Daddy's Girl

Daddy's Girl

         The very moment I heard the front door open, the sound of the spring on the screen door stretching to its limit, I sprang to my feet and ran toward the familiar sound. By the time the coiled metal had sprung back to its original shape and he had firmly planted both feet on the rug just inside the door, I jumped up into his arms knowing no fear that he wouldn’t catch me. As the door closed behind him, having already placed his burgundy leather briefcase next to the end table while firmly holding me in the crook of his arm, he gave me a big squeeze, a kiss on the top of my head and the first of our nightly rituals was complete. Daddy and his little girl had been reunited once again and all was now right with the world.

         My dad rarely arrived home before dark and when your cue for bedtime is the illumination of the street lights outside in the small world of your neighborhood, late is anytime after the first firefly can be spotted in the rosebush wrapped around the light post lighting the way from the driveway to the front door. Therefore, our time was always too short. Our embrace at the door lasted just a few moments; Too soon I was put back down onto the floor and watched him loosen his tie and unbutton his top collar button. He strolled straight down the short, dimly lit hallway into the kitchen, followed closely by me taking two steps for every one of his long strides.

         In the kitchen he was met by my mother who, having heard him come in or maybe interpreted the sound of my feet running to the door correctly, had already begun to re-warm what was left of the meal the two of us had eaten earlier that evening. She turned her head slightly and smiled at him over her shoulder. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and took a deep breath so that he could smell the sweet aroma of his soon-to-be late supper. My mother informed me that it was time for bed and even before she got all of the words out, I protested. She always allowed me to speak my piece then repeated her previous instructions verbatim. I looked over at my dad and gave him my most sad, most pathetic looking face in hopes that he would allow me to stay up just a little while longer. If I could keep his gaze from meeting my mother’s eyes he would smile and give me a reprieve from bed. Tonight, he turned immediately to my mother’s face and my hopes were instantly dashed.

         “Time for bed, Little One,” he said. “Go on. Brush your teeth, wash your face and climb into bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

         No arguments this time. I ran up the eight stairs that took me to the second floor and the location of the tasks that lay before me. I brushed my teeth first, sliding over my blue wooden step stool my grandpa had made for me so that I could watch myself in the mirror above the sink while I groomed and brushed. I don’t know what my parents did downstairs while I got ready upstairs - maybe talked about my dad's day at work or my day at school; Maybe my dad was eating his salad, telling my mother to keep his dinner warm in the oven so that he could come up and tuck me in. Whatever it was it never took very long. I was in bed less than three minutes when I saw him coming through the doorway.

         “Ready for bed?” he asked.

         “Yes, Daddy.” He walked over to me and pulled the covers up just over my chest. As I pulled my arms out from under the blankets he sat down on the edge of my bed
.
         “Nighty night,” he said.

         “Nighty night,” I echoed.

         “Sleepy tight.”

         “Sleepy tight.”

         “See you in the morning,”

         “See you in the morning.”

         “Pleasant dreams.”

         “Pleasant dreams.”

         “I love you, Bug.”

         “I love you, Daddy.” And he smiled. He always smiled at the end of our exchange. He turned to stand up. “Daddy?”

         “Yes,” he said as he turned back and gave me his full attention once again.

         “I think you’re forgetting someone,” I said. He looked around. I smiled my biggest smile.

         “Of course. How could I forget Bear?” He picked up the brown teddy bear that was lying next to me. Bear, (I wasn’t always creative with names when I was young), was not new to our nightly routine. In fact, his fur was getting quite worn and his midsection was beginning to look flat because I often used him as a pillow. There was a fruit punch stain right above his left eye and a milk stain on his chest - neither of which had been there when he was given to me a few years ago.

         My mother had received the bear in the mail from sending in some random number of proofs of purchase from detergent or cereal or something. When she removed Bear from the box, I appeared out of nowhere, plucked him from her hands and ran away saying, “Mine. Mine. Mine,” over and over again.

         He would look even more tattered and thin years later after escorting me to several sleepovers, heading off to college and even traveling overseas a couple of times in my backpack. (I never put him in my suitcase for fear of losing him forever if my luggage happened to be misplaced.) Everyone needs a best friend and Bear was mine.

         “Nighty night, Bear.” Daddy picked him up and gave him a big hug before placing him next to me and back under the security of the blankets.

         “He says nighty night, Daddy. And he says he’ll see you in the morning.” I got one more kiss good night and then my dad turned around and stood up.

         “All right,” he said. “Lights out for both of you. I love you, Bug.”

         “Love you, too, Daddy.” And with that he walked over to the door and just before he turned out the light he leaned down and kissed my new baby sister while she slept in her crib. It was quick and nothing like the way he tucked me in. It was more like the kiss he gave my mother in the kitchen - almost an afterthought before moving on.

         We shared night after night like that. And we had our own Saturday morning routine as well. Since I was never an early riser, I stumbled down the stairs to the living room around nine or ten o'clock where I would find my dad already stretched out in his recliner with the television blaring. I crawled in under the blanket that covered him from neck to toe and it was almost like climbing back into the bed I’d just left since it was already warm underneath.

         We would lay there for a couple of hours - my mother bringing me a bowl of dry cereal or a pop tart for breakfast - then finally get dressed and go about our lives once the final notes of the “Shirt Tales” theme song had faded. I would go outside and play tag and hide-and-seek with my friends in the neighborhood or call my best friend Martha to come over and play “School” or “House.” My dad did Dad stuff, I guess. My mother always seemed to have a list of things waiting for his attention.

         Our nightly rituals are gone. I'm a woman now and don't need to be tucked in. I still have Bear sitting in a place of honor on a rocking chair in my room, but I haven't spoken to my father in three and a half months. Daddy's little girl is all grown up and Daddy has remarried and moved onto another family. I thought I knew him so well, but now he is like a stranger to me. Phone conversations are awkward and it's been at least three years since we've shared a hug or a kiss. We still have our memories, but much to my disappointment that's all that we have left.