Growing up for most of my childhood without a father, I was always left with a sense of wonder. I guess not knowing made me destined to be a dreamer. I was child always in my thoughts, head always in the clouds. In class I purposely sat by the window so I could daydream out of them, but back to my story. I never knew my father, but not in the way that most black children from the hood don’t know their fathers. My father died before I was born. So the only thing I have of him to this day is his name (my middle name), some old pictures from the early 70’s of him in his childhood and in the 80’s in his teen and early adult years. I often wonder what his personality is like. Would I have been a daddy’s girl? How would my life have been different? I grew up in a family that showered me with love on both my mother’s side and my father’s, but it had never occurred to me that I didn’t have a father until I got old enough for my mother to tell me the story of him.
Each day that I get older, I’m becoming more and more like my mother, but when I’m at family gatherings on my father’s side, people look at me like they’ve seen a ghost. The distant relatives ask around about who I am, the mystery girl in the room and when they find out I become a mini celebrity. Apparently a lot of them didn’t know my father had a child before he passed. I wish I had stories to share about him. I wish I could have met him and sometimes I wonder why it had to be my dad. Why wasn’t I supposed to meet him? Most days I wonder is he watching over me and if so what does he think? Did I turn out well? Is he proud?
As a dreamer, I often believe that they reveal certain things to us about ourselves; our deepest desires, our biggest fears or the answer to problems that are plaguing us. A month ago, I met my father in my dream. I don’t know if it was because I dreamed him up or if he was simply trying to communicate with me, but I met him. He spoke to me in a dream. I thought since Father’s Day has just passed it was fitting to share my encounter with my father.
No it was some all-white dream with smoky clouds and a black man in a white robe. He spoke to me in a different way. In my dream I was babysitting at my grandmother’s house. Three of my smaller cousins were running around the living room playing as kids do and I was sitting on the couch holding the infant. In reality he’s not able to talk clearly yet. He can say baby words that don’t make sense, but nothing understandable. However, in my dream, he spoke so easily. He said that he was my father and for some reason I wasn’t freaked out by this. He said that he’s watched me grow from a baby into a beautiful woman. He’s proud of everything that I’ve accomplished so far in my life and told me to take care of my mother like he wishes he could have. I had so many questions, but as dreams always go, I couldn’t ask them. I guess he just wanted me to know that he knew what my thoughts were.
Some days I wonder was he really communicating with me on some spiritual connection or could I have simply dreamed him up in a Freudian deepest desires kind of way.