Monks & Mannequins

My father and I have not always been close. Growing up, he was my father, that was it. He patted me on the head on his way out the door to work and let me sit on his knee when he got home but as far as connecting in a deeper way that didn’t happen till much later in my life. Like almost every American family my father was almost always the one carrying the weight of “bringing home the bacon.” Unfortunately this meant that having time to get to know me was scant. I never knew what I was missing out until life hit me with a ton of bricks; my parents divorced.

Never did I dream that this dreadful event would bring anything good with it. But, I lucked out. My junior year my dad took over the responsibility of carting me to and from work and school.

As we began to talk in the car we also began spending time outside of the car in coffee shops and our favorite place; Just Ripe. We pinterested together, we talked through the divorce, we shared music…basically everything you would do with your best friend but never with your father.

My dad became my friend. My confidant. I remember and still receive little messages throughout my day from my dad that just say simple little things like “I love you” or his favorite “(you)” which he says means that he’s giving me a text hug.

There is not a thing in the world that I cannot tell him. We have formed a unique relationship that I will always hold close to my heart. He is my love. He is my challenger.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever find a boyfriend because in order for me to have any interest in them I find myself rating them in comparison with my father…Do they like jazz? If so, who?  If they say “John Coltrane” It’s an automatic red flag because its like a politician saying the bible is their favorite book. Really?  Have you not ever heard of Gerald Clayton, Robert Glasper, Esperanza Spalding?  Please!  Jazz is about now, not yesterday.

So there.  I know what you’re thinking.  Daddy’s girl!  Sure, why not.  But just as much daughter’s dad!

paris