I recently returned from trip home. The first since losing my father. He was a major part of my life...and he was the first to really know about me.
I never planned on telling him. Not then. I couldn't tell myself about me. I still didn't get it
Why? Why do I have an inner girl? Why did I let her out?
I denied it for years. I denied wondering how I looked in a cheer skirt, while I was in the huddle getting the next play.
How I would vehemently hate being called a "girl" back in the care free curl days -- yet would be secretly flattered
How I went to great lengths to make sure dad didn't see my cache of feminine attire.
But there was that day.
He was visiting from out of state, and while I was at work he was cleaning my apartment trying to be nice to me in the middle of a string of late nights at the office.
While he was cleaning, he saw what I forgot to conceal.
He confronted me that evening at dinner. Busted. Stunned.
They were a handful. It was obvious.
A fistful of Victoria's Secret. You couldn't explain away the colors, the fabrics, the lace, the bows.
I was stuck.
Do I lie?
Do I lie to the man who taught me how to compete?
Do I lie to my first coach?
Do I lie to a father whom I had lost and found, and because of cancer, I was afraid I'd lose again?
"Yes dad, they're mine"
He freaked out. Every possible trope you could pull out, he did.
But, he calmed down after a couple of hours.
And what followed was an all-night heart-to-heart talk that was sorely needed. So much out on the table.
Reconciliation. Redemption. Forgiveness.
So much healing done for us both about a lot of things that frayed us in the past.
He grew to understand..and educate himself about what was going on with his child. It helped me take my first step away from denial and into digging deeper about me.
"I love you with agape. That's unconditional."
I lost my dad a year ago.
I still can't believe he's gone.
I look at his headstone, and it still a shock.
The toughest part about losing him was losing the person who taught me so much in how to live in humility and strength, and how to die that way.
And losing the person who first understood his tough little boy was also his tough little girl.
Thanks, dad
...
