A girl needs her dad.

Sunday, October 11th, 8:30 am. 3 missed calls from this time, this day, from a number I don’t have saved in my phone. A number I’ve never seen. As I woke up around 11am, I check my phone to find these.

I reply with a text asking what they needed, not knowing what call I was about to receive.

The number pops up again, calling me. I answer, “Hello?”

“Hey kiddo.”

It’s my biological father. I haven’t spoke to him in 3 years, and I’ve only met him twice.

He proceeded to tell me that he’s moved back to Iowa and wants to meet me next Sunday, the 18th, and catch up. Catch up? 21 years later and you want to meet and catch up.

Okay, let me sit you down for coffee and we can talk about the last 21 years of my life.

My biological father’s name is Joe.  (His dad, his dad’s dad, my cousin, and my boyfriend all have that name, too. I’ll specify which one I’m talking about so you don’t get confused.)

I have 6 brothers from him. Noah, Nathan, Riley, Logan, Alex, and Bronson. Bronson passed away when he was a baby, I’ve met Noah and Nathan, I don’t know anything really about Riley or Logan, only have seen their pictures. Alex is in the Philippines and I’ve skyped him twice. He doesn’t speak my english, but he can tell me, “I love you!” and he does over and over again when we Skype. All the boys are younger than me. I’m the oldest and his only girl.

Due to him having to pay child support for all 5 kids, he doesn’t get to keep much of his money. I really only hear from him when he gets married, divorced, or has another kid. Due to his lack of money, he basically lives off of the many women he dates. He has had 2 divorces, and is already talking about marriage with the new girlfriend he has. He moved back to Iowa to be with her.

A little background on our relationship. I was born to my mom and my biological dad, Joe, when they were just 20 years old. My mom was working a minimum wage job, and Joe claims he joined the army to “provide” for me. He left when I was born and never came back. Besides two times, once when I was 6 and once when I was 12. When I was 6, he was visiting his parents who live in Cedar Falls (who I am very close with and still see often) and he called my mom asking to see me. When she dropped me off with him, Joe commented on the fact that I wasn’t wearing name brand clothes, and took me to the mall and bought me a Calvin Klein t-shirt, then we took a picture of me in the shirt with him sitting behind me and hugging me. (Keep in mind that my dad is $7,000 behind on child support so my mom was supporting me alone).

The second time he came back, I was 12. I was very angry and bitter about how he was never there. I went to my grandparents house to meet him, and I got everything off my chest. I was probably too bratty, because I was 12 and it was the first time I got to talk to him about how he made me feel. I didn’t hold anything back, and I just went on and on about how crappy he made me feel my entire childhood up to that point. Never being there, barely ever calling, him yelling at me for not calling him enough, we were just going back and fourth arguing like 5 years olds kids.

He then contacted me at the end of my senior year, telling me he wants to come to my graduation party and he gave me a Saturday he thought he could make it to Iowa, because he was living in Arkansas with his wife at the time. I scheduled my graduation party around him, and he never showed up. He got a divorce shortly before my party, his ex-wife took the car and the house and he was didn’t have a way to Iowa or the money.

When I was growing up, he’d barely ever call. He was very inconsistent, and self centered and swore up and down every time that I talked to him, he left us to go join the army to provide. I never understood it because he didn’t leave to provide, he simply left. He didn’t call, only sent me 2 letters ever when he was overseas, he didn’t even tell me when my brother died. My brother died in July a couple years ago, I didn’t get the news until Christmas when my grandma showed me the obituary from the funeral.

So you can imagine my scattered thoughts and feelings as I agreed to meet with him. All morning I was playing different scenarios in my head of what could happen. My boyfriend and I went to church, and then I got a call from my dad Joe saying he was on his way. (I thought he would end up ditching, so even him calling and not letting me down was a surprise to me).

My boyfriend and I went to my dad Joe’s parents, my grandparents, and waited for Joe. He showed up with his girlfriend. He acted all excited and happy to see me. He shook my boyfriend of 3&1/2 years hand for the first time. He interrogated my boyfriend about where he works, what he does for fun, and acted as if he had authority over him.

I ended up taking him to get coffee at my favorite coffee shop. We had a heated discussion on the way there, there was so much tension and awkwardness and it was just uncomfortable.

Now that I’m an adult, he doesn’t like what I have to say most of the time. I pointed out that he is 39, doesn’t have a car, doesn’t have a phone, and can’t provide for himself so he just moves all over and mooches off the women he dates/marries/impregnates. He didn’t like that.

I told him that I feel like I am way more mature than him. He questioned why I said that. I told him that I am almost 21 and I have a car and I pay my own car payment, car insurance, phone bills, electric, gas, garbage, water, credit card payments, and I am one class away from my liberal arts degree, 3 semesters away from starting nursing school, and I have a steady relationship with my boyfriend and I have a relationship with God.

His response. “So you think you’re better than me because you have a f****** car payment?”

This is the maturity I deal with.

After discussing more complicated, stupid things from the past while sitting in my car, we somehow decided that we should go inside and actually get coffee.

It was awkward. So awkward. He insisted on buying my coffee. He had just about made me cry in the car and he acted like an awesome “dad” and wouldn’t let me buy my own coffee.

After drinking my coffee and he got done with his hot chocolate, we left.

I drove around town and showed him some of my relatives houses. I sang him a song I recently sang at my step-dad’s aunt’s funeral. Joe has never heard me sing, and I sang for him in the car while driving around. He didn’t say one thing when I was done. He didn’t tell me I did good, or that I have a nice voice, or say thank you for doing that so I could hear you sing, or tell me that he’s glad he got to hear me for the first time ever. He just sat there.

He is a stranger, but his DNA is a half of me.

He is a stranger, but he calls me kiddo and he calls me his daughter.

He’s a stranger, but he’s my biological father.

I dropped him off at my grandparents, and he barely talked me me when we got back. I talked to my grandma for about 20 minutes, he avoided me and talked to his girlfriend, smoked cigarettes, and talked to my grandpa. I got changed for work, gave him an awkward half hug and said, “well it was good to see you”.

He said, “Oh yeah, was it? Did you have so much fun?” in the most sarcastic tone.

“Yup”. I got my shoes on and said goodbye to my grandparents, he walked outside before me and went into the garage and smoked another cigarette.

A bond between a father and his daughter is like no other. I’ve known this special love my ever since I can remember. But not from the man who made me. I’ve known this love from the man who CHOSE me.

The man who came along and picked up the broken pieces of my fragile, 6 year old heart.

The man who reminded the kindergartener that she was loved and worth it.

The man who wiped every tear when my Daddy Joe didn’t call on my birthday.

The man who was there to send me off to my first day of school, every year.

Who taught me how to ride a bike, who watched every sporting event, who bought me my first bouquet of flowers, who held me as I sobbed so hard I couldn’t breathe when my first love broke my heart.

Who was there to see me off to prom and homecoming every year, who gave me every dollar he had in his wallet after every football game so I could go out to eat with the other cheerleaders.

Who was there to tell me my shirt was too tight, or my shorts were too short.

Who was there to watch me fall for the man I was meant to be with and who was there to encourage me to hold onto this love, because it’s rare and it’s true and even though I was mad, to not give up on the amazing man I’ve fallen in love with.

The man who knows my favorite flavors of ice cream and my favorite candy bar and my favorite songs.

The man who showed me growing up what to look for in a man and how a man should treat women, by the way that he treated my mom and my sister and I.

The man who still cuts my baked potatoes up for me (because I don’t want him to think I don’t need him anymore, because I will always need him.)

The man who knows when to talk to me and when to just let me be.

The man who sat me down and warned me of what the senior boys wanted when I was starting freshman year of high school.

The man who brought me to church on Sundays when I was little and cries every time he hears me sing.

The man who is my DAD. Not my father, but my dad. Technically, he’s my step dad, and his name is Dan. But he’s more of a dad than Joe has ever been and will ever be and he’s my knight in shining armor and he’s my best friend. He’s been there since I was six and he’s stepped up in every way possible and loved me more than I have ever deserved or could imagine.

When I left my grandparents house today, I was shook up. I was angry. I was relieved it was over and I honestly never wanted to see him again. I called my dad first, and just complained for a good 15 minutes. He didn’t say a word the whole time. Just let me rant. He then told me he was sorry and we talked about our nights and what we had planned. I told him I was going to work, he told me he was having a lazy day. I got to work and we exchanged I love you’s and hung up the phone.

I wasn’t angry or upset at work, I was actually in a really good mood once I got there. I just still couldn’t stop thinking about it. I was serving tables when a host came up to me around 7:30 pm, saying someone was here to see me.

“Ugh, don’t tell me it’s a guy,” thinking it was my biological dad. The host said yes, it is. I asked if he was wearing red (because my biological dad, Joe, was earlier), she said nope, blue.

I walk up front of Texas Roadhouse, and my DAD, Danny, was standing up front with a flower. I walked up and hugged him, and thanked him. I don’t really remember what I said, but I will never forget what he said.

He hugged me, kissed me on the cheek, and said, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry and I love you,” he choked up and got teary eyed as he hugged me, and he said, “Any dad would be lucky to have you as a daughter.”

I’ve never felt so much love.

Any man can make a child, but it takes a special kind of man to be a dad.