Daughters

In case you didn't know, I have huge father issues. I read this article in EUR (which is a daily urban entertainment mag) this morning and it struck a huge nerve with me. Here is their web address http://eurweb.com

Steven Ivory is one of their regular columnist and is quite talented :)


STEVEN IVORY: Eyes of Her Father

Fathers be good to your daughters/
Daughters will love like you do
--"Daughters," John Mayer

Dear Sir--
We've never met. But in a way that
is both ironic and quite logical, I've gotten
to know you very well. Through your daughter.
She mentions you often. Or never.
Either she doesn't communicate
with you--or sees you all the time.
She has shown me photos of you.
The resemblance is uncanny. She's got
your eyes--so wonderfully expressive they
could turn state's evidence without an utterance.
Her mother must have melted the day you
cast your eyes upon her; eyes that,
through your daughter, have had
the same affect on me.
In any case, the more time I spend
with your daughter--the more I get to
know her--the more I can't help think
of you. Those thoughts moved me
to reach out.
You know who you are.
I figured maybe you'd like to know
how she is doing, your daughter. I hope
you do.
She is an A+ university major. She
is the postal worker who delivers my mail.
She is unemployed but confident that soon
she will find the job she wants. She is retired.
She is a doctor. She is homeless. She
is a single mom and secretary, devastating
in Chanel.
Above all else, she is your daughter.
I say all this as if you don't know it.
But even if you do, there are things you
may not know about her, and I hope you
don't consider my telling you out of line.
Your daughter is in pain, sir.
She is having a problem with a certain
part of herself.
The pain is most apparent when she
deals with men. She either goes from
one to the other, hasn't had a man in
years--or stays with the one she is
with simply out of fear or uncomfortable
convenience, as she grapples to define
the line between love and hurt that to
her is torturously blurred.
Quite often, what your daughter
interprets as love is control. Manipulation.
Abuse. You'd think she'd see it sir, considering
her intelligence and common sense. But when
it comes to affairs of the heart--her heart--she
seems clueless.
Sir, you'd be offended if you knew the
men she gives quality time: Men whose
impotent words and shallow actions would
not beguile anyone except a misguided
yearning child, which is what your daughter
becomes in their presence, to be shaped
like warm putty in the crafty hands of
a cold sculptor. She doesn't seem
equipped to know the difference.
Yet, when she allows such intuition,
she knows something is not right. When
she allows this man inside her, she closes
those eyes of yours and surrenders, hoping
this time sex will somehow become love,
strong enough to numb the truth she can't
quite grasp; that her screams of fleeting
ecstasy will drown out the nagging notion
that something is missing.
Her void goes way back. Forgive me
for saying so, sir, but whether or not you
were physically home is inconsequential;
she needed YOU. After all, you were her
first: the first man she ever knew, in many
ways, her first boyfriend. Who you were
back then--how you treated the girl, her
mother, how you treated yourself--forever
established in her susceptible little mind
what a man is.
Thus is the spirit of her life quest.
Through your eyes, she searches for...you.
Since I don't have any children, you might
ask what I know about raising them. I've plenty
of experience, sir. I'm raising yours. Matters
not that she is a grown woman; I am trying
to give her what you didn't. Shame on you.
You ought to see how your daughter
gets treated out here, sir. I wouldn't send
a dog out into the world in the unenlightened
way you dispatched your own flesh and
blood--vulnerable, callow, with no real
perception of what a good man is and
thus no protection from a bad one.
Ultimately, I sympathize with you.
Chances are good you were raised
by the father you became.
However, knowing this doesn't
make me any less weary of meeting,
over and again, a woman who appears
emotionally balanced and forward thinking,
only to learn, at some dramatic twinkling,
that she is your daughter.
She, no doubt, is sick of me, too.
Exhausted by my theorizing what's
missing in her life and what went wrong,
while seldom turning the magnifying glass
upon myself. We both get frustrated. But
in the end, I am grateful that your daughter
puts up with me: a man raised by a good
woman--a woman whose father was
a lot like you.
In spite of all that I have said, sir,
there is one more thing I have to tell you,
something I am obliged to share, something
you truly need to know: Your little girl
loves you. Still. I can see it in her eyes.


Steven Ivory's book, FOOL IN LOVE
(touchstone/Simon & Schuster) is in stores now
or at Amazon.com (www.Amazon.com). Respond
to Steven at STEVRIVORY@AOL.COM or
MYfeedback@eurweb.com