Princess Savannah and the Lost Tail: The Journey to Happily Ever After

What little girl wouldn’t want to be a princess? Like most girls, I embraced the Disney princess films as I obsessively watched them daily, memorizing every word and song. Being a princess promised a loving and protective father (due to many of the mothers being absent from the story with little explanation as to why), magical powers, beauty, the ability to talk to animals, and a heroic prince charming to save the day. To me however, the happily ever afters were always open for interpretation, and mine could be whatever my heart desired. And so, a princess was formed: Princess Savannah. Equipped with my royal pet Dumbo that I carried everywhere and slept with every night, I also had a father whom I had wrapped around my finger, and beauty as everyone expressed that I looked like a porcelain doll. All I needed was a prince charming, but I was too young for one of those, so daddy would have to do.

My dad would often play stuffed animals with me. Some of them I still have today, and one of them is a rabbit that I notoriously named Daddy Bear. I always gave my dad the choice of what he wanted to play, whether that was playing house, tea parties, or with my dollies—all of which were named Jessica for reasons unknown. Sometimes my dad would just choose to sing with or for me with his massive stereo and speakers, which grew to my own love of music. The first song he ever taught me was “lolley lolley” that I would rock back and forth to as he smiled back at me in awe. I loved the smile I always seemed to put on my dad’s face and the time he would devote to playing with me, but as time went on, my dad couldn’t be bothered with tea parties and tiaras. So at the age of five, I went through my extensive collection of stuffed animals and chose the one who seemed the specialist to me. As it would turn out, Dumbo won the contest that day; a bright blue fluffy elephant with a fiery red tail. He fit perfectly underneath my arm. I decided that he would be my treasured stuffed animal, pet, and best friend that allotted him the relationship I was slowly losing with my father. So as my parents fought more often than not and I was told to go to my room, Dumbo and I would build a fort using blankets tucked under the shelf above my bed. They draped over us and provided our own little sanctuary away from the world; our own little castle where we could pretend to be whoever we wanted to be. Here, I could be the princess I knew I was with my Little Mermaid bedspread keeping out the dark shadows of a crumbling reality. Inside my castle, there was no point in worrying about things when the Disney princess films of my reality assured me that happily ever afters were always guaranteed in the end.

My parents officially divorced when I was seven. It felt natural to me. I don’t think I ever even questioned it, as if I knew it was coming. There had been plenty of fights, and many nights where I hugged my beloved elephant and best friend, Dumbo, as hard as I could until I fell asleep. I never had to feel alone because he was always right there with me whenever I needed him. Who needs an unloving father when you have a Dumbo to make you feel safe and secure? Truthfully, I did. I needed my dad back; the one who cared, made time to play stuffed animals, dollies, teatime, and house with me, sang Alannah Myles, Bad Company, and Def Leppard to me, and treated me like his little princess. Occasionally he would ask me what I wanted to listen to and my answer was always Cinderella; not the Disney film, but the 80s one-hit-wonder rock band that I loved for the association of their name to my princess persona. I took every opportunity to hold onto that identity as I found him unraveling from my tiny finger. I was no longer the twinkle in his eye, but rather the brat who fetched his beers. I wasn’t sure at what point I became his meaningless servant rather than daddy’s little princess, and I wasn’t sure if it was a phase or if I had done something wrong, so I fought hard for his now nonexistent love and attention.

To me, my dad was still not the villain of my fairytale, even as I began to feel unworthy of being the princess as well. However, I soon met the villain when I was 10. Her name was Fran. They were married before I knew it, and her two kids were seemingly pushed on me as well—the degenerate siblings I had never wanted. My dad openly embraced this rotten trio, and I knew at that moment: I no longer mattered. My evil stepmother Fran, with her wart covered hands, made it very clear that she did not like me when my dad wasn’t around. She even arranged for me to be shipped off to her mother’s house with my stepsiblings every weekend—weekends that I was supposed to be spending with my dad. I didn’t want to be there, and Fran’s mother made it known that she didn’t want me there either. It seemed the apple didn’t fall far from the poisonous tree with this family.

An argument erupted between my dad and I when I was 14 at the dining room table after dinner, as my stepsiblings cleaned up and went upstairs, I finally got the courage to speak my mind—something he’d purposely silenced for years. I now saw him for what he truly was: a manipulative liar who only did things to benefit himself. Fran decided it was her place to join in on our conversation as she hissed the lies my father had fed her to make my mother look bad—all of which had nothing to do with the situation, were not true, and got under my skin just as she had intended. I calmly told her this conversation didn’t concern her at first, but as she continued with her slithering remarks I specifically told her to shut up.  Enraged, the witch slapped me in front of my dad. She tried to slap me again, but I grabbed her wrist so she couldn’t. She wasn’t as strong as she thought she was. I frantically called my mom to come pick me up as my dad just sat there like he wasn’t even present. When my mom arrived she asked what had happened and my dad simply stated that I was just blaming him for everything wrong in my life. Truth be told, he was everything wrong in my life or at least the cause of it. He had taken his princess and ruined her, deeming her worthless through his hypnotizing eyes. A few months later he disowned me in court because he thought he wouldn’t have to pay child support anymore, also denying that Fran had hit me to the judge. I realized I had no idea who my dad was anymore, and that I was better off without the negative misery of an alcoholic in my life. I wasn’t invincible like I had gone my whole life thinking. As I masked the hurt my heart felt for never being worthy of my dad’s love, I straightened my tiara, and pretended I was fine. Even though I was no longer daddy’s little princess, I would always be a princess.

For the next four years, I tried to contact him a few times to develop some kind of relationship that we could rekindle, but the phone calls only ever ended in disappointment and tears as I would lay on the green carpeted floor in my room with Dumbo or in my mother’s arms, asking why I wasn’t good enough, or what had I done wrong to deserve this. I found that my mother was the true queen of my fairytale; she was kind, loving, and selflessly devoted to mending the hole in my heart. She felt helpless as she tried to fill the void my dad had left, but she was never able to. She couldn’t undo what he had cast in stone that encompassed my heart and my innocence. Even more so than Fran, I realized my dad was the real villain; one who had no remorse.

I decided I would join the Air Force, and was about to come home after tech school to visit my family. I was now 19, and I honestly believed that this time would be different. I sat down on my bed in tech school, covered by the princess comforter I bought to represent my identity after being stripped of individuality in basic training. I glanced out the window and then back at the silver flip-phone in my hand. The anxiety crept into my throat, as I dialed his number from memory. He answered the phone and it hit me; I had no idea what I was going to say.

“Hello?”

“Hey dad it’s me! How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, well, I just graduated from tech school. I thought I would call you and tell you the good news.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’m, um, coming home for a couple weeks before I have to go back to Texas. I was wondering if maybe you’d want to go grab dinner somewhere and talk? You can pick anywhere you want to go, and I’ll even pay.”

“Well, I’m pretty busy I don’t know. Tell you what. Call when you’re home and we’ll see.”

“Ok dad! I’ll definitely give you a call. It will be in about two weeks. I’m looing forward to it!”

“Ok.”

“Love you dad!”

“Ditto.”

The entire conversation felt dead and forced. Something about the way he spoke to me made me feel irrelevant to his life, without him having to say it. He couldn’t even say he loved me back. Instead I got “ditto,” a word that will forever knock the wind out of me. His icy cold tone of voice made me feel defeated, but still, I had a shred of hope that we would get to talk once I was home. Daddy’s little princess now wore combat boots; he had to feel proud of me now.

When I got home I called quite a few times. I knew he was home. I knew he was looking at that telephone with my phone number illuminated on it as it rang, purposely not answering it. I realized there was nothing I could do. I didn’t mean anything to him anymore, and I was just going to have to accept that. As I hung up the last phone call I ever made to him, I felt like a child whose dreams had been shattered. I often see his eyes staring back at me in the mirror, telling me I’m not the fairest of them all. I’ve spent too much time asking myself why, but I’ve come to learn that I will never know the answer to that question. For a long time, I blamed myself; I wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t smart enough, I wasn’t pretty enough, I wasn’t enough. But this was never about me. We all have inner demons that we’re fighting with, and as we look up to our parents, we overlook that our parents are no different. My dad let his demons win, and when he gave up, he lost the one thing worth fighting for.

Sometimes we’re forced to grow up before we’re ready. I held onto hope for as long as I could, but even the strongest can’t hold on forever. I know the right thing to do is to forgive him and move on, but the little girl lost inside of me isn’t sure that she’ll ever be able to forgive him. 19 years later, I’m still left gluing the broken pieces of her heart back together, and if there were anything I could tell that little girl now, I’d tell her that she is enough. I’m reminded of hope and love whenever I hold Dumbo to this day. While he might be raggedy with age, and his once bright blue fur is either missing in spots or gray in color with a tail that has now been missing for quite some time, it’s evident that he has aged with love. With Dumbo by my side, I’ve come to realize that this princess won’t need to be saved by a prince charming that doesn’t exist. My journey to happily ever after will be whatever I make it, and that’s the only guarantee.