The stench hits you square in the face before you’ve had the chance to realize that he’s already gone. It’s 10:00 a.m. and he’s already tied one on. That didn’t stop him, though, from picking you up and driving you to his home. You don’t know this is bad yet— not many four-year-olds do. His driving scares you. It doesn’t help that he yells at all the other drivers and has the music playing way too loud. You don't know this is because he's been drinking; you don't know to read the signs until you're a bit older.

He swings into the drive and tells you to get out, not waiting for you before he climbs up the steps to the porch and unlocks the door. He doesn’t wait as he enters the house, nor does he hold the door for you. He doesn’t even ask you if you’re thirsty, but instead plops down on the couch like driving the 15 minutes to your house and back was a completely draining process.

Although, with it being 10 a.m. and him already drunk, it probably was a completely draining process for him. It isn’t even 30 minutes before you’re forced to pull a chair up to fridge, climb up, and grab him a beer. You watch the clock as he watches NASCAR, him cheering as the cars drive round and round, you sitting still and being sure not to make a sound. He doesn’t like it when you make a sound, so you sit as still and as quiet as a four-year-old can.

Whenever he finishes another beer, he shakes the empty can at you. You know from practice that this is your cue to dispose of it and grab another. To a four-year-old, this makes you feel important. Daddy needs you. You want to make him happy, so you do as he wishes and you do it without complaint. After his time is up, he loads you back into his beat-up truck. He does a burnout leaving the neighborhood because he knows it scares you, and he laughs as you hold on tight to the door and scrunch up your face.

When you get home, you give him a hug and a kiss. Mommy asks you if you had fun, and you don’t delay in telling her you did. You don’t know it at the time, but you’re a terrible liar and she knows the man she divorced. She can read it all over your face. She tells you to go inside while she has a chat with Daddy. You peak through the window in your room and see him pacing, looking mad, and her talking with her hands on her hips, rigid and stiff. She comes inside and gives you a long hug, kisses your cheek, and tells you how much she loves you.

You're six and you’re celebrating your birthday. It’s summer and Mommy planned a pool party for you and invited all of your friends and family. You feel like a princess. You overhear Daddy’s parents say that he’s a no-good alcoholic. You don’t know what this means, but Mommy gets mad and tells them they can’t say things like that in front of you and asks them to leave.

Daddy doesn’t come to your party like he said he was going to. You cry as Mommy rocks you back and forth and tells you how much she loves you. Next Sunday when you go back to Daddy’s house, the present he promised you on the phone the week before is nowhere to be seen. He tells you to sit inside while he and his friends have “grown-up time” on the porch. He calls you whenever their cans are empty. They think it’s hilarious how you get them all beers when you’re told. You do it with a smile because you make them laugh. You really like when you make Daddy laugh.

You get a haircut and Mommy tells you how pretty you look. When you see Daddy on Sunday, you ask him if he thinks you look pretty. He tells you that your shorter hair makes you look like a boy, and he always wanted a boy instead of you. He calls you Brian instead of Brianne because at least he can pretend. He laughs at you. You don't like when Daddy laughs at you like this, mean and snarling-like. You go into the bathroom and you cry because Daddy doesn't think you're pretty.

You're nine and you just said goodbye to Daddy. You and Mommy are moving to Florida and you won’t be seeing him until Thanksgiving. Mommy told you that as long as he pays for half of your ticket, you’d be spending the holiday with him. This makes you sad because you won’t be spending it with Mommy, but it makes you happy because you’ll be able to see Daddy and your sister.

Thanksgiving comes and goes and you stay in Florida — same with Christmas and again with Easter. You ask Mommy what happened to seeing Daddy and she holds you in her arms when she tells you Daddy didn’t keep up his end of the deal which means you couldn’t see him. At this point, although it really hurts, you aren’t that surprised. You’re old enough to predict his actions even if you dream he was different.

It’s the week before Spring Break the next year and Mommy gets a call that your uncle has passed away. The funeral is during your Spring Break so you decide to go with your grandparents to New York. Mommy calls Daddy and he agrees to pick you up and spend the day with you. Your stomach is in knots the night before and you can barely eat that morning with anticipation of seeing him. He rings the bell and you throw open the door and throw yourself into his arms. It’s like all the wrong he’s done is instantly wiped away at him snaking his arms around you.

The “big lunch” he told Mommy about ends up being a quick trip to the Wendy’s drive-thru. He takes you to his Mommy’s house and you break out into a huge smile when he tells you you’re going to see your sister and cousins. You think that this day cannot get any better. Then he takes you around back and makes you babysit your little sister and cousins while he drinks with his brothers. You love your sister more than anything so this is okay with you, and you spend your time playing hide-and-seek and coloring the driveway with chalk.

Afterward, he takes you home and you can’t help but feel disappointment in your stomach as you realize that the plans he originally told you about were all just a big lie. You start to realize that his entire life is built on the premise of lies, and Gramma holds you while you cry.

You’re 11 and Daddy has moved to Florida. You tell him not to move for you but he insists he will because he misses you so much. You later find out that he really moved to Florida — not for you, but because he reconnected with his high-school sweetheart. You’re mad at yourself because you actually believed he would do something so dad-like because he loved you. You were wrong.

You’re 13 and Daddy has not yet seen you since he’s been living here. He calls and says he wants you to show him around your town. You and Mommy spend hours talking about what the three of you are going to do. You have it all planned out. He says he’s going to make the 40-minute drive south to see you the day before Easter. It’s going to be perfect.

You spend five hours waiting for him to show. You call once every hour, each voicemail becoming more desperate than the previous. You text twice every hour. It isn’t until the next day you get a text from him, saying he was at the beach all day with his latest girlfriend and his phone died. He apologizes and says he loves you. You know he was too drunk the entire day to even think of you, let alone remember he promised you he would act like a dad. In the church parking lot before Easter Mass, you tell him to go to hell. Not only do you say it, but you feel free in doing so.

Daughters are precious gifts to their daddies. It isn’t just the other way around.

It took me a long time to figure this out, but I finally did. I understand that it's his loss for missing out on birthdays, holidays, cheerleading competitions, school plays and concerts, my graduation, and so much more. He doesn't get a place in my life because he decided gas station beer and short relationships with cheap women took precedent in his.

I've finally learned to be okay with this. I've learned that I don't need anyone who doesn't need me, and this includes the man who took part in creating me. He let me go a long time ago, but I've finally learned to let go back.

Never let your child feel like they are anything less than your entire world. They didn’t ask to be born, so don’t ever make them feel like they don’t deserve your love simply by existing. It won't end well for you, but she'll be just fine... Trust me.