Daughter-Girl-Woman

Yes, to the left, here stand perfect feet. The feet I had as a child, everyone had as children, the feet that hadn't been tortured by back-breaking high heels in order to impress a man.

I once bought into this book series called "The Rules". It says that man must always be the pursuer, to never call a man and don't talk too much. What kind of man would this attract? Well, I think it attracts pricks. Pricks that only want what they think they can't have, pricks who are only interested in the chase, not you or who you are as a powerful woman.

My Dad suffered a stroke two years ago. Now, he is more gentle, a little less worried about me and more childlike. But, he said to me last night on the phone: "You're not doing that internet dating shit again are you? I don't want you doing that." I think he knows I'm too kind, too trusting at times, and I'm more than the superficiality and illusions of the internet and...this city.

When I was young my dad had a sparkly t-shirt made for me that said "Sweet Bum." He also had a sweatshirt made with my photo plastered across it that said "Miss America 1998." I used to wear these concoctions with such pride, such frivolity. I knew in my heart that I was Miss America to my Dad and I would always be his Sweet Bum. I didn't make any apologies about my greatness. Was that my True Self? Is she still inside of me?

At the hospital after my dad stroked out, he spoke in jibberish and was barely coherent. When he saw me, he looked at me and smiled and grabbed my hand tightly. He didn't even know my name, but I knew he knew who I was. It was a feeling, an unspoken feeling of knowingness. I knew he was so proud to be my father, and at that moment, I realized how proud I was to be his daughter.

When you think someone could be taken away from you, it's almost like their perception of you could be stripped away too. The Princess that I am through my father's eyes seemed like it was disappearing...

I was being darkly sarcastic on the phone with my dad last night and I said, "Well, they found a couple of cancerous spots on my lung last week, so they'll have to operate in a few days. Nothing serious. Just lung cancer." My dad said: "Really? So it's nothing too serious. That's good. What's the weather like there?"

He didn't understand my macabre joke. It took me by surprise because he always used to play along with my pessimistic humor. Despite his childlike innocence, I somehow know he knows who I am. He has such a quiet strength, a silent stableness to him. He knows a lot, but doesn't express it.

Venturing forth in the dating world and city life can be scary at times. But I think if I imagine myself with my Miss America sweater on, I'll be protected, shielded from all of the insincerity and games (sometimes played by me), and at least I know that although my dad doesn't get my jokes, he is quietly holding my hand, whispering, "You're better than that. You don't need a man. Forget the rules."