But as I sit in my parent's rec room, and let the noise of some non-watched television show play in the background, I'm assessing once again.
My dad is a kind genius of sorts.
Did I tell you that I hit a semi-truck a couple of weeks ago?
Well I did.
But now, my vehicle once again is in the hospital.
I get it. These things happen. It's life.
One day your doing fine. And then you're not.
But I called my dad right after the semi-truck and my vehicle had a rendezvous on an LA freeway.
And I thought to myself, "How amazing is it that I actually have a dad to call right now, who can walk me through this whole mess and also understand all the technical aspects regarding the ways in which to fix my vehicle."
My dad, he's just good at stuff.
And I know this might sound morbid, but I'm constantly thinking, what will I do when my dad is gone?? Who will be the man in my life that I can call at any time of the day or night? Who will be the one that can always fix my car? The one that is willing to come rescue me as I'm stranded in God knows what city and won't leave my side until I ask him to?
For those that don't know, my dad--or rather technically, my step dad, has raised me alongside my mom since I was about 3 years old. So yes, he's my dad. I can't remember a time that I ever referred to him as my step dad. That title never fit him.
I understand sacrificial love because of him and how he's laid down his life for my mom and me.
On certain occasions, I find myself thinking about those of us who had extraordinary fathers, it's sort of a crushing blow.
Because many in this world did not have extraordinary fathers. And their actions reflect a sort of pain and anger. And I find myself in contention or at odds, or on a different playing field altogether when it comes to my faulty communication methods. Like, "But why are you so worried? It's gonna work out. It always does." Cue, the angry stares back at me, not understanding why I don't have my underwear in a bunch, why I'm not freaking out in the midst of turmoil and high intensity situations.
But my words come from a place of feeling stability and safe, secure and cared for. All the things my dad provided for me while I was growing up.
But then again, those of us with extraordinary fathers, sometimes take the whole experience for granted. And we can easily trip into this sense of entitlement and act as if we've lost all common sense and the world solely revolves around us. As if we are always owed something. But that's another topic all together. You know the topic, the one where you feel as if the world always owes you something, forgetting that the entire world is going through something everyday--Just.Like.You.
But the nuts and bolts of it is this:
I don't want a man.
And I don't expect a man.
Rather, I sorta kinda need a champion.
I want a champion.
One who's not afraid to get his hands dirty. To figure things out with me. To talk to me about random technical things. Because I'm always curious.
One who's not afraid to be vulnerable with me, who's not afraid to be afraid, who's interested in the solution not just rehashing the problem.
One who is sensitive to the ways of a woman.
One who's finished living recklessly. So much so, the rough parts of him have given way to the diamond essence of who he is.
One who understands legacy.
Yes, I'm quite keen on this idea of a champion, because I've seen and lived with one once (Thank you, dad). I know they exist.
My champion is out there. I'm quite sure of it.
But until then, I'm convinced more than ever I don't want a man...
"We aim above the mark to hit the mark."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson