💫Her Father’s Son: A Father's Day Tribute from a Daughter Who Still Misses Him

As a young Nigerian woman, growing up as the last born among eight sisters in our small house in Western Nigeria was... different.

They wanted a boy. Everyone did. But I came.

And before I could even say my name properly, I was already being told, “You were supposed to be a boy.” So, I wore shorts, played ball with the boys on dusty fields, climbed trees like it was normal, and ran errands like I had something to prove. My sisters stayed in their lane. My mother prayed in hers. 

But my Daddy? He claimed me completely.

He called me “his boy.”

At age 3, I was already going with him to watch football. We'd sit and talk about politics like I was his deputy governor. 

We didn't have much, but he gave me everything he could time, love, attention. My schoolmates envied how he would stand outside the gate waiting to take me home. 

And I loved it.

I loved him.

He wasn’t just my father. 

He was my friend. 

My gist partner. 

My safe space.

But life has a way of testing love.

When I got to SS3, my father was diagnosed with diabetes. It hit hard. 

Our finances dropped. I started hawking more than I had ever done. 

I didn’t complain, I just did it. 

My friends had moved on to dating and relationships. 

Me? I was busy cleaning wounds, buying drugs, injecting Insulin to my Dad and praying. 

Some people started calling me a lesbian because I didn’t care about boys. 

Truth? I didn’t even have space for that kind of emotion. My whole heart was tied to my father’s survival.

Every time he was rushed to the hospital, I aged. My body might have looked young, but my soul carried weights that even grown women couldn't bear.

I remember one call from school.

“Gold, your Dad is not breathing well.”

I froze. 

The food in front of me lost all taste. My mind shut down.

And then, one day, just like that… he was gone.

No warning. No final words. No long speeches.

I stood still.

I didn’t scream. 

I didn’t cry in front of people. 

I held myself together because I felt like if I broke, nobody would be able to put me back again.

But inside me? I was shattered.

My father, my anchor, my everything, gone.

You see, people talk about fathers like they’re optional. But for some of us, they were the only ones who saw us when the world didn’t. 

My Dad believed in me before I believed in myself. He whispered hope into my dreams, even when the world said, “You’re just a girl.”

After he died, I found myself. 

I leaned into God, poured my pain into purpose.

Today, I teach young girls in my community. I talk to them about dreams, self-worth, skill-building, digital tools. 

I hold their hands because I remember what it felt like to feel unseen, unheard, and alone. I remember what it felt like to be loved… and then left behind by the one who gave you everything.

Yes, I’m still Gold. 

A bit broken, yes, but still shining. 

A woman now. Not “her father’s son” anymore.

Just his daughter. Grateful for the love that shaped me. Grateful for the voice that still echoes, “Gold, make me proud.”

To everyone world pulse woman, Happy Father’s Day to your Husband's.

To all the strong men behind this power house, happy Father's day to you and God blessings 💖

To every man who showed up. 💖

To those who are still showing up. 

To the fathers who raised girls to stand tall in a world that keeps trying to shrink them. 💖

To all the fathers in this community that is raising amazing women.

And to my Daddy in heaven, I hope you’re smiling. 💖

I hope you see me.😊

Because Daddy… I still miss you. And I’m still becoming.💪

Your Daughter,

Gold.