One warm Indian summer day, on September 19, 1955 a son was born to an ever growing family. Lionel James Armstrong was lucky number 7. The streets of San Francisco raised him from a boy to a man. Surrounded by family and friends who believed he could make it. His senior year of high school at one of those old fashion red-light belly rub parties, he met his future wife, Karen Smith. Their lives were forever changed on July 14, 1977; I was born.
Growing up, my daddy was the king of kings in our house. At every turn for as long as I can remember I asked him one question, “uh daddy?” Constantly looking for his approval from, my outfit to my homework, his opinion meant the world to me. And then one day, it stopped. I was about twelve and I knew everything anyways so why did I need the approval of anyone, especially my old (34 years old) dad! And so for a few years I thought I wasn’t listening to him tell me “What is done in the dark will always come to light” and “FIFO, Tiffany, first in, first out.”
So now those teenage years are right upon me, and I hear him speaking, but I don’t want him to know I am paying him any attention. “Don’t let that boy honk for you, tell him to come to the door, “he said, as I rolled my eyes in my head like, geesh, and secretly tell my boyfriend to come to the door for me next time. I didn’t fully understand all that he was preparing me for until I went away to college.
Four years in Nashville, three years in Providence, and I always remembered those little nuggets he would spew at me. I didn’t allow the college men to disrespect me, I tried my hardest not to call him for money, and worked it out on my own. I left school feeling safe and secure in my future because of the foundation my father had given me on life concerns.
Newly armed with a sense of real independence, I move to Chicago. This was the first time I saw my daddy act unsure about me. I didn’t realize until later, that it was his love, and concern of his only child going out into the real world that scared him a bit. But nevertheless, he helped me sell my car, and ship my things and put down a deposit on my new digs in a far off city. Over the years I became a mother, and then a wife that he gave away at a beautiful ceremony created by him. My daddy is my hero because he shows me with actions what a real man does for his family; he is my hero because he loves me dearly. He’s my hero because he has never been afraid to say sorry, and show vulnerability. He is my daddy.
Growing up, my daddy was the king of kings in our house. At every turn for as long as I can remember I asked him one question, “uh daddy?” Constantly looking for his approval from, my outfit to my homework, his opinion meant the world to me. And then one day, it stopped. I was about twelve and I knew everything anyways so why did I need the approval of anyone, especially my old (34 years old) dad! And so for a few years I thought I wasn’t listening to him tell me “What is done in the dark will always come to light” and “FIFO, Tiffany, first in, first out.”
So now those teenage years are right upon me, and I hear him speaking, but I don’t want him to know I am paying him any attention. “Don’t let that boy honk for you, tell him to come to the door, “he said, as I rolled my eyes in my head like, geesh, and secretly tell my boyfriend to come to the door for me next time. I didn’t fully understand all that he was preparing me for until I went away to college.
Four years in Nashville, three years in Providence, and I always remembered those little nuggets he would spew at me. I didn’t allow the college men to disrespect me, I tried my hardest not to call him for money, and worked it out on my own. I left school feeling safe and secure in my future because of the foundation my father had given me on life concerns.
Newly armed with a sense of real independence, I move to Chicago. This was the first time I saw my daddy act unsure about me. I didn’t realize until later, that it was his love, and concern of his only child going out into the real world that scared him a bit. But nevertheless, he helped me sell my car, and ship my things and put down a deposit on my new digs in a far off city. Over the years I became a mother, and then a wife that he gave away at a beautiful ceremony created by him. My daddy is my hero because he shows me with actions what a real man does for his family; he is my hero because he loves me dearly. He’s my hero because he has never been afraid to say sorry, and show vulnerability. He is my daddy.
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