My Third Act #17 - I Once Had a Daddy

When I first met with the publishers who will soon be sending my memoir out into the world, I explained that my memory of my childhood is very poor and I had forgotten so many important details. They told me that I most likely would remember more thru the writing.

And I did.

I had a philosophy group in my home last night. One of our topics was “forgiveness”. I explained, while I had forgiven several family members who had done me great harm, I have not forgiven my father. I am very comfortable with this decision. It doesn’t cause me any grief and I almost never think about my father any longer. Letting go of the past, for me, doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him. It’s just, my life is so full and rich, that I no longer need to waste my time thinking about the injustices of my childhood.

However, while writing about my childhood, I remembered that I had once had a Daddy. Before he met and married my stepmother, and because my mother was incapable of being present for me, I did have a Daddy.

A Daddy who took me to the circus, the Ice Capades, the rodeo and many Broadway musicals. Just the two of us. I remember bringing home salamanders and goldfish from the circus. The goldfish were always in plastic bags filled with water while the salamanders were in what looked like chinese restaurant takeout boxes with what might have been lettuce underneath. None ever survived even a night and had to be flushed down the toilet. I remember cotton candy and ice cream. I remember clowns coming out of a Volkswagon one after the other and being astonished that so many were able to fit in that tiny car. I remember tightrope walkers holding long bars across their chests balancing on ropes very high in the sky. He also took me to Rockefeller Center to ice skate when I was very young where he hired an instructor to skate with me while he sat at a bar inside.

My favorite memory, which is so bright and shining, was the very first Broadway show he took me to - Peter Pan with Mary Martin. The memory that is crystal clear was coming home with red hands because the audience was told to clap if we believed in Tinker Bell. And I clapped with all the might my five year old hands were capable of!

I don’t remember hugs or kisses or smiles. It was as if these were things a father was supposed to do when he had a little girl with a mother who was mentally ill and incapable of mothering her. I know I had to kiss my father good night every night - even on the nights when there was violence and fights. I remember wanting to bite him on those nights but, of course, I never did.

It is nice to think though that, once upon a time, long long ago, I had a Daddy.