I have spent my entire life sitting on a curb waiting for my Daddy. 

From a young age I knew my family was different. I was raised by a single Mom and my biological family lived across the country. My aunts and uncles were my Moms friends, a family unit she created, as they migrated from NJ to California together. But I didn't think of my aunts and uncles as different because it was all I knew.

However, I knew, from the inside of my soul that I did not have a Daddy. I was raised with incredible male role models and some of them even fulfilled elements of a father figure growing up, but it is different. I was often told by my Mom that I couldn't miss what I didn't have, but I missed this man that I never met.

My Father was my Mothers college professor. I knew he was a professor of sociology, that he was actively involved in the Civil Rights movement, that he wrote a book on class relations in America, and I knew that he told my Mother "he was not ready for the responsibility of having a child." I knew he was Jewish and an only child, his parents deceased. I knew he got kicked out of Brown University, due to activism activities, and graduated from Columbia University. That is all I know. 

I have spent a lot of years trying to make him proud, even though he doesn't care and he never will. I used the very little I knew about him to drive my education, my career success, and to try and understand the decisions he made, based on random facts gleamed from childhood stories.

So, my Bachelors degree was just as much for him, as it was for me, as it sits on the wall of my office, never to be used. I didn't have children, choosing a career instead, only to question that decision years later after it was too late. I spent my teenage years studying Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, and even going to the Muhammad Ali museum 3 years ago on a trip to KY. I can quote black culture facts as if the culture was my own, know reggae and jazz music like it was a part of my soul, and know more about race relations in America well before it became trendy. I have been to every Holocaust museum in America and ask questions about the Jewish faith and ethnicity trying to see if my roots resonate with me in anyway.

My Mother moved across the country 6 months pregnant with me. The name field for "Father" on my birth certificate was left blank. I did not own a picture of that man who was half of my DNA and had no idea what he looked like until a YouTube video surfaced in my late 30's. 

I made attempts to reach him, sending letters at the age of 10, 18, and 35, all with no response. Those attempts becoming easier with the use of Google, only to make me more confident he received them, and making the rejection of no response a little greater each time.

But even more than my strange quest for knowledge comes a deeper knowing that you are different. A Father is supposed to be her Daughters first love. He is supposed to teach her how she should be treated by a man. He is supposed to show her what it means to feel safe and secure. He is supposed to kiss skinned knees, heal broken hearts, and let her know that no matter what happens she is loved.

And so with the lacking I have struggled with understanding what good looks like in a relationship, as I did not have a relationship or partner role model. I have gone through life trying on relationships for size, only to discard them, knowing they were the wrong fit, too little or too big. I went through men exploring whether I liked being worshipped or beaten, wondering where that man was who could love me like a queen, but still step into me with respect. 

I have felt my entire life feeling unsafe and I have searched for safety in countless areas of my life. There is no coincidence that the majority of my career was spent in law enforcement, providing me with a community, a sense of camaraderie, a physical and emotional safety, only to create a different set of problems. I have looked for safety in relationships, only to find that I forgot to check and see if my heart was involved, putting security above love, never a recipe for success. I have looked for safety in achievements - career success, accolades, educational goals, etc. Only to now realize that I have to feel safe inside, with myself, and only myself.

I became overly independent at a young age, knowing with a childs sense that I had to heal my own skinned knees, take care of myself, rely on myself, and only myself. Sure, in some regards this characteristic has made me who I am, but it can also be used to push people away and to run.

I have always said that I have no physical fears, let me jump out of a plane, rappel down a building, surf in Costa Rica, or climb mountains. But my fears are emotional - fear of rejection, abandonment, commitment, love and vulnerability. There is no coincidence that those characteristics correspond to growing up a little girl without her Daddy.

I now know that our parents did the best they could with what they had, within their capacity. This blog is not to blame or point fingers. I know that he made the decision that was right for him, and it is time for me to get up off that curb, dust myself off, love myself a little harder, and celebrate the gifts that he gave me. And so with that I say thank you John, Dad, Daddy, Father for giving me life, for your intelligence that I did inherit, my desire to help the world, and to be a part of something bigger. As the clock ticks, I often think of your age and I know that you might not physically be on this planet for much longer, so I will say goodbye and that I hope you have had an incredible life full of love, joy, and laughter.