There is a difference between being a Dad and being a Father. For the first fifteen years of my life, I had a Dad. He raised me up when I was down, scolded me when I deserved it, funny when appropriate and even sometimes when not, and loved me unconditionally.
It wasn't just me either. My five year old sister Grace, my one year old sister Zoey, and my three month old sister Eva were all apples in his eye. He was an amazing man.
In fact, there was only one person Dad loved more than his daughters: my Mom.
My parents were the quintessential high school sweethearts. They had me when they were each seventeen, but with the support of all my grandparents - God rest their souls - they were both able to go to college and launch successful careers, he as an actuary to analyze financial risk at the bank in which he works (or as he calls it: money puzzles) and she as an IT information system manager. It lasted until they were comfortable enough financially to try for a boy.
As I grew older, my parents were the foundation to my life. They were always there in a helpful and supportive way from dance classes to school to puberty to my first menstrual cycle to my first crush - nothing had happened and they didn't give me the full blown sex talk, but it was nice to know why my body was developing in certain areas, even moreso than my friends, and why I all of a sudden thought Bobby Parker was cute.
The summer in which I was fifteen, I found out what it was like to have a Father.
I was watching my sisters so my Mom could run an errand. It was only supposed to last a half hour, but as a half hour became hours and my phone calls went unanswered, I knew something was amiss. It became exponentially so when my Dad didn't come home at his usual time. I managed with my sisters, doing my best to temper their worries, but not controlling my own. Dad finally arrived at ten thirty at night.
"Dad? Where's Mom?"
Father's response was a guttural growl of anger as he flipped one followed by another dining room chair. I didn't stay for what came next.
For the next three days, Father left early and stayed out late, leaving me with taking care of my sisters. If I wasn't around, I doubt they would have had anybody to care for them.
A closed casket funeral. That was the day the truth was laid bare before me. Mom walked into the bank which startled the bank robber. He turned and fired several shots and she didn't have a chance - and I no longer had a Mom.
I had to cope alone. It was obvious Father was struggling, a shell of the man he was just four days ago. He would look at his daughters and I saw it in his eyes. We reminded him of her but we were also the reminder that he couldn't kill himself to be with her. His staying away made sense.
Neither of my parents had siblings and all my grandparents had passed, so without Father, it left me to be the one to tell Grace, Zoey, and Eva. I mean, how do you tell a five year old, a one year old, and a three month old they will never see their Mom again.
After the funeral, Father's disappearing act did not end. He'd leave early for work and then stay out late. Anytime I tried to talk, his reaction was the same ferocious howl and a violent act of throwing something. There was no plan for his daughters. When the fridge was bare, I finally acted; stealing the emergency credit card from his sock drawer.
*
Pushing a two seat stroller and a shopping cart with Grace in the seat proved difficult and I imagine that wasn't because I was fifteen. It also took two walking trips to the grocery store, one just so I could return the shopping cart.
*
My cooking skills were rudimentary, to say the least. It also didn't take long for me to miss Mom's feasts. Hot dogs and frozen pizzas everyday was a bland existence that I needed to change.
God Bless the Food Network and the internet. That combination saved, not only myself, but my sister's stomachs from a life of ground up pig parts and grease. I was very good at following the instructions on a recipe.
*
I will never forget the day I knew I was never going to have a typical teenage life.
It was the first day of school, and after the summer I had of dealing with Mom's murder and the subsequent fallout, I was ready for a sense of normalcy. Reconnect with friends, homework, and maybe steal a few glances at Bobby Parker was all on my agenda. I put on my black skirt and white top - it wasn't new, but it was the best I had - styled and curled my black hair, applied some eyeshadow around my brown eyes, a light pink lipstick, picked my best necklace and earring set - a silver heart combination - and then double checked myself in my mirror. I looked good, ready to take on Hilldale High as a sophomore.
My door opened from behind me, "Quinn?"
I turned to Grace with a smile and an excited tone, "Are you ready for your first day of school, too?"
Grace shook her head.
"Oh, don't be like that." I then smiled bigger, "I know, why don't you and I go to your room to find something cute for you to wear so you can make it through the day?" I took Grace's hand and guided her back to her room. I knew exactly which of her outfits to grab; her favorite, a purple and pink butterfly shirt and matching pants. "How about this one?"
Grace smirked as she nodded.
I helped her get dressed and rushed downstairs; I had to hurry to the bus stop. I got to the door when I heard Eva cry from upstairs. In the seconds that followed, I didn't hear Father upstairs, or anywhere for that matter. A quick glace to the driveway told me what I already knew; he was gone, the only car in the driveway was Mom's Ford Explorer... and if I didn't hurry getting Zoey and Eva ready, making something for everyone for breakfast, Grace would be late for school... and then I'd have to watch Zoey and Eva all day.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
*
I made it my mission to get my license. I watched every course I could find online as well as any practice test. I practiced with Mom's Explorer in the subdivision and bribed my neighbor to pretend to be Father to take me to the driving test and watch my sisters as I completed what I needed to do. I was truly happy when my license arrived, because walking to stores, doctors offices, and the pharmacies was untenable.
*
"You're more like a Mommy than a sister."
I looked in the rearview mirror to see Grace in her pink booster seat brushing the hair of her doll just as I did for her. "I don't know about all that."
Grace's face frowned.
"Grace, what wrong?"
"I want to call you Mommy like Zoey and Eva do." Grace didn't pause in her brushing. "I miss her."
Eva was barely one, so her vocabulary was limited. I mean, I saw her call the coffee table Da Da before, so anything but Ma Ma for me would have not been possible. Zoey called me Mommy sparingly and only whenever Eva said it. I'd correct her, but it felt more like a game. This was different. This was Grace in an emotional pain over our Mom. I wiped the tear from my eye.
"Do you think it would help if you called me that?" I honestly didn't know how to respond, but if it helped...
"Yeah," Grace glanced up at me with a hesitant smile, "Mommy."
I grinned, "Okay."
Grace's face contorted to jubilation, "Thanks, Mommy."
"You're welcome."
Was that truly the right way to handle it? I don't know. I had always corrected Zoey because I didn't want to trample on Mom's name. But seeing Grace so happy about it, I mentally changed my outlook to that of I am honoring her name. I'm acting as she would in the care of my sisters.
After that conversation, I no longer corrected Zoey and I became Mommy to all three of my siblings.
*
My life became a routine. Get up, get kids ready, make breakfast, get whichever kids off to school, come back home, clean, do laundry, pick up kids, make dinner, help with homework, get kids to bed, and then stay up watching some late shows or a romantic comedy just until Father walked in the door to make sure he actually walked in the door before going to bed myself. It only changed slightly when Eva was finally off to kindergarten, with me being able to pursue my GED with online courses in the day. My world revolved around my sisters with not much time for myself.
Which lead to my non existent love life. Although I was interested, I knew romance was not coming my way; or, as I became more curious, even a one night stand... You should have seen the baggage clerk when I asked him out - ran like a deer in headlights saying he had to use the bathroom. Granted, I would have had to take my siblings on any date with me, but yeah, it became a choice: focus on family or focus on my hormonal needs. I have fingers.
In my passings with Father, I never mentioned any of my day to him, and anything I did say, like, "How was your day?" or "Dinners in the fridge," (which he never ate) or even "Good night," was met with generic one word answers.
Truthfully, I wasn't resentful. Was my life what I imagined my teenage years would be? Definitely not. But I found my happiness, a sense of pride instilling Mom and Dad's values into my sisters. I was the foundation to the family, to help my siblings grow and for Father to have all the time he needed to grieve. Yes, I'd like the man I knew to come back, but he needed time and I loved him enough to give it to him.
Perhaps it was because of what occurred happened so early in my life? When I grew up all I wanted to be was an ice cream truck driver and marry a Jonas brother. That outlook didn't have the chance to change to something more tangible and concrete. There was no hope or dream to crush. At fifteen, I was a Mom to my sisters and a homemaker to a man I loved who was rarely home but ensured all the bills were paid on time... and I know because I opened every piece of mail just to be sure. By the time I was nineteen, that life was ingrained into my very soul.
*
"Mommy, can you help me with this one?"
