I walked into my parents' room at 9:30 Tuesday night. Mother was in her pajamas and under the covers. Daddy was sitting up watching TV. He was waiting for me to come to talk to him.
"Yes, Daddy," I said, plopping on the edge of their queen-size bed.
"Keisha, I've been telling you to come talk to me for days. Tomorrow, I'm going to work, and I might not see you before you go to Florida, so you better tell me now if you need anything."
Daddy was right. Since I had arrived in St. Louis three days earlier, he had been telling me to "come talk to me, let me know if you need anything." The "anything" Daddy was talking about was money. It's usually a small amount for gas and food. I wasn't concerned.
I'm so used to Daddy taking care of me and our family that I sometimes take him for granted. Daddy earned three master's degrees while my two older brothers and I were kids. We went to all three graduations because Daddy wanted us to see him cross the stage so we would know that we could do it, too.
He took us out every Saturday and taught us to play sports, nail things together, drive and much more. If Mother wanted a room remodeled, Daddy took on the job himself. Why hire people for work you can do yourself? He wanted us to be self-sufficient like him.
Since I was a kid, Daddy has been getting second jobs. He's a retired schoolteacher who found new work teaching in another district and dealing blackjack at a casino. We can't convince him to stop working. I'm convinced that he enjoys it.
Whenever my mother, brothers or I go anywhere, Daddy makes sure that we have whatever we need. He has been known to go out in the middle of the night and fill my gas tank while I sleep. Though my brothers don't need it, Daddy gives them money to buy diapers and toys for their children. This is how he provides for us.
Time was running out. Wednesday, I was going back to Columbia, Mo., where I attend law school, for two days. Early Friday, I was flying to Florida to begin my internship at the St. Petersburg Times. If I didn't talk to him Tuesday, I probably wouldn't talk to him at all.
Little did I know, Daddy was trying to fatten my bank, but I was too busy to listen.
Take Sunday, for example, the day after I returned to St. Louis from law school:
I was asleep when Daddy got home from his second job around 2 a.m. When I woke up to get dressed for church, he called from his room, "Keisha, you should come see me."
But I had to prepare for church. I hadn't combed my hair, put on my jewelry or applied my makeup. Plus, I had three whole days to talk to him.
Nonetheless, I walked down the hall in my beige suit to my parents' room, where Daddy was resting. The least I could do was see what he wanted.
"Hi, Daddy," I said standing over him.
"Hi," he said, smiling. "Aren't you going to give me a hug?" I reached down and gave him a hug. After waiting two seconds, I asked, "Is that all? I need to finish getting ready for church."
"You haven't seen me in weeks and you cut me off?" he said. "Finish getting ready, but you should come talk to me later. You need to tell me if you need anything."
Mother and I went out to eat with my grandmother and aunt after church. By the time we got home, Daddy was getting dressed to go back to work. I was exhausted. It was almost 4 p.m., and I'd been in church clothes and high heels since 10 a.m. My stomach was full, and I needed a rest. I went straight to my room.
Daddy was persistent. He came to my doorway and said, "Keisha, you ought to come talk to me. I'm about to go to work, but I have a few minutes. You should tell me if you need anything, now."
As I said before, "anything" means money. Sometimes Daddy asks, "How are you making it?" Regardless of my answer, he slaps about $30 in my hands. Then he says, "Is that enough? You sure?" Even if I say yes, he often gives me another $10 to $20.
It may seem like I'm spoiled, but that's not why Daddy gives me money. I'm a law student living on canned tuna and student loans. The warning light on the gas gauge shines for a week before I fill up my car. Between classes and studying, I have to schedule time to sleep. A job is out of the question. So, my parents help support me.
On this particular day, $50 wasn't a big deal. I was tired, I wasn't going anywhere, so I didn't need anything. I could see Daddy later.
Tuesday night, after calling for me at least five times over the past few days, Daddy yelled, "Keisha, you ought to come see me." I went.
Honestly, I didn't know what to tell him. Over the past two months, I had been preparing for law school finals. What I needed for St. Petersburg was the least of my worries.
"Give me about $300," I told Daddy.
Mother sat straight up in the bed. She looked at me as if I were deranged. "$300?"
"Keeishaaa, I know you need more than $300. Don't you have to pay rent when you get there? Don't you have to rent a car? You better tell me what you need," Daddy said.
"I have some money. What I don't have I was gonna put on my credit card," I said. Then I started calculating out loud everything that I thought I would have to pay for before getting my first check. Mother was helping me.
Daddy didn't want to hear the calculations. He wasn't interested in details, he wanted only the bottom line. So I said, "$1,500."
Daddy pulled out an envelope and walked to the bed I was sitting on. He laid 10 $100 bills in front of me. Then he gave me $500 in $50 bills.
Mother was my negotiator. She shook her head; that wasn't enough money. I still needed spending money and gas money and food, and . . .
Daddy pulled out another envelope. He counted out more money.
Mother and I kept negotiating. By 11:30 p.m. more than $2,500 in cash lay on the bed.
I figured Daddy had gone to the bank and taken it out of his savings. I was wrong.
Since February, knowing I would need money for Florida, Daddy had been saving his tips and putting aside portions of his check, all in cash, for me.
I was humbled. The next morning, I cried during my entire two-hour drive to Columbia. I kept thanking God for my dad and asking for forgiveness for my behavior.
I later wrote Daddy. I told him that I hope to marry a man who cares about family as much as he does and shares his sense of provision.
Daddy called when he received the letter. He said it made his day.
- Keisha I. Patrick is a reporter intern for Floridian.
