Raising a Modern-Day Princess

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Seeking My Father’s Blessing: What Every Young Woman Longs For

I’ll be a Father to you; you’ll be sons and daughters to me. The Word of the Master, God.

—2 CORINTHIANS 6:18 (MSG)

I am a princess. All girls are. Even if they live in tiny old attics; even if they dress in rags; even if they aren’t pretty, or smart, or young. They’re still princesses. All of us. Didn’t your father ever tell you that? Didn’t he?

—A LITTLE PRINCESS (1995)

Lying in my bed, I [Doreen] lifted the shade and peeked out the window. Except for a sprinkle of stars and a sliver of a moon, it was now pitch-black outside. My sister’s gentle snore let me know she was sound asleep. The TV was off and I had heard my parents’ bedroom door close. It was time for my escape.

Earlier in the day I had picked out my best purse for this runaway. It was red, rectangular in shape, with hinges on it, like a little suitcase, and a mirror on the lid. It could only hold my hairbrush, two pairs of panties, and a package of crackers. But for an eight-year-old, that was good enough. I was ready to go.

However, I began to have doubts. I considered how hard it would be to walk down the hall past my parents’ bedroom without them hearing me because there was a board in the floor of the hallway that creaked. But if I attempted to open the heavy wooden window of our bedroom and tried to remove the screen, I knew for sure that my sister would wake up.

Suddenly, or so it seemed, those warm covers felt so good as I heard the wind blow through the trees on that chilly, late winter’s eve. I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes open. I fought it, but it felt like someone was gently closing them. The next thing I knew, it was morning, and once again, I had failed to make my great escape.

This scenario played out many times in my elementary years. But it wasn’t until I was in my twenties, seeking help for challenges in my marriage, that I discovered why I continued to replay leaving home but never making my way out.

As a child, there were certain securities that kept me there. My mother loved me, food was always on the table, and I had a lovely home to live in. We lived in a middle-class neighborhood where I enjoyed many childhood friendships. I enjoyed spending time with both sets of grandparents who lived close by.

I remember the enjoyment of watching Leave It to Beaver and Father Knows Best on TV and wishing my dad was like one of those TV dads. From the age of five well into my teens, I loved watching the Miss America beauty pageants, and wished that I would someday be beautiful enough to be crowned a princess.

I wept deeply for the first time in my life as I spoke those words out loud to my counselor. He sat and listened as I began to describe occurrences that clearly displayed the lack of my father’s acceptance throughout my life. This seemed to open the floodgates of memories and hurt and angry feelings I felt toward my father.

Seen but Not Heard

I recollected how resentful I was toward my dad for so often sending my sister and me to bed by six-thirty in the evening so he could have our mother to himself. Many summer nights I would peer out my bedroom window, yearning to be with the rest of the kids on the block who were playing hide-and-seek at dusk while I was supposed to be sleeping; all because my dad thought children were to be seen and not heard. I believed that this was just a convenient out for him on many occasions, when those words followed his request that we leave the room.

I expressed to the counselor how I was told by my mother every night, for the first 12 years of my life, to go and kiss your father good night, no matter how I felt. He most often sat comfortably in his easy chair, watching TV, expectant of my nightly kiss. I could not remember one time in my childhood when he came to tuck my sister or me into bed and kiss us goodnight. That longing was heightened when I saw my friends’ dads do this for them whenever I had spent a night in their homes.

I recounted how, in my teen years, I dreaded our nightly family dinners. I would set the table thinking, What will he find fault with tonight? Would it be my acne? Or would I draw his criticism for putting butter on my bread? Or maybe it would be my posture, bringing a threat that he was going to make a wood brace that would force me to sit up straight. His harsh, critical words about my appearance caused me to feel that I would never gain his favor or have boys interested in me.

I Will Prove Him Wrong

By this time I was becoming rebellious. I was determined to prove him wrong. I would get a boyfriend.

I found, in those early teen years, that flirting with the boys brought quick attention and some form of emotional gratification. I was so hungry for them to compliment me or just kiss me—validating me as a young woman. I didn’t understand why all the other girls didn’t flirt with the boys like I did. I thought it was fun. I lost the trust of some girlfriends and made enemies playing that game, luring the other girls’ boyfriends away from them. But the relationships were short-lived so I thought, What’s the big deal?

I looked for every opportunity to be away from home—a school football game, a party, a church activity, or anything else that was acceptable to my mother. My dad never minded how much time I spent away from home unless it interfered with the chores he required of me. In fact, I truly believed Dad appreciated my time away from home as much as I did.

By the age of 17, I was a senior in high school and had dated almost every guy I had hoped to. However, that had left me very lonely. I didn’t even have a date to the senior prom. I had proved my father wrong, but all to no avail. I had isolated numerous potential girlfriends and was left with no boyfriend. I had a huge hole in my heart and nothing seemed to fill it.

The Man of My Dreams

Within two weeks of my high-school graduation, the man of my dreams came into my life. He had just finished a three-year term in the army and had returned home to establish himself in civilian life. He was the potential catch for every girl between the ages of 18 and 22 in the church where our families had attended for many years.

He was 22 years old and very handsome, over six feet tall, blue eyes, a great sense of humor, and—very important to a beach-city girl—a surfer! One night, as I jumped into the backseat of his parents’ car for a ride home from church, there sat Chad. I was excited but jittery, knowing I was sitting right next to the catch. I spoke more to his parents than to him because I was so nervous.

His dad pulled up in front of my house. As I slipped out of the car, Chad said, Boy, those are some great legs! My heart leaped—Chad Hanna thought I was pretty! By Friday he’d asked me out and within six months we were engaged.

At barely 19 years of age, marriage seemed like the best solution to escape my father’s house. My dad viewed life with a strong work ethic. He did not regard higher education as a necessity and had informed me that if I were to consider going away to college, I’d have to pay for it myself. That seemed impossible. So I was soon working full-time and saving my money for a beautiful wedding.

My father was not happy that I was marrying Chad. I remember one day, just weeks before the wedding, he said to me, I thought this would be a time in your life when you could spend some time with me. I couldn’t believe my ears! I was instantly angry and thought, He’s ignored me for the last 19 years of my life and NOW he wants to spend time with me? It was the first time in my life that I sensed I had begun to build a wall in my heart—a wall that I thought would keep my father from hurting me anymore.

The day of the wedding, as I stood waiting to go down the aisle on my father’s arm, he turned and touched the edge of my veil. I thought for just a second that we were going to share a special moment. Instead he stated, My mother would have never let this happen. I looked to see that my veil had been trimmed slightly unevenly. Your grandmother would have trimmed this in satin, he stated proudly. Rightly so, my grandmother was a well-known seamstress and had I asked, I’m sure she would have done it for me. Once again, I had failed to meet my father’s standards.

Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.

—THE PRINCESS BRIDE

Still, that walk down the aisle gave me such hope. I had proven that I could find a man to love me and would finally be free from my father. I believed that saying I do would eliminate my frustrated and angry feelings toward him. Yet, there I sat in a counselor’s office 10 years later, dealing with all my father issues.

Break Down the Wall

With kindness and gentleness, my counselor helped me realize that the wall I had built in my heart ultimately never hurt my father; it only hurt me. He continued by saying that I would never be free emotionally or spiritually until I could forgive my father. OFFER forgiveness? I couldn’t believe it. I thought to myself, Shouldn’t my dad be seeking MY forgiveness?

As I left the counselor’s office, pondering his advice to forgive my father, I drove to my parents’ home to have a chat with my mother. I was considering the possibility that my memories might be distorted, and I wanted to gain her perspective.

As we sat and talked, things began to unfold. She told me something I had never really understood before. I was a honeymoon baby. My father was not only shocked that, at 19 years of age, he was going to be a father within months of being married, he was also very disappointed that he was going to have the responsibilities of a father. He had told my mother prior to their wedding that he wasn’t ready for children and had wanted to wait at least five years before starting a family.

So, upon my birth he found me an obstacle to having my mother fully to himself. Aha! Now I was beginning to understand why I had been sent to bed by six-thirty so many nights of my life!

My mom also told me how critical his mother and other members of my father’s family had been toward him as a child, calling him various pet names that were very degrading. He, too, at the age of 18 couldn’t wait to marry and flee from his home.

Driving home after chatting with my mom, I thought about what she had told me and seriously considered the words of my counselor. His desire was to free me from the inner turmoil that comes from harboring unforgiveness. In addition, he pointed out how this turmoil was overflowing into my marriage relationship—the reason I was there to see him originally! He explained to me that I had put many of my unfulfilled expectations of my father onto my husband. He then humorously expressed, It would take at least three men to fulfill all that you are expecting your husband to fulfill!

As I walked through the door of our home that night, I determined that I would seek Chad’s forgiveness for the unrealistically high expectations I had placed upon him during our marriage. That night as we slipped into bed, I expressed to him how I now realized why I had been asking so much of him. I was trying to have him fulfill what I had desired from my father all of my life. He understood my feelings and forgave me. I closed my eyes, at peace now with my husband, but still—what about my dad?

The Power of the Blessing

Within weeks after my counselor’s challenge to forgive my father—which I wasn’t yet ready to do—I went to a local bookstore to pick up a gift for a friend. While there, I happened to also pick up a book titled The Gift of the Blessing, authored by John Trent and Gary Smalley (Thomas Nelson, Inc., 1993). My eyes were immediately drawn to the following sentence on the cover:

Dr. John Trent tells of his search to receive the blessing from his father and how, with the new insight he received from God through that search, he has sought to pick up the pieces of his shattered dream.

Those words jumped out at me. My dreams had been shattered and I was trying to pick up the pieces. And I surely did not want to be like my father. I wanted to do things differently for my daughters. I bought the book and began reading.

Chapter after chapter, I remember thinking, Oh, how I wish my father had done that for me. My self-pity was stopped short in the last chapter when Dr. Trent presented this challenge: If you have not received your parents’ blessing, begin to bless them and see what God will do. I was again confronted to face my father issues head-on.

Within days of finishing the book, I called my father and asked if I could take him to lunch—just the two of us. He said yes without hesitation, and we met together the next day. I can still remember exactly where we sat at a small Mexican restaurant in Cave Creek, Arizona.

As he finished his last few bites of an enchilada, I mustered up the courage to share my feelings. Dad, I now know that when I was a child you demonstrated your love by providing a home for us, nice clothes, and food on the table. However, I’ve always felt that you didn’t like me. Those were some of the hardest words I had ever spoken. I felt that by saying this out loud to my father, I was taking the risk of his complete rejection.

Conversely, he quickly responded, saying almost word for word what my mother had said about him: I didn’t want children immediately after marriage, and I was taught that children were to be seen and not heard. I could sense regret in his words, and it was reflected in his demeanor. For the first time in my life I felt sorry for my father, and the wall I had built in my heart began to crumble.

When he had finished talking, I said, Dad, I want to have a good relationship with you; one that also includes my husband and children. With the counseling I have received recently, I’ve come to realize that I’ve had a deep resentment toward you for a long time. I would like for us to have a better relationship from here on, and I need to ask for your forgiveness. Will you forgive me?

My father’s eyes welled with tears as he replied, Yes I will, and will you forgive me?

I wept out those healing words: Yes, Dad, I forgive you.

Wow! What a huge step in our relationship. While, in all honesty, I had hoped to hear I love you, I was satisfied at that time with, Will you forgive me?

As the years progressed, our father/daughter relationship began to grow. We could laugh and talk together for the first time in our lives. From that day—he in his forties and I in my twenties—we were both seeking to grow spiritually, prompting engaging discussions between us. In addition, at our now numerous family gatherings, I would delight as I watched my father and Chad enjoy each other’s company.

The Perfect Father’s Day Card

Some years later, I remember searching for several weeks, seeking to find the perfect Father’s Day card. At the end of a discouraging search, I felt prompted to pray and ask the Lord if He had something that He wanted me to write for my father. As I lifted my head from prayer, it was as if suddenly the creative writer that was deep within me came out and my fingers began to speed across the keyboard, typing out a poem for my father.

I had never felt that I had a poetic gift until that day! I sat in amazement of my own work as I reread the poem. I quickly printed it out and sent it on its way to arrive by Father’s Day.

My father and I were living several hundred miles apart at this time, so the following Sunday I called to wish him a happy Father’s Day. I was so eager to find out whether he’d received the poem and hear his reaction to it that I urgently asked, Dad, did you get my poem?

He, rather casually, just said, Yes, it was nice.

My heart dropped. I thought the poem was fabulous, and all I got was an It was nice. I made every effort to mask my disappointment in his response. We went on to other topics of conversation. But as we were closing our phone call, he said, I love you, Mija. Whenever my father called me Mija (a Spanish word of endearment), I always knew I was in his good graces. This was big—very big! I heard an I love you coupled with a Mija!

I quickly responded, I love you, too, Dad. I got off the phone and fell into a heap of happy tears. I had heard the words I had yearned to hear all of my life from my father: I love you.

Several months later, I had a business trip that took me to Phoenix, Arizona, where my parents lived. When I arrived at my parents’ home, only my mother was there. We chatted for a few minutes and then she said, Before your father gets here, I must show you something. She took me into their bedroom, and there on the wall hung a two-by-three-foot copy of the poem, done in calligraphy on parchment paper and lacquered to a beautiful piece of wood. I wept with joy, not only realizing how much he valued that gift, but also appreciating how often since that Father’s Day he had told me he loved me.

In that reflective moment, the thought came to me that I was living out the last chapter of the The Gift of the Blessing, which stated, If you want to be a person who honors your parents, you will be a person who blesses them. When you truly honor them and do what is right in God’s eyes, it will even prolong your life; living free of resentment and unforgiveness does prolong our lives, enabling us to live years longer!¹

Pam’s Search

We sat across the table in a restaurant in Canada. My husband, Bill, and I had just appeared on the TV show Marriage Uncensored with Dave and Christie. Over dinner Dr. Dave Currie and his wife, Donalyn,