I've been talking a lot about society, pet peeves, random things, books, etc. Today I wanted to write about something a little more...vulnerable. Cause' hey, if I can't be real, what's the point of this thing anyway?

Let's say someone held up a set of flashcards for me with many different words and told me to just think about that word and what it means. The first card says "The South" and I may visualize fried chicken, country roads and hear bluegrass music. The next card says "Grandmother" and I think about my gramma's voice, her stature, her hands and her hair, the smell of her house. The third card says "Father" and I think of....well...first I'd think about....ummm...the sound of...no, that's not it....Hmmm...der.

Within one week after you're born, you can technically start to recognize things like the sound of your mother's voice, etc. Long lasting memories can start at around 18 months. After 9 years, you'd think one could remember someone they spent every day with, like a parent, don't you? When I was 7 or so (I don't remember my age but I remember every single thing about that moment), my parents asked my brother and sister to go in their room and sit down on the floor. They explained to us that our dad was sick, and that's all we knew. It was brain cancer, and the next few years were quite hellish for everyone....everyone except me though. He died when I was 9 while I was in the 4th grade.

For some reason, I don't have a good memory of my father and for the life of me, I can't figure out why. I remember clear as day certain memories that are engraved in my head. I remember the wheelchair in the dining room that us kids would wheel around on that he'd have to use. I remember this herbal drink that smelled terrible that they kept in brown bottles above the washer and dryer. I remember him wanting me to help him balance his checkbook in the living room and I was such a little wretch and complained the entire time so he let me go. I remember Christmas mornings. I remember one night we were brushing our teeth and in the big mirror in front of me I could see him; he was laughing because he blew his nose and some of it got on his shirt and we were all laughing with toothpaste spewing out of our mouths. I remember sitting at the kitchen table and hearing a loud thud upstairs because he had fallen in the shower after he got sick. I remember his bed in the piano room downstairs that Hospice had brought in because I believe he had been in a coma for a while.

After he passed, my aunt Marilyn and my mom came to wake me up. The lights were off in my room but the hall light was on and all I could see was the silhouette of my mom and aunt. They told me what happened. Shortly after, my parent's best friends Ed and Bobbie came over with my best friend Josh. He walked up to me and said he was sorry and I said it was okay. There were people all over our house from my church and my family and it was the middle of the night. I went back to bed that night, still not really understanding the significance of what happened. I woke up not feeling much different than the morning before. We went to the funeral, I didn't cry. We came back home and Josh and I went down to my basement to make something out of wood for my mom with my dad's tools.

I say all that not to depress anyone reading this, or to depress myself at that matter, but to recall what little memory I actually have of him in hopes of understanding this process.

I was NINE. Not 1, not 3, 9! Was I slightly retarded or something?! How could this have not affected me more at the time? I think about this all the time. A big part of me feels shameful for this. The only things I remember about him now are from pictures, video and everyone still talking about him, 15 years later.

Last Christmas, Ed and Bobbie gave my brother, sister and I two cd's. They told me it was a recording of my dad at church- he had lead two Sunday school adult lessons (which are pretty hard core- it's like, right below preaching at my church). For a year I've stared at these cd's in their red and green cases. It's even labeled Jim Truman on the front, with the lesson title and date. I haven't listened to it and I'm terrified to listen to it. Some day I might have the courage to, but I'm not sure if I can do it alone.

I think I've only mourned his death a few times. Not sure if that's normal or out of the ordinary but that is the case. In my mind, not having a biological father in my life is as natural as the grass is green. In Don Miller's book "To Own a Dragon", he makes an analogy about how having a father around was as preposterous and fairy-tale like as owning a dragon. I can completely relate to that! It's hard to mourn something that is so surreal even 15 years later. It's just part of who I am. "My name is Ande and I don't have a dad." It's part of my identity, it's molded and shaped who I am today.

My friend Bo was talking about cause and affect on a blog. That got me thinking about my dad and how that's affected my life. Not having a dad isn't like not having a dog or an imaginary friend growing up. It's the lack of something that should be there, like a house or a bed. It's unnatural. I won't get into all the ways it's affected my childhood, as that would take forever and a day to explain...but there is a part of my life that not having a dad I BELIEVE still affects me. By the way, a lot of times people use their past as a crutch- they use it as an excuse to justify stupid things they do or whatever, like "I was emotionally neglected therefore I will emotionally neglect you"- whatever- I'm not doing that about what I'm about to talk about, at least I don't think I am.

No father figure in my life meant there were inevitable changes after that point. If something was broken, we usually couldn't wait for a man from the church to come over. If the lawn needed mowing, we'd mow it. I see that translating into my life even today- I have that kind of mentality that if something is wrong I can't wait for someone else to rescue me- I gotta figure it out myself. I think it engraved a severe independence in my life; I don't need anyone to rescue me is my mentality. I saw the picture of Rosie the Riveter in middle school and always had a connection with it. Even though the history of the picture wasn't that relevant to me, I always had that "pull your sleeves up and get the job done" kind of mentality like she did. More importantly though, I think not having a male figure in my life shaped my femininity as well. I believe that a father makes his daughter feel more feminine; he evens his daughter out and makes her feel loved in all of her femininity- a good father praises his daughter for those qualities (sensitivity, demeanor, etc). A father is a safe haven for a daughter, a man she can outwardly show physical affection towards and it be totally natural.

That realm of affection is totally foreign to me. I grew up not having the outlet of showing affection towards men in that healthy way. The men in my life were my brother (of whom we rarely got a long and always fought, sometimes physically) and my best friend at the time, Josh (we did all the classic tomboy things together). So my understanding on guys were that I fight with them, feel undermined by them, go play in the woods and get into trouble with them. My feelings towards men NOW are that they just don't care about me, they come and go, they could never really love me, and in general....just...not there for me to count on. That is my #1 fear in marriage- he just won't stick around. HEY! Fear of abandonment!! Never heard of that one, right!?

In Don Miller's book "Blue Like Jazz" he talks about how people view their fathers is usually how they view God. When I read his explanation, my heart stopped, as I'd never even thought of this before. Read that book if you want to know more about his experience. As for me, it totally makes sense- my dad wasn't around, the idea of a dad was foreign, he wasn't there to count on or to rescue me, there was no one there to love me and care about me- the same feelings towards God. I felt like this until maybe a year or less ago. I'm not doubting my salvation throughout my teenage years and early 20's, but I missed such a huge part of Christ's relationship with me. I missed that whole "love" dynamic that makes salvation so sweet. God was just out there somewhere, probably with my dad in Heaven, just....helping everyone else but me.

I think that not having that comfort level with men has drifted through my life to this day. Not that I'm not comfortable with men, it's quite the contrary, I enjoy the company of men very much on a social and intellectual level....but crossing that boundary is still a foreign concept I am warming up to (which might be a blessing). I just wasn't that interested in that side of growing up- well, not that I wasn't interested, but I just didn't relate to it. I had a boyfriend at 16, but it was unbearably awkward. I've had a few other relationships since then, but there is still a certain amount of unsurity as to how I should act and respond to them. I wonder why I'm single and I'm sure it has something to do with how I act around men. I try to be their friend because that's what I've always known how to do. I am the world's worst flirt, by the way. I have a few guy friends and we 'fake flirt' ALL the time, but it's so corny and inappropriate (that's what she said) and not what I'm talking about here- I mean, the kind of flirting you see in a dialogue in a Hollywood movie. My girl friends and I would go out and they'd be like, "Hey! Go jump on that guy!" "Ande! Go booty dance with him!" "Ande! Go flirt with that gorgeous man!" I'm like..."Why?" hehe...

Anyway, I think I might be slowly easing my way into the whole "World of Men". I also think that even though I'd like to change, I really think it's gonna take one special guy for me. Not that I'm uber picky, but it's gonna take someone special and masculine and Godly to even out all of my qwerks. I'm also REALLY "old-fashioned" when it comes to that area. That's a whole other blog entry to explain that though! There are good men out there, but the feminization of the men's population of this world is truly something for us ladies to be sad about and it's getting harder to find them. As my girl friends tell me, there is a Slovak lumberjack out there named Sven just waiting for me :) God's just not done preparing him and I, whoever he is.