The words “father” and “dad” have two different meanings to me. Father is the man who makes a baby, but does not necessarily raise the child. Dad is the man who loves you, supports you, guides you, and cares for you even if you aren’t his own. My DAD is my inspiration, my hero, and most importantly my best friend. Without my dad, I would not be anywhere that I currently am today, and I thank him for taking me on as his own responsibility. But, there’s one thing that should be known, he is not biologically my father.

When I was one year old, my biological father abandoned my mother and me. Drugs can do that to you: they take away the ability to control yourself; their dominance is more powerful than a sober mind. No one is more important besides the deadly substances, no one matters to a drug addict, and unfortunately, I know exactly how it feels to be forgotten about when drugs come into a story.
Cocaine, crack, heroin, meth, LSD and many more: those were my father Ricky’s best friends--instead of me, his first born daughter, who only wanted to watch Barney, Teletubbies and show him all my pretty Barbie dolls. Like always, he was more interested in who was selling the “good stuff” and who would smoke what, with whom. My health, my childhood and my happiness meant absolutely nothing to him, or at least that’s how it came off. When I was one I didn’t notice but 15 years later it hurts.

About a year or two later my mother moved on and realized that both of us deserved better than him. She met a man named Angel and both of us fell in love with him. They started to see each other and soon after my mother introduced him to our family. What seemed like weeks later we were sitting on our couch and I was told I’m going to be a big sister and everyone in our family was thrilled, especially my grandmother. The new baby was going to be her first grandson. Jordan was born on September 2nd, 2001. Our little family was coming along now, and the four of us continuously had smiles from ear to ear.
From the moment I met Angel, I grew a connection with him. He brought me to ballet practice, tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead before I closed my eyes at night. I asked my mom if I can call him “daddy” but she told me it wasn’t right to; thinking it was the best way to protect me from being hurt again, and losing someone that I desperately needed.
Then, my mom and Angel told me that they would be getting married, and I was going to be the flower girl. But only being six years old, I could care less about the wedding: I only wanted the pretty dress that came along.
February 14th, 2004 came faster than I thought it would. It was now the day my mom and her future husband were going to say their vows, and promise their love for each other. Me and my mom’s dresses were matching sets, we looked like twins that day. When we were getting ready to take the before wedding pictures, I pulled my mom down and whispered in her ear, “mommy, can I call him daddy now?” Her eyes started to look glossy, and simply told me yes. Nothing in the world made me happier. I had a daddy now, a dad that wasn’t going to forget about me. Once the pictures were over, it was time for the ceremony to begin. I walked down the aisle and threw flower petals insanely. After everyone was down the aisle, my mom and dad said their vows, but before the priest pronounced them husband and wife, my dad announced that he had to do something. He called me over, and placed a beautiful necklace around my neck, and told everyone that he was marrying me as well, that he was going to call me his daughter now and forever. Both of our families were in tears of happiness, especially my mom. She knew how much it meant to me to have a dad.

“Kayla clean your room” “Kayla do the dishes” “Kayla walk the dog”. Those were constant things now. The only difference between when I was six and currently, is that he’s no longer picking out my outfits for the day, or packing my lunch for day care. Now, he’s leaving me with responsibilities, and taking me to boxing practice. He hasn’t changed at all though; he still tucks me into bed and kisses me before I shut my eyes for the night.
Boxing: The easiest way my dad and I connect, the easiest way we bond, and our escape from reality for a couple hours. Floyd Mayweather Jr., is my favorite professional boxer due to his undefeated 44-0 record, however my dad despises the man. The funny thing is, even if our opinion is different on him, we both admit he’s the best. My dad references to Floyd a lot when training me. “Do you want to be undefeated like Floyd?” he often says to me. Of course I do, and I wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else in my corner. Dad constantly records my practices. He says it’s the most straightforward way to improve. You see both your mistakes, and strengths. Once I’m done with training at the gym, we go home and work on my mistakes in my living room and put in extra time that my dad reserves for me. To my dad, I’m his champion.
Part of being a dad, is teaching and learning from your children. While I do my homework, I attempt to teach him while I learn as well. But then it’s his turn to teach me. My dad has been taking me driving, as scared as he may be. My driving isn’t what I think he’s scared of, but letting me grow up. I know it must be hard to watch your daughter grow up, because you’re always going to want them to be your little girl, but I commend my dad for everything he’s done to put me on the right track.

My dad is the biggest blessing I’ve ever received. Looking back on my childhood, I would not want any other male figure in my life besides him. He filled an emptiness that I desired the most. All the mean things that I may have said to him and all the mistakes I’ve made don’t affect our relationship, they only make us stronger. I can always rely on my dad’s goofy personality, and intense motivation to make me a better person for the future. So every night before I close my eyes, I wait for my daddy to come kiss my forehead goodnight.

Thank you Daddy.