CHAPTER 5
BELOVED
DADDY’S GIRL
I can’t remember the first time my Daddy held me.
Not the way people recall birthdays or first days of school.
But when I close my eyes, I swear I can feel him.
The weight of his arms lifting me up, the warmth of his chest, the tone of his laugh rumbling through his body.
Mama told me the story so many times that it’s basically my memory anyway.
She said he came rushing into the hospital room two days after I was born, grin wider than a man who had hit the lottery. The nurses was moving around the room, checking machines. Mama was half-asleep, worn down from labor and heat.
When Tony Drake walked into that room, Mama said the whole place changed.
He marched straight to me, like nothing else existed.
No hesitation. No questions. Mama said his face weakened in a way she had never seen before.
Like the world had suddenly shrunk down to one tiny bundle wrapped in hospital blankets.
“Is dat my girl?” He questioned.
The nurse confirmed. He bent down and scooped me up carefully, like I was made of glass. The nurse had to remind him to support my head.
“My Summer,” he voiced.
My name rolled off his tongue, like it had been waiting there his whole life.
“Even in tha hottest summer, you gon’ always be tha light dat keeps me warm.”
Mama recalls he kissed my forehead and held me against his chest, like he had something to prove to the world.
And I held onto that story. Even when he wasn’t there.
Daddy was never steady. He came in bursts.
Like fireworks, loud, bright and impossible to ignore.
But gone before you could truly enjoy them.
He would show up all hours of the night, knocking on the door with that special rhythm only he used.
Three quick knocks, two slow ones. Mama’s sigh would echo through the house before she even thought about opening it.
My teeny body moving, heart racing, bare feet slapping against the hallway floor.
Door would swing open and there he would be.
“Sum-Bug,”
he would whisper, crouching low so I could jump into his arms.
And I would. Every single time. Throw my arms around his neck, like I was hugging my whole world.
He always smelled the same; cologne, cigarette smoke and a sharp stench underneath it all, liquor maybe.
I didn’t care, to me, that scent meant love.
Other days he came in daylight. Pulling up in a different car each time, radio blasting so loud the windows rattled.
“Come on, Sum and Shay,” he would shout.
“Daddy got y’all today.”
Those were the best days. Back then, Daddy spoiled us like we was royalty. Little gold earrings for me that made me feel grown. He gave me my first doll that cried real tears when you pressed her stomach.
“See dat?” He would say proudly.
“Only the best for my princesses.”
Even if he only stayed an hour. Even if Mama stood in the doorway with her arms crossed the whole time. I was on cloud nine. I pranced around for days after. Other kids would notice, and I would smile hard. My chest puffed out with pride. My Daddy gave me this.
Mama hated it. She said he bought love the same way he bought respect, and it never lasts.
“Gifts don’t make a father,”
she snapped once when she saw the earrings. I ain’t care. I didn’t need lasting. I needed him. The best part wasn’t the gifts anyway. It was how he looked at me. Like I was more important than the block. More important than money. More important than anything.
“Don’t you worry, baby girl,”
he whispered, sitting me on his knee. “Daddy gon’ always be here. You hear me? Ain’t nothin’ in dis world more important than you and ya brothers and sister.”
And I believed him. Every single word.
One summer afternoon he took me and Shay to the park near 33rd street. The whole city was outside. Daddy bought us ice cream cones that started melting the second they left the truck. He hoisted me onto his shoulders so I could see above the crowd. From up there, Philly stretched forever.
“See dat?”
He boasted, pointing across the skyline.
“Dis all yours, Summer. Tha whole city gon’ know yo’ name one day.”
I didn’t fully grasp what he meant, but the way he said it made it sound like destiny. Like the world had already decided something big was waiting for me.
Shay was weird with him though. She was older and sharper. She loved daddy too, but she saw things I didn’t. When he pressed a twenty-dollar bill into her hand and told her to buy something nice, she didn’t beam the way I did. Her eyes always darted toward mama.
“Why don’t you jus’ stay dis time?” She asked him. Daddy’s smile faltered for a second, he laughed it off.
“Don’t start, Shay.” He ruffled her hair. “Daddy got business. But I’ll be back. I always come back, right?”
I agreed quickly, trying to keep the promise alive. But Shay didn’t bite, she knew better.
For every bright day with Daddy, there was ten nights without him.
Ten nights turned into thirty. Thirty turned into months.
At some point, I stopped counting. Mama tried to fill the empty spaces he left.
But she was fighting her own battles. Working.
Struggling. Angry at him and usually too tired to hide it.
I didn’t care about her anger though. To me, Daddy could do no wrong. He was the sun. I was his summer.
When I was six years old, Daddy came home with promises. Big promises. He declared to Mama he was done with the streets. Done with the drugs. Done with the running. And she believed him.
One night I woke up to shouting. They was arguing in the kitchen.
“You can’t keep comin’ in and out like dis,” Mama snapped.
“They ain’t fools Tony. They see it!”
“Dey don’t see nothin’ but dey Daddy,” he shot back. His voice cracked when he said it.
“Don’t take dat from me Niecy.”
I pressed my hands over my ears. I didn’t want to hear the cracks. I didn’t want to see the truth. I wanted my hero back.
When people talk about first loves, they talk about playground crushes.
Teenage heartbreak. But mine was my father.
I was daddy’s girl. The way he kissed my forehead before disappearing into the night.
The way he called me the most beautiful girl in the universe.
The way he promised the world with a smile and a gift in his hand.
But over time, the shine started dulling. I picked up on things I didn’t see before. The way Mama’s tone sharpened when his name came up. The way Daddy would ask her to borrow money. The way he disappeared into the bathroom too long.
But even when the block swallowed him whole. Even when whispers reached my ears about what he was really doing out there. I held tight to those early moments. No matter what the world said about Anthony Drake, to me, he was Daddy. My first love.
Then, one summer he didn’t come back. Not once.
No knock on the door. No gold earrings. No ice cream trips to the park.
Mama was exhausted and broken. Trying to hold two kids and two newborns together with hands that already had too much weight on them.
I questioned her one evening where he was.
Her eyes hardened instantly. Her mouth tightened into a line.
“Ask tha streets,”
she replied. But I didn’t want the streets. I wanted him.
I sat on the porch day after day watching cars roll by. And when none of them stopped, I whispered the words he always told me.
‘Don’t you worry, baby girl. Daddy gon’ always be here.’
I repeated them until I believed them. Until they stopped hurting so much. And that is how I learned the most heart wrenching lesson the block teaches. Shared blood don’t make you family. Still, a little girl never forgets the first time she was loved.
SUNSHINE
When I was younger, Aunt Dee was better than Saturday morning cartoons. Better than recess, better than finding money outside. She didn’t live with us, but she might as well had. Constantly popping up. Her loudmouth going before you even saw her.
“Where my babies at? Summer! Shay!”
That’s how I knew she was there. I used to run to her first.
Didn’t matter what I was doing. Didn’t matter if Mama called me before.
If I heard Aunt Dee’s voice, I was gone.
She smelled the best too, like perfume and sweetness.
Her hair was always done, that press and curl bouncing when she walked, probably fresh out the salon.
Long nails clicking on whatever she touched.
She made everything fun, even regular stuff like bath time she turned into a game.
“Who can make tha biggest bubble beard?” She would laugh when mine slid off my face.
“Girl, you look like a lil’ ol’ man!”
When cooking she always let me ‘help.’ Which actually meant I was in the way, but she never said that.
“Stir dis for me baby,” she would tell me, handing me a spoon too big for my little hand.
“Don’t spill it now.”
But I always spilled it. And she always laughed.
When Mama was tired, which was a lot, Aunt Dee stepped in, it wasn’t even a question. She would pick up Sinceer, rock him on her hip, like he weighed nothing. Saiyd would be crawling after her, grabbing her legs.
“Lord, y’all tryin’ to trip me up,” she joked.
Shay would sit on the toilet letting Aunt Dee put lipstick on her.
“Girl, you look jus’ like yo’ mama” Aunt Dee would tell her.
Shay would roll her big eyes.
“I don’t care about dat.”
Aunt Dee would laugh.
“Yeah, okay.”
I got the soft version of her. She always pulled me close, kiss my forehead.
“My baby Summer,” she would tell me, like I was special. She bought small gifts. Candy. Fake tattoos. A shirt that wasn’t worn before me.
“Don’t tell ya mama,” her whispering. I would bob my head, like it was our little secret.
At night, Aunt Dee would sit on the edge of the bed with us. The twins passed out. Shay pretending she wasn’t listening.
“You gotta be strong out here,” she announced.
“This world don’t give you nothin’ fa free.”
I didn’t understand exactly what she was talking about, but I loved the way her voice sounded.
Maurice, her boyfriend, would come around sometimes.
I never liked him. He didn’t feel the same as Aunt Dee.
He was cold, heavy, too quiet. And his eyes never landed, they moved nonstop.
Like he was always one step ahead of everybody else.
I didn’t appreciate that. The way it felt, like he wasn’t in the moment with the rest of us.
And they argued more than I liked.
“You always out there,” she would snap.
“And you always worried ‘bout me,” he bounced back.
I didn’t know what ‘out there’ meant but I knew Aunt Dee’s smile changed around him. It was still pretty, so bright it lit up the room, but around him it didn’t stretch the same. It stayed tight at the edges, like she wanted to say more but couldn’t.
Aunt Dee’s hands was always busy. Fixing hair. Holding babies. Cooking food. Pulling me close. Her hands made life feel better, like everything was going to be okay. Even when it wasn’t. Her hands was like sunshine… that’s what I loved the most.