{"id":7727,"date":"2026-03-10T01:48:49","date_gmt":"2026-03-09T21:48:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wandasmaxey.com\/?p=7727"},"modified":"2026-03-10T01:48:52","modified_gmt":"2026-03-09T21:48:52","slug":"daddy-never-called-me-princess","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wandasmaxey.com\/?p=7727","title":{"rendered":"Daddy Never Called Me Princess"},"content":{"rendered":"\t\t
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Daddy Never Called Me Princess<\/strong><\/span><\/h1>

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\u00a0<\/h2>

Did your Daddy ever call you princess? Maybe he wasn’t the Daddy you hoped to have, and he hurt you, either with his words or in other ways. Read about how one man’s oldest daughter ran into her Daddy after she was grown and she gave him a taste of his own medicine.<\/strong><\/em><\/span><\/h2>

Read the first chapter of Daddy Never Called Me Princess for <\/span>“FREE”<\/span><\/strong><\/h3>

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CHAPTER 1: GET OUT<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>

\u00a0<\/h3>

“Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime.”<\/strong><\/span>
– Herbert Ward<\/strong><\/span><\/h3>

\u00a0<\/h3>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/strong>“Take that illegitimate kid of yours and get out!”<\/strong>
\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Those were the first words I ever remember hearing from my daddy. I didn’t understand the words, as a four year old at hte time, but I wil never forget his anger. <\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The year was around 1950. Daddy <\/strong>had a bottle in one hand, the other hand was clenched into a<\/strong> fist. “Let that jerk of a dad take care of his own kid. I only took her <\/strong>in because you married me. Wel I’ve had enough. You can both hit the road!”<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0I didn’t realize that my little brother, Ronnie, belonged to my step-dad, therefore, he was never banished from the house. I didn’t even know that he was my step-dad, he was the only daddy I knew.<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0He screamed at Mama, slapped her across the face, then back handed her on the other side. He gave her a shove and ordered us to get out.<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Come on, Wanda,” Mama said, “Let’s go.”<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Mama grabbed a hold of my hand. Daddy didn’t even let us get a coat before he slammed the door behind us. We hid in the dark<\/strong> shed that cold, windy night. There wasn’t even a full moon to give<\/strong> us some light. Mama cried. I was freezing and I couldn’t stop shaking. I was so scared. My nose started bleeding, again. Mama didn’t even have a rag to stop the bleeding. She dumped one of the rabbits’ water dishes and held ti under my nose so I wouldn’t cover myself in blood.<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Along time later Mama tip-toed around the house, with me holding tight to her dress, and peeked in the window.<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Okay,” she said, “he’s passed out now. We’re safe. Let’s go back in the house.”<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Home to us was a two-car garage on thirty acres that Daddy converted into a house. Dividers were put up to make a kitchen, a living room, and two small bedrooms. One bedroom for Mama and Daddy. Another bedroom for my little brother, Ronnie, and me to share. We had a set of bunk beds. We didn’t have wooden doors, the openings were covered with old sheets sewed onto a broomstick<\/strong> and nailed above the doorway. Since we didn’t have indoor<\/strong> plumbing, we used a pot which Mama surrounded with a curtain for supposed privacy. Water was pumped from a wel and we could only take sponge baths.<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Mama used her talents, and lots of hard work, to turn our meager house into a home, complete with green ruffled curtains and starched white doilies.<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0My warm bed felt so good as Mama tucked the covers under my chin and kissed me on the cheek. “Good night, sweetie,” she said “Get some sleep. Things wil be better tomorrow.”<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0But nothing ever changed, at least not for the better.<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Mama wasn’t too happy when I had to start school, she just wanted me to stay with her, so sometimes she kept me home.<\/strong>
Daddy didn’t know I missed so much school, he wouldn’t have liked that, so we didn’t tell him.<\/strong>
I made friends with Darcy, from my kindergarten class, but I<\/strong>
wasn’t allowed to have her over. I wouldn’t have wanted to anyway. I was too embarrassed about things that happened at home. Darcy<\/strong> was a good friend at school, when Idid go.<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Why do you wear the same clothes all the time?” Darcy asked me.<\/strong><\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“They’re the only dresses I have, but Mama washes and irons them, so they’re clean.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Oh, I know,” she said, “and your dresses look nice, but I have a lot of clothes, maybe Ican share with you. I’l ask Mother.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Mama got a phone call from Darcy’s mother. “Would you be offended to accept a bag of Darcy’s clothes? She has more than she needs and Darcy and Wanda are about the same size.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Well no,” Mama said, “we’d appreciate them.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The lady dropped the clothes off and I had so much fun going through the bag. “Oh, look at this yellow dress: it has lots of ruffles and a big bow in the back. Can I try it on now, Mama? Daddy will think I look pretty.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Mama helped me into the dress and fixed my hair so I could model for him. When I walked into the room Daddy took another swig from his beer bottle then looked up at me.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Hey, Wanda, you look like a movie star.” He laughed. “Yeah, Lassie. You look like you combed your hair with an egg beater.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0My stomach started hurting again.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Maybe I’d make Daddy happy next time, I thought, but next time never came. I couldn’t understand why. I used to think maybe he didn’t like me because I had dark hair, not bright red, naturally curly hair, like Mama and Daddy. Even my brother, Ronnie, had thick red hair. He was the spitting image of his daddy who was tall and slim. People said Ronnie would probably be just as tall. But then again, none of us ever made Daddy happy. Not even the baby Mama had when I was five, a little girl named Rose. They nick-named her Penny, because her hair was as red as a copper penny. And least of all, Mama, five foot two, eyes of blue. Everyone said she was areal looker.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Mama’s good looks were passed on to Penny. By the time I was in first grade my little sister was toddling all over. She had a head full of bright red ringlets and an adorable smile. She laughed all the time, except when Daddy looked at her real mean, then she’d start crying.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 “Well, look at that,” he’d smirk, “she’s going to cloud up and rain all over.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Ronnie made Daddy the maddest of all. Mama said they were both so stubborn. Ronnie did things he knew he wasn’t supposed to do and Daddy always found out. Like the time Daddy came out of hte outhouse cussing and yeling. “Ronnie! Get out here!”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Oh no, he found out that Ronnie threw his train down the hole.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Daddy dragged Ronnie to the outhouse. He held him upside down by his legs and made him reach through the mess. Ronnie screamed and gagged till he found his train and pulled it out.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Now go get cleaned up.” Daddy told him.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Ronnie was terrified of the dark so Daddy locked him in that dark little shed out back. Ronnie wouldn’t have had to stay there if he’d promised not to be bad anymore. Mama said he just wouldn’t give Daddy the satisfaction.
Ronnie kept screaming. “Help, help, let me out!”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Daddy let him scream for a while then he opened the door and said, “Okay, do you think you can be good now?”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Ronnie stopped crying only long enough to stubbornly say, “No.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0All he had to do was say, “Yes,” but he refused.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Daddy slammed the door and locked it again. Even in the house you could hear Ronnie’s screams. The pile of empty beer bottles got bigger until Daddy passed out on the couch. Mama opened the door and let Ronnie out so he could come in and go to bed.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Daddy didn’t usually hit us kids. “You might get away with slugging me,” Mama would scream at him, “but you will not hit one of my kids!” But we saw what he did to her and we were all terrified of him. He’d scream and make us think he was going to clobber us.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Now you get in there and sit on the bed,” Daddy’s voice would boom, “stay there and think about what you’re going to get when I get in there.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Just dreading our punishment for hours was pure torture. The torture only lessened when he headed for the nearest bar. Mama spent time alone with us when Daddy was gone. We’d have fun playing “Hide the Button.” Sometimes we’d hide it so well that no one could find it. “Well you can’t hide it where none of the button even shows,” Mama would say.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0But playing “Beast, Bird, or Fish,” was my favorite. The person who was it would say either beast, bird, or fish, then they’d point to someone. The other person would have to come up with the name of a beast, bird, or fish, before the first person counted to ten real fast. We’d all try to see who could count the fastest, even if the little ones couldn’t get all the numbers right.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Sometimes Mama played the guitar. She used a knife on the strings, instead of her fingers. She also had a small keyboard and played, ‘Black Hank Waltz,” one of my favorites. We loved to sit around and listen to Mama sing old Indian songs and recite poems.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0On Saturdays, when Daddy didn’t have to work, he needed quiet so he could sleep. Mama would send us outside to play until lunch time. I remember one Saturday. We were all playing outside and I was starving before Mama came after us, “Hey, kids, lunch time.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0We headed into the house to eat our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We walked in to the smell of steak and mushrooms, so we knew Daddy was up. It smelled so good, but since Daddy worked hard all week and needed his nourishment, it was only for him.
Ronnie walked over to his dad and stood there staring at him, watching him eat.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Well, Lyle,” Mama said, “he wants a little taste of your steak.” “If he wants a bite of my steak then I’ll give him a bite.” Before Daddy gave him a piece, he took his bottle of hot Tabasco sauce and shook some on the meat. Ronnie took the bite. He started choking and yelling. “It burns, it burns.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Mama got Ronnie a glass of water and helped him drink it. “That was a mean trick,” she told Daddy. “He’ll never ask you for another bite.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Well that was the whole idea.” He laughed, “Maybe now he’ll leave me alone and let me eat in peace.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0We only had peace when Daddy’s car pulled away. Laughter rang through our house when he was gone. At least until he pulled back in the drive and everything came to a halt. Headlights shining in the bedroom window, or the sound of keys in the door, jolted us awake. Daddy would stumble into the house and bark his orders at Mama.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Hey, woman, get out of that bed and cook me a steak.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Poor Mama would follow his orders, climb out of bed, and light a fire under his steak. I’d pray that he wouldn’t hit her. I never knew how long I’d be able to stay in bed after the fighting started. Voices would get louder and louder until I’d hear the slaps. Soon thereafter I’d hear Daddy’s hateful words, “Take that illegitimate kid of yours and get out!” The same scene played out many times over.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0But for all the love we never got from Daddy, Mama tried to make up for it when he was gone. “You kids are my whole life,” she’d say, “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to any of you.”<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Then she’d try her best to think of fun things to do that didn’t involve money.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Us kids also liked to come up with our own fun things to do. We knew she’d let us do anything we wanted, if we asked her enough times. There was a favorite place we liked to hang out, but sometimes the place got us into trouble. We’d do something bad and get caught. We knew we’d need a lot of begging before she’d let us go, so we all started at once.<\/p>

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0“Can we go Mama? Can we, can we? Please…<\/p>

Don’t miss out on the rest of this true story. Click the link below and purchase your very own copy.<\/p>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t<\/div>\n\t\t\t\t

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<\/span><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Daddy Never Called Me Princess \u00a0 Did your Daddy ever call you princess? Maybe he wasn’t the Daddy you hoped to have, and he hurt you, either with his words or in other ways. Read about how one man’s oldest daughter ran into her Daddy after she was grown and she gave him a taste […]<\/p>\n

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