They say that girls get their confidence from their father’s. I believe this to be true. With every status quo there are exceptions to the rule, but not in my case.
Father’s may not even be present, but somehow circumstances or genetics kick in and whether you want, you are your father’s daughter somehow. Most know that my father passed away four months before I was born. I never met him but he’s lives, in me. A intense family man with a heart of gold is what I hear most about him. That runs rampant through every inch of my being. I always say, family over everything. I mean it. That’s him.
I’ll be the first one to tell you I am not the type to sit around for decades and mourn losses. I get this from the loss of my dad prior to my entrance into this world because I see that his life was cut so incredibly short, it’s too short to be obsessing over facts that you cannot change. Not to say I am robotic. I have my days, but I don’t unpack and live there. He nor any of the men who had a hand in my confidence development would condone that.
My Grandpa Hal: My dad’s dad. I didn’t get to spend a ton of time with him as they lived a good hour and a half from us in San Jose. But when I did, it was always memorable. He was a jokester. Loved to piss my grandma off. His smile went from ear to ear. He was who developed our family’s love of multiculturalism. He was filipino but fell in love with my Grandma’s Native American culture. He was always bragging that he was Native by insertion…Yeah. Uncensored. That was Grandpa Hal. NOTHING was off limits. He was crazy! He loved his grandkids unfailingly. There was somewhat of a hierarchy though, if I’m telling the truth. The boys ruled the roost because I come from a family of sports studs. I was the only girl and from his deceased child so of course I was high up there. I was also his only granddaughter in our generation up until recent who wasn’t impregnated as a teen or addicted to drugs. I used to live for the days when he and his buddies would get together for a jam session that would last for hours on end. My love for music, most definitely perpetuated by Grandpa Hal. Hats off for a diverse musical education early on.
He used to love to poke and pinch me in the ribs. He never seemed to stop telling me how beautiful I was growing up. He’d say, “You’re beautiful like your mama.” He referred to me as “Beauty” and never by Nicole. When we would go to sports events that he was refereeing or working at he’d introduce me around but there was a definite tension in the air…especially as I got older. Don’t even try to eff with his granddaughter. No one ever did. Even in his old age, you didn’t want to catch his wrath.
He inadvertently contributed to my confidence upbringing by just little every day acts. He was admiring his sons and daughter in law’s genetics when he told me how beautiful I was all the time but that built me up. Especially in those “Ugly middle school/teen” years all previous generations before these young kids now knew. You can roll your eyes when someone tells you you’re beautiful, especially when they’re family, and I still do…but somewhere that seed implants that someone out there thinks you’re genuinely beautiful. In looks, in heart, in soul. He did that for me. He made me feel valuable and loved, always.
My Grandpa John: God this man hung my moon and I am pretty sure I hung his when I was born. I have a vision in my head of this picture, that I sadly cannot find, where he’s holding me as a baby. cradled in his forearms, resting in his lap looking down at me. His face was beaming. So prideful. The same face he wore when we danced my Father Daughter dance at my wedding reception. Adoration. Love. Respect. Pride. So much of it too.
I will never forget the day I walked in his front door and walked down the long hall to the great room, I had flown in late the night home from Hawaii, for Thanksgiving the next day and he had no idea I was coming home but I couldn’t stay away being that my grandma was just released from the hospital from her recent hip break. He was on the phone with his back to me, he had heard the door open and close so he paused to wait to see who was coming in (Our house was pretty much an open revolving door to local politicians, police staff you name it, the door was never locked.) The minute he saw my face, THAT smile. It caught my breathe to see it. He NEVER smiled like that. Ever.
Now Grandpa never quit a conversation, you usually had to make a run for it, but he told whomever he was on the phone with, “I have to go, my granddaughter just came in the door from getting her master’s degree in Hawaii and I have to go!” Pride, Respect, Love, Adoration. Never had to be stated or inferred. I knew how he felt through his actions.
This man is the largest force in my confidence development hands down for a couple reasons. First, we were soul mates of the greatest kinds. I was the only one of the his kids/grandkids who was basically a replica of him and that fact that we inarguably understood each other without even words made both of our worlds. His examples of leadership, advocacy, class, grace, citizenship, community, family and pride of homeownership made him a hero in my eyes.
He never uttered the words, “I love you.” I grew up not needing to hear that from anyone. His actions spoke true to who he was and what he felt. It never had to be stated. Which is why I could hear those words a million times and if the actions aren’t there to match well…deuces. Grandpa didn’t raise no fool but I can’t say that the intense sense of loyalty and family he instilled in me didn’t help me stay in situations that made no sense. But we live and we learn for ourselves.
I didn’t ever say that our father’s make us. They grow our confidence. They show us how we should be treated but that includes conflicting values and that’s where confusion sets in. We fight between values that worked for previous generations that don’t work for us because our situations aren’t identical. We must learn to change and adapt ourselves and not be afraid to break out of the dogma that we create through those who helped instill our values.
“Joe, ” Pops, My Step-dad: I hated him. 10 years old. My mom worked retail and already had a slim schedule. I barely got any attention because my brother was front and center and I required very little tending to. Then this opinionated, head strong jerk comes in the picture and snatches up what little time she had left. He is the reason why my bedroom had so many holes in the walls. Trophys, cordless phones, you name it…busted that damn dry wall. He was infuriating. He would get pissed when I rolled my eyes. So rolling my eyes became a way of life, juuuuuust to piss him off. He would get mad at me when I would roll my eyes at him, so he would say, “Roll them again and I’ll knock you so hard they’ll never roll back in place.” I knew he would NEVER touch me so I would look at him and roll them as hard as I could to prove a point. He’d get right in my face and stare me down, knowing he couldn’t do anything. I’d stare right back at him like “Whats up homie?” Yeah…I was an asshole.
He taught me to never back down. He was from Oakland and very “City” and a bit “Hood” compared to what I was used to with Politician, Union President, US Marine Corps Grandpa. He had a rough life and it showed. He’s a bit rough around the edges but people love him for it…or hate him. Just depends on who you ask and what side they caught him on.
He used to tell us, “If you get in a fight, I don’t give a sh*t, if you start it or not, you win. If you started it, and you don’t win better not bring your a$$ back home.” That biting wit I have, that thick skin I have (I call it duck feathers: where someone can rain down on you and it slides right off your back like water off a ducks back) where I can sit and let someone hang themselves with a smile on my face knowing I can destroy them if I want but that the choice to take the high road is always my best route…that’s him, through and through.
While him and I fought I began to notice that while we fought, he fought for me. There wasn’t anyone he wouldn’t drop in a seconds notice for me, including my brother. He held me and still holds me in such high regard. He had a strict rules, no boys in the house when he wasn’t home. Including my brother’s friends. He and Aldo fought like cats and dogs when we started dating because my dad is old school. Meaning take your damn hat off in the house, men walk on the street side while the woman walks in the inside, men open doors, they pull out chairs. My dad instilled the concept of chivalry in me. Despite me now deciding it’s something I value having not ever experienced it in my 18 year relationship, I knew it was important but never felt it was a make or break thing. Regardless if I chose to accept that behavior, it was instilled in me and it was most prevalent with him.
Respect. This man has always lived with a ghost (My dad) and he’s never been anything but respectful of him, his memory, his place in ours and my mom’s hearts. At my wedding, he knew I was conflicted about having anyone walk me down the “aisle.” It was supposed to be my brother but he didn’t agree with who I chose to marry and he didn’t come. My step dad walked me and I felt it was perfect. We had come full circle. We fought a ton, he fought for me and he still does to this day. While making toasts at the reception dinner, my step-dad get’s up and toasts none-other than my dad. He left himself out of notoriety despite having raised me since 10 years old. That’s just who he is and I love him more than words can say for that.
While I was shorted a dad, I had no shortage of “father’s” who loved me and helped shape me into the person I am today. Each with their own experiences and point of views that helped mold me.
I am undoubtedly my own person, but these amazing men all have a hand (among my mother, aunts and grandmas) in who I have become. Our father’s show us their strength and courage, even when I’m sure they’re just as scared by life as us. They give us the notion that we can do anything. That we can become, anything.
I have conquered so many things, on so many different playing fields and I know at my core that these men have been there with me, in one way or another. In my subconscious. In the back of my mind. Right beside me. Right behind me. They’re all there. So on days like today, when the love is gushing for everyone’s father’s I may be missing those who have left me (All but one) but I graciously appreciate the fact that I even had them in my corner to begin with.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…our feeling of loss is merely a reflection of the intensity of love that was there to begin with.
Gypsy Mogul Mama 