Personal

Mr. Willie’s Daughter

They say, “if you want to know how someone feels about you, have children.” And it’s true. So many relationships started and stopped the moment the guy found out who my dad is. See, my dad has a certain reputation. He’s 71 and was born and raised on the streets of Baton Rouge. He left his parents home at 14, was married by 17 and has done so many types of things in his day. There was once a point in time where he was the one you didn’t mess with. He did his thing. I’m sure it wasn’t all good, but it definitely wasn’t all bad. His DNA is in the paint of so many buildings around the city. He’s helped build malls and homes all over. He has truly left his mark.

That said, it’s not always easy to be Mr. Willie’s Daughter. Some times I just want to be Eryka. Being Mr. Willie’s daughter carries all sorts of invisible disclaimers. I’m seen as a princess of sorts because my dad is so much older. People know he has “spoiled” me and some times assume I’m lazy and untalented. Being the daughter of a powerful or successful person sometimes looks like the dream. It seems as if I’ve always had everything. I was able to travel outside the country and drive a new car at just a teen. My parents paved a very privileged way for me, but let’s not be deceived: it hasn’t been perfect.

Nonetheless, being my daddy’s daughter has been a type of preparation. As I said before, some guys literally run when they find out who he is. They assume that if they make one error, he’ll “get them” and they’re probably right. There have been many young men to come and sit under my dad. They enjoy his stories and love to learn from him, but they don’t ever try to cross him because they already know he’s not going to go easy on them.

The same applies to God, but in a bigger more divine way. He is THE KING. There’s nothing or no one greater or more significant than Him. Just as a father protects his young, God will go to great lengths for those who belong to Him. Those who aren’t in Christ or don’t believe aren’t quick to play with the children of God simply because they understand that God isn’t to be played with.

It’s funny to me. My dad is no Saint but being his daughter has taught me to be okay with being set apart. So much about me is peculiar compared to my surroundings. I am blessed. God set me up pretty good in spite of the imperfections of my life. I’m no longer dumbing myself down or acting like I don’t know who I am simply because those around me can’t handle it. I am that I am. I am God’s very own. He crafted me. He raised me. He loves me. No apologies. No justifications. God is not to be played with. Neither am I.

I am Eryka

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