My brother suggested since I used the term dad or father, that there was a part of me that still held out hope, or was in denial.
He may be right; the little girl in me is waiting for her father, waiting maybe for him to see what he left behind.
A little girl waits, wanting to be special, to be held and protected, there is a part of me that wants a loving dad, a trusting dad, a faithful dad, one that will do anything for his family, a dad like my girls have.
I will not settle for a half dad, a partial or absent dad, I am not in denial as to who he is; I may be in denial that there is no hope.
It is a teeny tiny little spark, held way deep inside, one that you dare not even look at very often, for the smallness of it is so frail, it could easily disappear.
When I watch my girls with their dad, the jostling for his attention, the flirting that goes on, the way he balances his love to each, taking time with each, the joy that fills him up when he sees them, the way he takes care of them, how he sees them always as ‘his little girls,’ reminds me this is possible.
He is not extraordinary, just simply extra ordinary as he interacts with them. He treats them as individuals, enjoys teasing them, teaching them, guiding them, and allowing them to make their own choices.
He is himself with them, he treats them like equals and lots of the time he slips down to their level and joins them there to play.
If I could pick a father it would be him, and I guess I did, I gave my girls what I didn’t have.
My little girl within is so happy for my daughters, and sure I would be a liar if I didn’t wish to be them, even for one small moment, to have what they have, but it is not to be.
In order to be a mother you have to put your own little girl aside and mother your children.
It is really hard to do if your little girl never had a chance to be a little girl to someone. It is like skipping a step.
“Wise beyond her years” and “She is such a little mother,” were terms used to describe me, I never had a chance to be a little girl, for my parents were Adult Children.
I guess the little girl is waiting for her parents to grow up, wake up and realize that this is not a rehearsal this is real life. Waiting for them to see me as a little girl, their little girl, a little girl who is wounded by them.
Unless and Until they see the wounded little girl, nothing has changed. They didn’t see me then and they don’t see me today.
How would it be to know for sure, to have the door of dreams slammed shut tightly? To have them held prisoner behind there? To know without a doubt, they will never see me?
I will not be the one to lock that door, nor can I be the one to open it. That door will open only from their side.
Children can’t make their parents parents. It isn’t our job. A child’s job is to be a child. When you become a parent, you can no longer be a child.
It is then time to grow up and be the model they need, to grow up, and the only way you teach a child to grow up is be a grownup your self.
There is a duality in place within me for a part of me still longs to be the little girl I didn’t get to be. Yet there is also a knowing, that as I play in life, as I find things I love to do, my little girl comes alive within me. I am learning how to balance both being a mother and a little girl.
It is not all or nothing, to pick just one this time. If you are a parent you get to pick two.
I think both my parents are sitting and waiting for someone to come along and recognize their own wounded child. And I am waiting for them to be done waiting.
Little do they know that while their wounded child goes unattended, we, their children too go unattended, the cycle continues, we have to be the ones to stop it.
To stop the waiting and start taking care of our selves.
To stop wanting someone to come in and fix the child within, we have to be the ones to do the work.
We are the ones to speak for her, stand tall for her, to walk a walk of honor for her; we have to be the ones we always dreamed about.
It is not an impossible dream, the dream is to one day grow up.
While I have been growing up and making tough parent choices, while I have been working really hard to see that my children have a mother that will do and say the strong things, I have also raised my little girl up to a standard that she expects the extra ordinary father.
She will not settle for ‘good enough’ she will not relax her inner self worth and allow another to bring her down. I may have over shot the mark, but I now have grown into a higher standard.
I want my father to be the best father, not only for me, but also for himself.
I was a mother of lesser standards and I know the cost of that. I know the pain my children suffered because I wasn’t a grown up, I wasn’t seeing the children, for I was too messed up.
I want for his kids the same that I want for my kids, I want for him what I want for myself.
I want him to be all that God intended him to be and not a drop less.
(In Elizabeth Lesser’s book, “Broken Open” she writes about extra ordinary. I love that term and it fits my husband.)
