I am my father's daughter

I recently met Jeremy London on twitter. It kinda made me think, but not because he's a celebrity. It simply helped me meet some other women who are somewhat like myself. People who don't judge, and I already love them dearly. I usually take life way too seriously, and I'm trying not to do that so much.

Anyway, I got a little off topic there, but you'll have to excuse me, I'm a bit tipsy. And I don't drink. Seriously, this is a rare occasion. I sometimes refer to myself as a recovering alcoholic in denial. I drink once in awhile just to make sure it's still not a good idea for me to drink. We'll see later.

Ok, ok, back to what I had to say. Jeremy London asked me a question that caught me way off guard. It's not that it was a weird question. In fact, it was pretty typical, but I was unable to think of a satisfactory response. So you're wondering what this question was right? If you're not, I'm not doing a very good job on my first blog post. Oh well.

He simply asked "Who are you?" Simple really right? Well, not so much for me. I have lived my life by trial and error. If you want to know, it's probably not the best way to live life. I have walked a million different roads in my life, and I'm only 27. I like to think this has given me wisdom beyond my years. I don't really know if it has. Anyhow, when he asked who I was, I rambled off some dumb answer that didn't do me justice at all. Something like "I'm nobody really." Fuck that, I am somebody, and I might be a broken somebody, but I can assure you I am somebody. Many different somebodies. I'm sometimes a different somebody every day.

So this question has had me reeling since it was asked. Who am I? WHO am I? Who AM I? My best answer is this: I am my father's daughter. I am exactly like my father in too many ways. He's the person I always liked to turn to when I was confused about life, or simply in trouble. He understood me like no one else because really, we are the same person. I know that might sound weird, but it's completely natural. It's a matter of genetics. I happened to acquire his genetics moreso than those of my mother.

As a teenager, I moved back and forth from my mom's house to my dad's house often. Too often considering my dad lived in the city of Seattle, and my mom lived in a small town in Montana called Libby. I never knew where I belonged, and I still struggle with that today. When I'm in Montana, I always long for the city life in Seattle, but anytime I've lived in Seattle, I've longed for the wide open spaces of rural Montana. The grass is always greener.  I'm confused where I belong.

My senior year of high school was rough. First of all, I want to say that I am an exceptional student when I want to be. In fact, I graduated college with a 3.94 GPA. That comes from my dad too. He graduated with his Master's degree in business administration Summa Cum Laude. He went on to be the deputy director of the strategic planning office for the city of Seattle. He oversaw budgets and plans for the the city. It was quite an important job, and I went to work with him every year on take your daughter to work day.

So back to my senior year of high school... My mom and stepdad kicked me out on the street the summer before my senior year. I was already making a name for myself as a party girl, and they wouldn't tolerate that. I was in Montana, and my dad was busy in Seattle, so a business arrangement was made. I would move into the home of my best friend at the time, Jenna, and live with her and her parents. My dad would pay them the child support that should have gone to my mom. It worked out really well for the most part, and I will always thank Jenna's parents for everything they did for me. Of course, I just wanted to party, Jenna just wanted to party, and her parents' efforts just weren't always enough to keep us from that. In fact they never were. We were known as a couple of the biggest party girls in town, and it was all fun and games until I got arrested.

I was arrested at the age of 18 for DUI, reckless driving, and felony hit-and-run. Yes I did it, but I was too drunk to remember. My dad came to my rescue, and I was released into my mother's care on house arrest. I finished my senior year at home, turning my work in to my teachers after school. Eventually I had to serve 5 days in jail as part of my sentence. The felony charge was dropped, as was the reckless driving, but I did get stuck with a DUI at the beginning of my journey into adulthood.

I barely graduated high school but was already accepted to Central Washington University. I was ready to get away from Montana and never come back. I spent the summer after my senior year living with my dad and my brother (2 years older than me) in a condo on Lake Washington in Seattle. Best summer of my life. I got to know my dad very well, and I was treated like an adult, which actually led me into less trouble than when I was treated like a child. I grew very close to my dad, and grew apart from my mom.

Well, the time came to move into my college dorm room, and my dad was just the man for the job. He was so proud of me, his youngest child, starting college. I was excited to get to know people, and it wasn't exactly cool to have your dad hanging around, so as soon as I was settled, I asked him to leave.

My heart still aches 8 1/2  years later. That day at college was the last time I ever saw my beloved dad, who
I still called Daddy, by the way.  He died 2 days later in a car accident. He wad 42 years old. It was a tragedy, and the one single event in my life that changed me forever. I remember thinking I couldn't live without my father, and 8 1/2 years later I still feel the same way.

This post has been a rambled, jumbled mess, but I've been thinking about my dad so much lately. His birthday is coming up on May 28th. He would have been 51 years old, but instead he has been dead for 8 1/2 years. Dead. Instantly. At the age of 42. It's sickening.

Here is a picture of me and my dad that I keep on my wall. He was too good a person to lose so early. I'm afraid that if he saw how I am living today, he would be sad, because although I live a great life, it's not me. He would be able to see that immediately.

So this blog will in a way, be a tribute to my father. The man who made me who I am. The one person who believed in my abilities no matter what. The one man who loved me better than any other man ever will. 

I love you dad, and I will always be your spoiled Daddy's girl. I wish you were here so I could wish you a happy birthday in a week, so my son could meet his grandpa, so you could give me some much needed life advice. May you rest in peace always and forever.

Thanks for reading!

~Jenny (Whitham) Yarger