Victor's Daughter

Life asked Death, "Why do people love me, but hate you?"

Death responded, "Because you are a beautiful lie, and I'm a painful truth."

-Author Unknown

(This story was meant for a challenge. I didn't make the deadline. However, due to unseen forces, I was sidetracked, from completing this story; but here it is. )

Here lies the story of a man, who was no martyr, BUT HE IS MY HERO. A kid from the hood, who became a STAFF SERGEANT FOR THE UNITED STATES AIR FORCE. Yes sir, my daddy flew jets and planes. He was a man, I barely knew, but so longed to get to know.

He was a part of my lineage taken away in spite and hatred; leaving a hole in my soul till this day; leaving me, at times hurt and angry. Why was he taken from us? WHY WAS HE TAKEN FROM ME!?

He was a lot of things, to alot of people; but God, rest his soul, he was my father. Here is his storyline, atleast my version. If he only knew how his death would affect his children; maybe he would not have been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Here lies the story of a man whose life was cut short. It is one of the many reasons I could not make alot of my dreams, become a reality; it was one of the reasons I began to self medicate. I've held on in resentment for so long. And now, I'm ready to drop this burden, so I can have the life, I KNOW I DESERVE.

You see, there were, some things I needed him to tell me; words that needed to be said to me, in his voice; in his tone. With his demeanor. Daughter's need their daddies in this life. And I'm not talking about men who want you to call them "Daddy" during sex. No, I needed my, "Real Daddy". The one I got honest by blood.

Today, would have been a regular day, but was like a holiday to me. September 27th, is my father's birthday. He would have been 68 years old.

Usually, I share his picture on Facebook. Give him a "shot out." Cook a huge meal in remembrance of him. But, the older I get, it becomes more and more like, just another day. But, not just another day. Because I think about him everyday. What I could have been, if I had both my mother and father.

I used to go to Jefferson Barrack's Cemetery.

Get a map. Find his gravesite and cry. But, it has been many moons, since I've done that. I was messing up so bad, I started to believe he didn't hear me talking to him, anymore.

I finally get to re-tell my story. I have to. So, I can move forward, into the next chapter of my life with peace.

It was 1991.

I was 12 years old.

Before I begin, I must say that I cannot tell the full plot. The things I will disclose, are more than enough words to reopen old wounds. But something in my spirit used to say the murderer, could be dead by now. Why tell it? Why keep talking about it?

Then sometimes, I think the killer is still here. Walking around with several hits on his belt. Paranoid; looking over their shoulder wondering if one of his children will seek revenge; wondering if one of his children, would finally figure out, what really happened that night.

For years, I would look into the eyes of men about his age.

Wondering if it was "him", that killed my daddy.

All I can say is that my father was in town, because he was under investigation for something I cannot disclose.

I will never forget the last day I saw him, alive; breathing.

There was a local beauty shop called "Stene's" that my mother would take me to from time to time. The fact that I remember this like it was yesterday still puzzles me, but I do.

Well, on that day, Ms. Stene shampoo' d my hair with love. She rolled it up with these, hard pink rollers, with care, and sat me under the hair dryer. She had given me, the prettiest Shirley Temple curls, this black girl had ever seen.

My mother took me to see my dad. I will not disclose the conversation I heard. All I can say is, my father knew, he didn't have much time.

About a week later, right after Labor day, as I got off the bus, I noticed my mother's car. See, my mother worked nights and she was supposed to be at work.

My antennas were up. I already knew, but spoke no words.

We then went to my grandmother's house. My granny, rest her soul, she had made a lovely, country style soul food dinner. So, I sat there. Slightly confused, wondering why they were watching me eat my food.

My mom then somberly says to me, " I got a call from your Aunt Linda today. " she said. Eyes shifting from the floor, back to me.

Aunt Linda, is my father's baby sister.

I looked my mother straight in the eye and said, " He's dead isn't he?"

My grandmother walked over and hugged me. "Yes. He is dead.", my mom said as she hugged me as well. We all just sat there.

On Labor day, my father took his girlfriend, to a local White Castle's restaurant. Did I fail to mention, he and my mother were separated?

Anyway, the story is that he was waiting in his car.

The story I know, is that someone shot him twice. The part I am unclear on, is where he was shot and what time it was. I believe it was revealed to me, that he was shot twice in the back, and once in the head. The coward, couldn't even face him.

It was at that moment that my innocence, was stolen from me. I needed him to warn me. I needed him to tell me what I was worth! What man, was going to love me now?

My mom did all she could do for me, and she is a wonderful mom. But, what mom didn't get was that I needed more than love. I needed counseling.

I trusted alot of unsavory spirits.

Looking for a glimpse of my father in these males.

I laid down, with alot of dirty boys; looking for love in the all the wrong places.

I laid down, with alot of dogs.

and where there are dogs,

you always find fleas.

I know now I was searching for something real; something tangible. I am not ashamed to speak about it either. The few things I didn't get from the very first man, who broke my heart by passing away were:

Love.

Protection.

Stability.

Street smarts.

Wisdom.

Faith.

Confidence.

But he ran out of time.

I needed him to tell me I was beautiful.

Not them.

I had to learn it the hard way.

In the end,

He had no protection.

No one had his back in the end.

I sometimes wonder, will my demise be of that of my father. Will someone I am close to try to murder me?

I sometimes am resentful.

And sometimes, I still get very angry.

September is always hard. It is the month he was born. A beautiful baby boy. the son of Julius and Estelle. Brother to Craddox and Linda.

September.

The same month he was born, was the same month he passed away.

My superhero was gone.

I didn't see him often. But he always managed to show up on the Fourth of July with a huge bag of fireworks. He is the reason I celebrate the Fourth. Seeing him, was like tradition.

Maybe, karma had caught up to him, for something he may have done; causing myself, when dealing with relationships, to not abandon those who were beneath me and didn't deserve me because I felt abandoned by my father.

Leading me, to stay in situations that were not ever serving of me.

Well, one day I got up.

One day I decided to know I'm special.

It's in my blood on both sides.

My mother is a fighter.

My father could fly.

Now I won't say it was his "dream."

But anytime I feel discouraged, I remember what he accomplished in his short time, here on earth.

He flew a got damn plane for Christ's sake. A friggin' jet!

And I swear, at this point, no one can tell me I can't fly high!

He traveled oversees to countries like Turkey.

A player from the northside. Who knew?

Fathers are Gods to their daughters. Not having a dad,

was the difference in me being a jezebel or a saint. Well, I guess I'm both. And I digress, I am not ashamed.

This is my testimony.

I didn't find my worth until recently.

I know it doesn't come from money.

I know my worth does not decrease,

because others don't see my value.

I had to ask myself, " What are you worth!"

Ain't no turning back.

I mourned my father so long, that he became my God.

One of many guardian angels who have spared me, because I deserve to be here.

Just like everyone else.

But I had to learn to separate the two.

This story, is about a man I longed for.

This story, is about a man, I act and look like.

We even have the same feet.

I wish I could have one conversation with him over a glass of whiskey.

Pick his brain. Spend time with him. Dance, with my father again.

His name was Victor Adrian Kirksey.

And me,

well.....

I'm just his daughter.

I wish I can tell him, but I know he knows I love him with all my soul.

I know it was him who sent me downloads of my real life.

I know it was him and his lineage that gave me strength to live my dreams.

I know it was him, who saved my life that night.

His death, has taught me to never give up.

My father may have made his murderer feel, "some type of way."

I believe the killer was someone close.

Won't say if I think it was a partner of his or a family member because some things, should be left alone.

One day, I am going to build up enough courage to obtain my father's autopsy report.

His murder was never solved.

A cold case.

A piece of me,

that never developed, is blooming right now, and at times it scares me. But, I cannot continue to live my life in fear.

I ain't afraid to live, anymore.

His face, haunts me wonderfully in my dreams.

And I digress,

He will never meet his grandson or great, grandchild.

HE WILL NEVER WALK ME DOWN THE AISLE AND I HAD TO KNOW AND ACCEPT THAT, but my brother said he would.

I knew at a young age, that I was special. I also knew that everyone has something special in them, as well. But, I didn't know why, until now. Just like in death, in life, you cannot take them with you. Some people. Some situations have to be left behind, in order for you, to grow.

He had high hopes for me.

So I said before I leave this earth, I'm going to make the rest of the time I have, here count! I want to make my mother and father proud.

No more pain and grieving. No more beating myself up because he wasn't here to save me. No more beating myself up, because I couldn't understand that I had to SAVE MYSELF; stop waiting on someone else to do it. I know now it's not anyone's responsibility to save me either. Life, doesn't own me, a thing.

Although, I didn't turn in, this challenge on time, I still felt it necessary to express the unconditional love that I have, in my heart for my dad.

Someone who betrayed me said, "Be the Victor, and not the Victim."

It resonates so true. YOU SEE, here is the version of the story I know and have lived with for so long.

Who does she think she is?

"Who am I ?"

I, am an empress.

The Oracle.

A divine feminine.

The writer of all wrongs.

I am Victor's Daughter.

And, I will never let him go.- AK