I hate the term daddy issues. In an article "PAPA PAINS: Signs you May Have 'Daddy Issues,'" by Brooke dean she says, “They say a woman has ‘daddy issues’ when her behavior or mindset indicates that her father was either absent in her life completely, or physically present but emotionally unavailable."

I also hate how I fit the often common African American stereotype: raised in Flatbush Brooklyn, a low income neighborhood in New York City, by a single mother of six with an absent father. My mother and father separated when I was ten years old, and twelve years later I rarely think about it. The memories of when he was a part of our lives are fairly distant and fuzzy. Recently, though, I randomly began to think of my family. My thoughts wandered from my five sisters to my mother and our present family dynamic, to our absent father. I thought to myself how astounding it is that my father is out there somewhere living his life and not thinking about us.

Six beautiful girls share half of his DNA. He helped conceive us and raised us for a little while there, but when they separated there was nothing. No contact, no reaching out, no birthday calls, no nothing. I didn’t understand. From the time my oldest sister was born to the time my youngest sister was born, for twelve years, he was an adamant part of our family. My sisters and I were home-schooled, and we were a tight knit family. Our dad, when he was around, was a good one. He taught us well, he was the main provider, he uplifted and instilled many positive attributes into us, and, although money was usually tight, we always had everything we needed. Despite the excellent way he interacted with his children, there was still this stark shortcoming in his interaction with our mother.

He was emotionally abusive. He was manipulative and irrational, and after 12 years of emotional mistreatment, my mother had had enough and he had to go. I guess I was too young to fully grasp and realize just how unhealthy the relationship was, and for years after he left I unfortunately felt some disdain for my mother. I felt that she was the one who disallowed him to keep in contact with us. Little did I know, I was wrong. It was my father who was too immature, petty, small minded, and, for a lack of a better term, “butt hurt” about the situation to the point where he refused to see us. Later I found out that, in the beginning, through cordial interaction, my mother would encourage our father to reach out to us and keep in contact, but he gave her a ridiculous and selfish ultimatum: either she takes him back or he refuses to speak to his children. When I found this out I was both dumbfounded and heartbroken. He was such a loving and fruitful father to us when he was around, but after the separation his powerful ego prevented him from setting aside his pride and rising above his emotions to interact with his children who were six little pieces of his heart…or so he used to say.

It is not that my daddy wasn’t there to “change my diapers,” or “take me to the fair” because he was there during those years. But he wasn’t there to see me graduate, he wasn’t there for my dance recitals, he wasn’t there to meet my very first boyfriend at the age of nineteen, he wasn’t there for a letter or a phone call for the last twelve years.

My father was the first man to break my heart.

Looking back now I realize that some men, despite their age, whether it be 18 or 38, just don’t have what it takes to be a father. It takes selflessness and maturity. It takes mindfulness and responsibility-attributes that my father just does not possess.

I have no ill thoughts about my father. In fact, I wish him well and I wish him healing and maturity. I feel bad for him and the fact that he missed out on seeing the prosperity of his six girls and where we are now.

So, despite its definition and the fact that my father was both physically and emotionally unavailable, I don’t believe that I have "daddy issues" because I am mindful and empathetic enough to recognize that not everyone is stable enough for fatherhood as unfortunate as that may be. My daddy wasn’t there and despite how our family dynamic (a single mother of six girls) may look on the outside, I know it was for the best.