Daddies’ Lil Monster

I always wanted a camper van Dad. You know, like a hippie omega male one, with beads, long hair, and a dreamy smile on his face. One who would spend a year traveling with our family around the world in a rusty Volkswagen Westfalia camper. Peace and love, my girls, peace and love.

I didn’t get one.

I got a Dad who did not have the chance to raise me because the times in communist Poland were tough, and my parents were struggling with a fox farm, studies, and numerous arduous and shitty jobs that would pay for the dream he had for me and my three sisters: a wealthy life, security, comfort, and a beautiful house. My dad was extremely hardworking, very wired, and had a heart of gold. Family was his whole world, the very essence of his existence. The girls and my mom were his Beginning and End. He managed to achieve all his dreams for us—and so much more. Now, with every day I get to know him better, I am more and more fascinated, grateful, and proud of who I came from.

But my luck doesn’t end there.

For the first sixteen years of my life, I was raised by my Grandfather, who had zero business skills and didn’t really mind that we were poor and our carpets froze in the winter, but who gave me everything else. He was the wisest Mentor, my Best Friend in the Whole Universe, my Life Coach. His unconditional and unabridged Love saved my life.

My Godfather supported him in the deed. He would always guard me, stand behind me like a handsome angel with immaculate hair, and would beat the crap out of everyone who did or might hurt me. He was the Don Corleone of my youth.

I was Daddy’s Little Monster, Grandpa’s Sweetheart, and Uncle’s Girl. Instead of the stoned camper van dad of my dreams, I was raised by three amazing Men who gave me every foundation and tools a 21st-century gal could ever need to survive and thrive in the patriarchal insanity – and eventually overthrow it. They were the first Feminists I knew.

My heart belongs to them—forever.

Happy Father’s Day ❤