dad sometimes and he taught me some defense moves I have forgotten over the years.

I was certainly able to take care of myself. Bullies that messed with me and thought I was too”delicate” got a harsh rebuttal from me. If they laid a hand on me, they regretted it with hurt souls and black eyes.

I remember my father washing my hair, scrubbing it clean. Him, learning to smooth down our tresses and place our hair into ponytails; neatly parting and placing those jawbreaker looking barrettes upon our hair. People in school swore mom did it, but were surprised that out of all the families in our community, my dad was the one caring for us and doing our hair.

My aunt, God rest her soul, helped out most mornings. Dad would have her come by and plait our hair and take us to school when he had to leave very early for work. When I first caught my menstruation, it was my older female cousin I called. I came home early that day and my father just looked at me and backed up, “Hey you got your cousin and mom for this part.”

He backed up like I had the plague or grew fangs — the funniest moment of my life now that I think back on it. He knew that some information must be distilled through the feminine ones in his family.

My father knew hair and he knew how to tutor me in math and reading comprehension. Taught me and my sister to be good citizens.

Teaching about bleeding monthly and sex…nope. Not his area. He was proud to let the women of the family handle that one.

Dad and I used to butt heads an awful lot while I was growing up. I tried asserting some independence in thought and instead of rebelling by wrecking things or doing drugs, I tried rebelling with words.

I could never win an argument with dad, and I hated arguing with him because my best times in memory was of him and I watching Kung-fu movies together on weekends or me watching him fix stir-fry in his new Wok.

It wasn’t until his 50th birthday that I learned dad studied Tae Kwon Do while in Korea. There are pictures I have on a disk of him practicing, sparring with a partner. His lean, brown muscles in youth looks as if he could take down a bear.

It wasn’t until after my father’s death that I learned he really loved anime. I knew he watched it late at night on occasion, in Japanese/English subtitles, but never knew he enjoyed it. I recall him in 2011 saying my husband and I should watch the first Dragon Ball after watching Dragon Ball Z.

The really heartbreaking part is that I feel as if I knew my father but didn’t know him at all. I learned most things about him towards the end of his life, as he battled 4th stage esophageal cancer.

Things like:

His favorite color was white.

He was a supervisor on his job.

He won landscaping awards.

I can honestly say, my sister and I turned out very well. We are doing what we are supposed to do — being good citizens, raising our families, my sister is working on her Master's degree and I am working on my third book.

My mother is still in our lives. She lost her own mother last year around my birthday. My mother has always been in our lives, and she continues to do so by calling or texting, and we send each other gifts. Yes, it was a hard road during their marriage, but we are all older and forgiven now.

Can men raise daughters and women raise sons?

Yes.

They absolutely can raise good people.

It was just a little easier with help along the side.

Thank you for reading!