Stitched Together, Glued and Stapled

I was perusing other blogs and stumbled across bipolarchick.net. For reasons that I'll explain at a later date, the name really appealed to me. So I decided to give it a go. There's some interesting stuff there. But one article in particular stood out to me. It motivated me to share a part of my life that has impacted me from a very young age. I've had my heart trampled on, torn at the corners, and discarded so many times I couldn't begin to count them all.

When I was younger, I just covered up the metaphorical bruises. Instead of hiding them from the outside world, I was patching myself up so that I could pretend the wounds did not exist. As I got older, it became impossible to ignore them, so I tried to convince myself that I had put them there. When that also became too improbable, I finally admitted to myself that someone else was responsible for the rips and tears.

Once I could see clearly what the cause was, I did the only thing I could do: I removed myself from the situation. That of course, caused an even larger wound than I had experienced... a break. But the crazy thing is that, even though there was more pain, it was easier to recover from than my previous setbacks. I think the key was that it was a clean break, not jagged, no loose ends, no doubt left in my mind.

Now that I'm fairly certain that I've confused you considerably, I'll explain in real terms what I've described metaphorically.

We're talking about a man and his daughter, daddy's little girl. Her parents divorced when she was 6 months old, too young to know why or feel like she was to blame. Her father picked her up every Friday afternoon and they would spend the weekend together. He drove her around in his pick-up, sang "You Are My Julie-Bug" to her, bought her coloring books and sparkly crayons, taught her to ride a bicycle.

But when she was 5, sometime after she had started kindergarten, he picked her up and took her to a hotel. He sat her down and told her he would be moving away and that they wouldn't get to see each other as much. This made her very sad, but she didn't really have a concept of what it meant. She was only 5. She thought her daddy had made the world. She didn't know that he was thousands of dollars in debt, running from the law, all because he couldn't pay her mother to support his only child. She didn't know. She loved him. That she did know. Without the faintest hint of doubt. Love. No one loves like a child. Pure. Unconditional. Innocent. Trusting. A child's love.

Shortly thereafter, the little girl's mother remarried. The little girl did not like this man. She thought he was mean. And he looked funny. The new not-daddy-man had a job in a place far away. The little girl moved with her Mama and little sister to this far away place called Virginia. They lived in a very tall building with a balcony view.

For a year the little girl lived in this high tower in the far away kingdom of Virginia. For a year the little girl heard nothing from her daddy. For a year, the little girl wondered what she had done, why her daddy didn't love her any more, what was wrong with her. She was hurt, but she didn't really have a concept of what being hurt was. She was only 6. She had thought her daddy made the world. She didn't know that he was carrying the baggage of his own childhood and using it as an excuse to treat his only child the way his father had treated him. She didn't know. She loved him. That she did know. With a child's love, she loved him.

After the year had passed, the little girl and her family moved back to her childhood land of Arkansas. She started a new school and lived in a new house. She still wasn't sure what she thought of this new not-daddy-man. He was mean. But he was there. Her real daddy was in and out, calling once every blue moon, making plans and breaking them, walking out of her life just as suddenly as he would walk in. This not-so-new not-daddy-man wasn't her real daddy, but deep down, the little girl admired and respected him. She even dressed up as a soldier for Halloween. She had accepted him. She even loved him. Loved him as a child loves, as if she had never loved and lossed. As if there was nothing to lose. Love was all she knew. Love was all she understood. Love was everything.

But the little girl's love was confused. Love didn't make you cry. Love didn't make promises it didn't keep. Love was there for you. Love... loved. Because her daddy did make her cry. Her daddy made promises he never kept. Her daddy talked badly about her Mama, and tried to get her to move in with him. The little girl didn't know that he was trying to put the blame on someone else because he couldn't accept it himself. She didn't really have a concept of what living with him would mean. She was 8. She just loved her daddy. That's all she knew. And her daddy loved her. She knew that. And most of the time she believed it.

The little girl, her Mama, her two little sisters, and the not-daddy-man moved to a new home when she was 10. Her real daddy wasn't around much. She'd hear from him at Christmas and her birthday and at sporadic intervals. But he wasn't really there. He took her out for dinner when she was in the 5th grade once. The office called in over the intercom to tell her that she would be riding home with her dad. She thought that was strange, but was eager. She was completely shocked to find her daddy. She had been looking for the not-daddy-man.

At Christmas, she went to see her daddy. He had gotten her an adorable black lab puppy, which she named Ariel. At Thanksgiving the next year, he made plans with her to take her to his apartment for the weekend. He had moved. Again. The little girl went with him. This was the first time she really knew. She knew that she loved her daddy. But she also knew that he had lost his job the day before he picked her up. So when Saturday came and he didn't mention leaving, she knew. When the knock on the door came, she knew. When there was a policeman on the other side, she wasn't surprised. Because she knew. She reveled in the irony of the situation: her former-cop-daddy standing feet away from the angry-cop-man. She left the next morning, bright and early. But she knew. This time, the little girl was angry. But somehow she still loved him. Because love was all she knew.

The little girl saw her daddy a couple times in the next year. Once, he took her to her favorite Mexican restaurant and tried to get her to pay for dinner with her allowance. He ate chips and salsa and looked pitiful. But the little girl knew something wasn't right. Looking back, I thank God for giving that little girl the strength to stand up for herself, a strength that she lost very soon afterward.

The next few years of the little girl's life were pretty good. She got Homecoming in 7th grade and wanted the not-daddy-man to walk her in the ceremony. Secretly, she wished her daddy was the one, but she knew better. He didn't deserve it. And he would hurt her more than make her happy. There was another silent time. She almost forgot about her daddy. Truthfully, she didn't think about him. She had a life. She had a family. She had the not-daddy-man. After the not-daddy-man was deployed for 18 months, the little girl realized that he was her daddy. He had been there her entire life, supported her, hugged her, loved her, disciplined her, done everything a daddy should do. Everything her daddy had not.

One day, the little girl got a phone call from a man she hardly remembered. He was moving back to Arkansas. He wanted to see her. She had a choir concert. He could come to that. He did. And they went to dinner. He seemed to have his act together, he talked about being there for her, about how good things would be. The little girl didn't see it. She didn't see the former-carsalesman who couldn't take responsibility for his own actions. She couldn't see the man her daddy had always been. Even still, she was blinded by her own love. She gave him another chance.

This time, it did seem better. But there was something missing. He came to her Christmas play. She reveled in the irony once again. Her daddy had been to a single spelling bee and that was it. Not a one basketball game, not one Madrigal Feaste, not one softball tournament, not one birthday party, very few Christmas mornings, didn't know the names of any of her friends, had never known about her crushes, her secret desires, her goals. But here he was, waltzing back into her life, walking into the life she had created without him, as if he belonged.

She visited him that Christmas and in February and the following summer. But it wasn't there. She wasn't sure what. But it wasn't there. She was hurt. But she didn't know it. She was disappointed. But she couldn't see it.

That Christmas, a month before her 16th birthday, she did what no little girl should ever have to do. She told her daddy that he had no place in her life. She didn't know all the details. But she knew she couldn't go on hurting the way she did. She vowed to never speak to him again. She knew now who would walk her down the aisle. The not-daddy-man was going to Iraq soon. Again. But she knew he loved her. And she loved him. He was her daddy now. And in truth, he was the only daddy she'd ever had.

The little girl went through the tough experiences that make up life. She found herself carrying the baggage of her childhood and using it as an excuse for her actions. She found herself blaming everyone else for her mess. She found that she couldn't take responsibility for her life. She vowed to never turn out like her daddy.

The little girl faced failure. She even confused failure with herself. She faced college. She faced more failure. She had her first love. She had her first heartbreak. She cried herself to sleep at night. She longed for a daddy who would comfort her. Her daddy wasn't there. And the not-daddy-man... well, he wasn't the hugging type. But the next day, she found herself crying again, longing for someone to hold her, console her. She found herself in the arms of the not-daddy-man. And she knew. For the first time, she really knew.

She was days away from being 18. She was thinking about how her life had been so full of pain and heartache. If truth be told, she was feeling sorry for herself. She was sad. But she didn't really have a concept of pain and heartache. She was nearly 18. But she hadn't lost everything. She still had love. She had never lost that love. She just didn't always see it. She had thought her daddy made the world. What she had failed to see, was that her Daddy did make the world. He had loved her all along. He had loved her enough to send her the not-daddy-man. He had loved her enough to separate himself from his only child. That's when the little girl knew. For the first time, she really knew.