Billboard Dad

By Olivia Daniels*

His scent was reminiscent of peppermints and Axe body spray. The kind of smell that lingered long after he left a room, making its presence known.

I begged him to sleep in my twin bed when my mother reluctantly allowed him to crash in our home. Not because I wanted to sleep beside him, but to simply capture this scent. If history repeated itself, I knew his peppermints-and-Axe mixture would willingly stick around after he had abruptly left again.

Glass mounts decorated the space. Tiny pieces were shattered in just about every corner of the room; as if to visually describe the mass chaos that consistently inhabited our home. My parents fought on a regular basis, but this time was different. This time their argument was poetic in nature, as their voices echoed down the hallways.

A woman’s voice interrupted the duo. I didn’t know until later that she was the woman my father was seeing. Why this monumental fight occurred. The reason the police filled our home. And the reason my Dad left and didn’t come back for awhile.

The next day marked the start of my birthday week. Usually a super joyous occasion, filled with family and strawberry shortcake, this time it was tainted by unanswered questions and hidden glass.

“We were just a group of people lumped together, forced to make it work.”

To apologize for the drama, my mother unveiled her drawer of presents and decided a gift was in order. “I’m sorry, this is for you.” Her voice was a quivering mess as she handed me a small unwrapped VHS of Billboard Dad, a late ’90s Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen film. Full-cheese mode and all about a nearly perfect dad, looking for a wife after his beloved passes away.  She thought the movie would make up for my father’s incompetence. Instead, it made me yearn for a father worthy enough to be on a billboard.

I wanted a “Billboard Dad.”

The kind of dad that sneaks you cookies, after mom says no. The kind of dad who goes to every extracurricular event and screams, “that’s my kid!” The type of dad who’s present and emotional and expressive. The total opposite of mine. Don’t get me wrong; my Dad wasn’t a monster, just young and unsure of his place in the world.

The only time he’d come around was when he was in desperate need of something. My mother would fight the urge to help him, until she’d succumb to his spell.

He had a hold on her since college. She started dating him on accident—she loves to tell this story—because he looked like his best friend, the guy she originally wanted. After he gave her chlamydia, physically and emotionally abused her and repeatedly cheated (all in her sophomore year of college), she decided she had had enough. Unfortunately, as she reached her breaking point—to her surprise—my conception had already occurred. She was stuck. And, in turn, I was stuck. I guess you can say we were just a group of people lumped together, forced to make it work.

Some of us grow up knowing what our niche is, or where we should insert ourselves into society. Shortly after my parents split, I thought mine was beauty pageants. Not because my long ash-brown hair stretched down my back, or my green eyes tended to tell stories. Nope. Simply because I thought it was the way to my father’s heart (if that makes sense).

“Smile and enjoy yourself, you got this,” my aunt yelled, as she shoved me on stage. My fluffy pink dress and big bouncy curls covered my insecurities. Winning my first beauty pageant meant more than the giant crown and recognition. It was a place. A safe haven, far away from my dysfunctional family. Even so, I was still fighting for my father to stick around. His daughter was Little Miss Waukegan and, yet, he wasn’t enticed to stay. What more could I do for his love?

“He was, in fact, human.”

The first time he saw my crown was the last time my mother let him crash at our place. This stay felt surreal, which might be the reason I recall it so vividly. It was the first time I saw my Dad as truly vulnerable; black duffel bag in hand, scruffy beard and a lack of direction in his eyes.

Now this… this is how I wanted to see him. He was, in fact, human.

He gazed at my crown, sash and trophies, and simply smiled, “I knew you would win.” That was his way of saying “sorry I missed it.” And all I needed to hear.

He laid claim to my bed for about two weeks. His smell stuck to my sheets for about two months. After he randomly left for Arkansas, I never wanted to wash my Black Barbie comforter again.

I’ll never forget that smell. It stayed up with me through tearful nights. Comforted me and reassured me I was loved. Uncomfortably squeezing into my twin bed was his way of expressing the love he had for me.

I wanted a “Billboard Dad.”

Till this day, my Dad probably doesn’t belong on a billboard, maybe not even a poster, but he’s mine.

The peppermint-and-Axe mixture never left his side, and no matter where in the world he was, it never left mine. His scent tells a story of remorse and a willingness to stick around—if only for a moment. A story that shaped me; my perception of love and life. A scent I will never forget.

Editor’s Note: The author has requested to use a pseudonym. 

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