Daddy

His birthday was this month—September 8. He would have been 92 years old. Nowadays the age of ninety-two isn’t old; had his mind been right and had he had a desire for life, he could still be alive I think. For the past few days, maybe weeks now, he's been on my mind. I’ve thought about him and what our relationship could have been like. In my eyes he was a miserable man, he didn’t like me, and he didn’t care whether I came or went. Learning the story about mama and “Mr. Barnett” validated these feelings and helped me to conclude that he didn’t like me because I wasn’t his; and he knew it! But Therman Willis Davis is the only man I’ve known as dad. Whether he is biologically my dad or not, he is the only man I’ve known to call my father. And so for the past few weeks I’ve longed for him, my father, and recently have been having conversations with him in my head.

It’s kind of weird because I feel like I’m establishing a relationship with him. I feel like he’s thinking about me, too.. . .like somehow my curiosity about what our relationship could have been like has reached heaven and I have his attention. And I feel love coming from him. Real love from my father. A daddy’s love. I close my eyes and I have a vision of us sitting and talking. Mostly me talking; he’s listening and answering any questions I have. But we’re communicating. His voice is calm and comforting and his answers are reassuring. I feel like a little girl. . .really safe and glad he’s my daddy. Proud he’s my daddy ‘cause he knows everything. And I wish he were here. I just need him so much right now.