“I didn’t really want to run away. I just wanted you to find me and bring me back here and tell me things are going to be okay…like they used to be.”  -Jessica Riggs, Prancer

Perhaps it’s all relative, this being a girl thing. Though I can drive, vote, write a check to a mortgage company, and have bore three children, to many of you my thirty years still leaves me in a class of naïve innocence with plenty yet to learn. Or if you are my husband you charmingly call the silver-haired woman in church next to us, a girl- evoking all the whimsy and femininity I vow to awaken even when I’m old.
Sweet man of mine, please do this when we are both wrinkled and smell like menthol.

Truth be told, pieces of the girl in me never leave. My counselor makes sure of it.
The same longings we discover in the days of pigtails carry into our marriages. What needs are not met as hop-scotch jumping, Miss Mary Mack-reciting elementary students is played out for years in various relationships.

Dads, we need you so very desperately.

We know you’re scared because you didn’t have a dad, or had one that beat you or shamed you or told you that your worth was nothing compared to his work schedule. But we’re scared too. Scared that you’ll live out our childhood not really knowing us.

PURSUIT

It’s a moment that holds so much. You walk in after being gone all day, after we fight with our mothers about when to do homework, and we look to your face. Do you notice our presence? Are you happy to see us? We internalize your expression, too young to disconnect and understand that the scowl around your eyes is from the ass-wipe in your office who badgers you incessantly about the unfairness of life being all your fault. About the numbers not adding up. About the way you question if you can always provide for us with a job you hate.
All we hope is that you’ll want us. That you’ll twirl us, hug us, ask us about the last eight hours and pause in anticipation to know what we have to say. Five minutes of this does more for our hearts than a hundred perfect boxes from the store.
When we’re angrily stomping upstairs don’t let us cry in our pillows forever because if you don’t come for us, that teenage boy with the great hair and not-so-great intentions will.
Teach us that the things we speak, feel, experience- matter to you, and you’ll be pursuing what matters to us.

SAFETY

The sand still lingers on her hands while we cry from the stinging pebbles in our eyes.
Words of hate hang in the whispers of girls who use us to feel better about themselves.
Our kisses leave traces on the lips of the boy who said he’d love us even after we gave him everything.
Empty bassinets, a husband with a private life, a friend’s cancerous death sentence.

We need a safe spot to curl up and ugly sob. And we need that spot to be you.

We don’t need it fixed, though that would be stellar. We need you to listen, validate that what we are going through is in fact nothing of the likes of Friday the 13th (and sometimes it is), and hurt with us. We know the pain won’t go away, but if we have you next to us, somehow it seems bearable.

ANSWERS

I remember it like it was today. The right color eyeshadow and new mascara, so carefully selected from all the others, would make him notice. How I scrubbed my hair in the shower, dried it into submission so it would grace my cheeks in that specific angle I liked, and wore my Sunday best. My Dad will think I’m the most, beautiful, girl.

Airbrushed legs and photoshopped waists are thrown at us with overwhelming speeds. We question our beauty when we don’t know we’re questioning our beauty. And usually the answers we come up with ourselves are nothing less than harsh.

Is this dress pink enough?
Do these shoes match enough?
Have we developed enough?
Are we thin enough?

But really just, are we enough?

We very much need you to answer this for us. See the way our laugh ignites giggles in others. Notice that our giving spirit is striking. Tell us how you watch our hearts grow to love people deeply and how gorgeous you think it is. Remind us when our hair is greasy and we’ve been fevering for days that we are just as captivating as when we’re dressed for Homecoming.

ADVENTURE

Always, Prancer. At the end of the movie Sam Elliott who plays John, the father of precious, chubby-cheeked Jessica, and a man whom I would take to coffee every day just to listen to him talk…sorry, digress.
He takes her against doctor’s orders to a cliff so they can release a reindeer he has hated the entire movie, back to Santa. Jessica searches, wonders, and you can see the excited playfulness on his face when he says, “Maybe he flew. It is Christmas Eve.”

We need you to throw our toddler frames so high above your head that our moms gasp and scold you. We need you to drive the shopping cart through the parking lot like a race car. We need you to tickle our armpits until we pee our pants, and give us our first bouquet of flowers.

We need your sense of risk and for you to teach us how to appropriately push ourselves. Then we’ll know we’re capable when you move us into our first dorm room or apartment. We’ll know the fun is in trying, and failing is allowed.

Dads, we need you. We need you in our lives more than we care if you don’t do it well. So kick your fear of inadequacy in the neck, take us by the hand, and let us know that even if this journey is difficult you “will find us and bring us back and tell us that things are going to be okay.” Believe that you can. We sure do. And it’s truly what we want this season.