Daddy’s Little Girl?

This is my personal narrative for English. Feel free to give suggestions for any revisions I can make.

Daddy’s Little Girl?

As kids, no one ever hears the real truth about anything from their parents. How could they possibly explain sex in full detail to a five year old? Youth is about ignorance. Children haven’t fully opened their eyes to the horrors of the world yet. They’ve been taught that America is a great country, and that nothing bad ever happens here. They haven’t learned how to lie yet, or, most of them haven’t, anyway.

When my parents got divorced, they told me that it was because their work was separating them. I was maybe 6, so I didn’t know any better. That’s what they said, so that’s how it was. I’m not quite sure what they told my sister, who was about 2 at the time, but I don’t think she even remembers that, so they might not have told her anything.

That night, my dad packed his bags and left. I don’t think he said goodbye. I just remember him leaving with a suitcase, and crying with my mom on her bed. He didn’t move far away. He got a hotel near to our house, so he could look for an apartment. My mom took us to see him a few times. I think my mom had to come and get us at one point, because my sister didn’t recognize my dad, and she was pretty upset.

One night, we were spending the night at my dad’s hotel after he took us to a baseball game. He told us to stay in the hotel room, ordered us room service, then went down to the lobby to have a few drinks with his friends. We didn’t see our dad much after that night. My mom was furious with him that he would leave us in a hotel room all by ourselves.

After a few months, and a few trips to our daddy’s apartment, he told us that he was moving back to Texas. I’d lived there until I was five, and my sister until she was just a few months old. I don’t remember how I felt about this. Maybe I was indifferent. It didn’t matter to me, because he called every Sunday, so I talked to him every week. By that point, we’d moved out of our house in Sabino Canyon and into a new one in Rita Ranch. He came to visit us at our new house once. It was a little weird for my mom, but she would do anything to make us happy.

Once I got old enough to start flying as an unaccompanied minor (age 10), I flew out to visit my dad with my sister. He had a small little house in a rural area and a wonderful girlfriend named Marsha. She was an elementary school music teacher. She brought over scarves and instruments for us to toy around with. We had the most fun while she was around. If she couldn’t come over because she was working, he would get out his Xbox and we would play video games and drink Coke. We also got to meet our half brother for the first time in several years, and see our grandparents on my dad’s side.

We flew out to see our dad every year or so, mainly on fall or Thanksgiving breaks. The visits went well, for the most part. We met more relatives; our uncle’s family from Czech Republic. We had Thanksgiving dinner at my grandma’s house with our dad’s new girlfriend, Terri, who had a Schnauzer and a big, maze-like house. We rode bikes around his neighborhood, playing Cops and Robbers. However, he progressively grew more and more irritable through the years, which was a side not unfamiliar to us.

About two years ago, he got another girlfriend named Paty. She was a little quirky, and she had a talking parrot. She was a pro photographer. We played model in one of the empty rooms of her house while she took black and white pictures of us. She made us fantastic dinners. We went out to the tennis court by her house and played a few games.

Despite all this, I think she was my least favorite out of all of my dad’s girlfriends. She smoked, like him, so we could never escape the lovely fumes. Plus, she was super emotional all the time. I could never understand her, and I was about to find out just how disrespectful she could be.

My grandfather (my dad’s dad) passed away a few years ago, so my mom, sister, and I flew out to Dallas for his funeral. He actually wanted it to be a memorial, so it was almost like a celebration of his life, not a mourning of his death. There was alcohol and food, and slideshows and lots of fancy-dressed people. My grandpa was very loved.

Sometime near the end, I noticed that my dad and Paty were acting kind of funny. My grandpa’s newly widowed wife (who is like a grandma to us) got up to speak about my grandpa Jack, and Paty, who was sitting next to my sister and I, started whispering slurrily to us about how bored she was. It was clear then that she, as well as my own father, was completely wasted. That just demolished all the respect I had left for her, and it certainly didn’t make me think fondly of my father either.

Soon after my grandpa’s death, my dad’s mom passed away as well. She had been very ill, and he was staying at her house to take care of her. We were going to go out for the funeral, but my dad never gave us a date. We kept waiting and waiting for him to call us. It was a year later that he finally notified us that there would be a funeral held for her. By that time, we had already mourned and moved on, so it would have done us no good to go. That was another thing that pushed my buttons about my dad. He was an extreme procrastinator.

After that, I stopped visiting my dad. I can’t remember the last time I saw him. It’s probably been years. He lives with Paty. She gave her parrot away. He plays with his band on Fridays at bars where they both probably drink their heads off. He may be my father, but I don’t want to go and see him. I can no longer trust the man that gave me half of my life.

I talked to my mom not so long ago, and she told me the real reason her and my dad got divorced. He had been drinking a lot, and coming home in the early hours of the morning after partying with his buddies. So, she gave him an option. He could choose to give up drinking and be a father for his children, or he could keep on partying with his friends and staying out every night without us. He chose the alcohol.

We only talk now on birthdays and the occasional Christmas. It’s okay with me. I’ve grown accustomed to just having my mom and my sister around, and we work well together. I don’t need my father anymore. I can ride a bike by myself. I got rid of my training wheels years ago.

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6 thoughts on “Daddy’s Little Girl?

  1. Liz, you are such an amazing writer!!! I really enjoyed reading your paper!! : ) I’m sorry about everything that happened to you!! Glad everything goes well!!
    Logan : )

  2. (:
    You are a strong girl Liz.
    And… that ending, it totally got me.
    I’m trying to ride without my training wheels too!

  3. Honestly Liz, I can’t tell if this is fiction or not.
    I really enjoyed this. It seemed to be from an actual book. I can easily see people relate to this story. It should be published in a young adult book, really : )

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