What My Daddy Told Me ...

Did I ever tell you that I was painfully shy when I was a child? Daddy was always trying to bring me out of my shell. He told me I was smart, he told me I was sweet, he told me I was funny, he told me I was beautiful. He told me again and again to just get out there and be myself - that I was absolutely wonderful and that people would like me just as I was. Still, for a long, long time I had such difficulty getting out there and making new friends. You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but I was terrified to speak up or do anything even just the slightest bit overt for fear of calling attention to myself.

Now, of course, you can't shut me up and, to be quite frank, I now find that attention is a good thing! Shy? Me? Never!! I have my Daddy thank to for that.


An old friend of Daddy's (and now mine) reminded me today that I was always the apple of Daddy's eye and that he adored me completely.  Mama has told me time and time again that he was the best father a little girl could have wished for.  I believe her.  He spoiled me absolutely rotten!

Odd then, that when Mama first learned she was pregnant, he was so angry.  I have always believed that there was a lot of fear underneath all that anger.  They had only been married a short time.  They were young and had very little money. But after a time, Daddy grew accustomed to the idea of being a father and became quite excited at the prospect.  After a run of bad luck in his life, he was certain that God was going to bless him with a son.  Yes, he was DEFINITELY going to have a boy.  A boy to play ball with, fish with, do guy stuff with.  A son to carry on his name, to continue his legacy.



Back then, there wasn't testing available to determine the sex of an unborn child (I'm just a little horrified that this will likely give you some idea of my age).  On the day of my birth, the nurse came out and told him that he had a little girl.  He was furious!  And that made the nurse furious ... she said, "Mr. Dutton, if you don't want her, I will gladly take her home with me!" Needless to say, my mother was terribly hurt and upset.  When Daddy finally came into the room, Mama said, "Do you want to hold her?"  With an exasperated sigh, he said nothing, just flung his arms out.  The nurse placed me in his outstretched arms. Mama found it quite disconcerting that she suddenly seemed to have disappeared - he only had eyes for me.  She told me that from that moment on, I had him wrapped around my wee little finger.

Did I mention that Daddy was a photographer?  He took lots and lots of photos of me.  I tended to be quite the serious child, but he did managed to make me laugh every now and then.

I lost Daddy in a tragic accident many years ago.  I was sixteen years old.  My memories of him are still so vivid.  In looking back, I can now see how he made his life all about me.  Every place he took me was designed to teach me something, help me grow, make me happy, and ultimately make me a better person.  He went back to college ... not just to help himself attain a better job, but to give me a better life.  And going back to college was very, very difficult for him because he was deaf.  Just a few weeks after his death, his master's degree came in the mail.  The year that he died, he had been elected to the office of President of the Alabama Association for the Deaf.  I was soooo proud of him and over the years have wondered if, where he is, he is able to see me, have some awareness of me and my life, and have I given him cause to be proud of me?

A friend who came to church to hear me sing some years back told me, "Lisa, if your Daddy was sitting right here in this pew, his heart would be so big and full of joy and pride and love, there would be no room for anyone to sit there with him."  I asked her, "Do you think he can hear me?"  She replied, "Absolutely!"   I never forgot that.  Because, yes, I believe in heaven and I believe that he is there.  I believe that I will see him again.  And for no other reason than I have a gut feeling about this, I believe that love is so powerful and transcendent that somehow the good stuff filters through between here and there.

And all this brings me to an amazing thing that happened to me recently.  I find myself pondering it, turning it over and over in my mind like an especially treasured gift ... especially today.  This past February on Valentine's Day, John (my husband) was taking me out on a date.  If you only knew how rarely this occurs, you would understand how utterly thrilled I was. And not just any date. No! We were in the car on our way to the historic Alabama Theatre to see Casablanca.  John always gives me the most wonderful cards on these special occasions.  It set me to thinking about the handful of cards from my Daddy that my mother saved up for me.  I have them stashed away in a box.  Sometimes I have the overwhelming urge to take them down and look through them.  They always make me smile.   They made me smile today.

Anyway, I told John that on Valentine's Day, I would always get a card from Daddy that would invariably begin or end with "To the Sweetest Little Girl in All the World."  I said to John, "You know, I can't help but wonder if he ever thinks of me or misses me even now."  I confess, I like to think so.  Oh, I hope so.

A few days later, I was spending the night at Mama's. Oddly, she and my stepfather decided to sleep in the guest room and put me in their master bedroom.  I had such a hard time getting to sleep that night and found myself wandering around looking for a book to read.  Now, I'm not one to snoop through Mama's things, but I found my eye drawn to a decorative little box sitting on her dresser.  It was a pasteboard box that I had decoupaged and decorated for her as a gift for Mother's Day some years before.  I thought to myself, "I wonder if she is keeping any of the jewelry I have given her in there."  I opened the box and peeked inside.  There was one sheet of half-folded stationery in there and I could see my Daddy's distinctive writing on it.  I couldn't believe what I was seeing.  I reverently lifted the sheet out of the box and opened it up.  It was a letter that he had written to me when he was away at school.  I was five years old.  Here's how it began:

"Dear little Lisa,   It has been a long time since I have seen you but I have not forgotten you.  I think of you everyday and miss you very much."

There.  I had my answer.
I guess miracles do happen.

I miss you, too, Daddy.
Happy Father's Day.

And just what does this all have to do with jewelry, fashion, and all things Diva? Only this.  At the bottom of the letter, Daddy writes, "I am going to send you a pretty pocketbook so you will have something nice to take to church Easter."

Luv & Diva Hugs to All ... Lisa