Lessons for a Daddy's Girl.

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Author: Bartlett, Bridgette

I'd like my future husband to have at least a bachelor's degree, a nice nest egg and his own place." This is what I proudly proclaimed to my mother one Sunday afternoon when I was in my early twenties. "I'd also like us to date for at least two years before we get engaged," I added. My mother offered a wry grin without looking up from chopping the collard greens she was preparing for dinner that night. "Your father didn't have any of that when we got married," she reported. What!? "How long did you date before he proposed?" I asked. She replied nonchalantly, "Hmmm, about six months, I think."

I was beyond confused. What was she saying? Before his untimely death in 1990 of lung cancer, my daddy had been a model husband to my morn and father to my brother and me. Heathcliff Huxtable had nothing on him. However, my father wasn't an established doctor with a cushy brownstone. On the contrary, he was a New York City Transit Authority subway conductor with a humble apartment. He was also the parent who insisted the family eat dinner together at the kitchen table, taught my brother and me the value of a dollar by forcing us to save half of our allowance in our piggy banks, and made sure I practiced my clarinet. He would never allow my mother to open a car door or change a lightbulb in his presence. He was an avid reader and painter and a jazz enthusiast. But my mother was telling me that when they wed he didn't have the "basic necessities" I thought were prerequisites for my future husband.

What I have eventually learned in my adult years is that the daddy I knew and loved wasn't necessarily the man my mother initially met. For example, during the early years of their marriage, my father had a slight drinking problem. But when my mother gave him the ultimatum of choosing between alcohol and his family, he chose the latter. By the time I came along, the problem was history, and I can barely recall my father even taking a drink socially.

Now don't get me wrong--my mother was in no way telling me to settle. In fact, "You can do bad by yourself" is one of her mantras. But she was quietly revealing to me how important patience and understanding are to a successful relationship. If my father were alive today, have no doubt that my parents would still be happily married. Sure they had occasional arguments, but those never seemed to last. Their love always seemed to overcome whatever challenges they faced.

Though the standard of living today is very different from what it was in 1967, when my parents tied the knot, the standards for a loving marriage should never change. I want what my parents had, and no amount of education or financial stability can guarantee that. If my soul mate happens to be college-educated with a big salary, great. But I no longer have a checklist of material things my husband-to-be must possess.

Of course, there are qualities in a husband I cannot compromise on. I want a God-fearing man who will always have self-respect, respect for me, and strong family values. "I didn't have my pops around" is a lame excuse for irresponsible, disrespectful behavior in a relationship. My dad never knew his biological father and was raised primarily by women. This never stopped him from being a wonderful husband and father.

So at 29, though very single, I hope that one day I will share a loving marriage and raise a family with someone special. These days, when one of my girlfriends recites her laundry list of demands the man in her life must meet, without passing judgment I grin and silently give God thanks for my mother's wisdom. And I thank my father for showing me that good men come in many packages, and sometimes those without the shiny ribbons have the best contents.

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By Bridgette Bartlett

Bridgette Bartlett is a fashion writer living in New York.