When I was 12 years old my father showed up at our little house on Watervliet and I can’t remember why.

I must’ve said something to upset him though because he looked me straight in the eyes and said,

“You know Katie, you ain’t shit. You ain’t nothing but me and your mama put together.”

And the strange thing is that even at 12 years old, I knew he wasn’t talking to me.

In his younger years, my dad was a very talented man.

A drummer with a song that got played on the radio.

A personality and a face that stopped the room.

He was gonna be big.

He was gonna be somebody.

But somehow he had found himself in the living room in our little house on Watervliet.

Somehow he had found himself telling a 12 year old girl that she was nothing.

Somehow he had found himself.

And he was filled with anger and regret.

I think the first time I felt God’s presence was when I was about 5 years old.

I was on the swings at Indiatlantic elementary school.

And I was singing Madonna’s Like a Prayer with a kind of intensity and passion that only a child can have.

I was all by myself (as much as a 5 year old can be) but I just knew that someone was listening.

And to this day I just know that someone is listening.

So I sing. Loudly.

And when I think about that day when my dad came over to our little house on Watervliet,

it makes me want to sing even louder.

And it’s not because I am angry.

And it’s not because I want to prove him wrong about me.

I just want to prove him wrong about himself.

He is something. He does matter.

And though he never got big, he never became somebody, he was somebody all along.

He was my father.

And him and my mama put together made everything.

They made me.

They made me sing.

And I just know that someone is listening…