“Where’s my Daddy?”
The gnawing question was inevitable, but Stayce Smith, then a young mom of 22, was unprepared with an answer fit for a three year old. “Daddy” could be her boss, her mailman, or the coffee barista across town. His identity was known only to God.
“I don’t know where your Daddy is, honey. I’m sorry.” She stilled the tearful explosion welling in her eyes while her perplexed son, Justin, searched her face for answers. Observance of a nearby happy family enjoying a happy meal had prompted her toddler’s inquiry. Stayce yearned to be a real “Carol Brady” wife with a stair-step bunch, but that blissful scenario always seemed to elude her and find someone else. No father-son events, bouncing on Daddy’s knee or “Good job, Son” would be coming their way.
Shawnee, Oklahoma, Stayce’s hometown, was teeming with the young and the restless. Like many of her underage peers, she passed time beneath the midwestern moon at a variety of watering holes and unrestrained parties. Tales of intoxication, vomiting, and hangovers were dependable crowd pleasers, gaining a twisted fame for the lush of the week. Stayce had even been the “star” of a few.
However, one night in a backroom following one party and one margarita too many, Stayce was roused from inebriation and found herself the victim of a rape in progress. Stymied by the alcohol, she was no match for the assailant. Surely this sinister bubble would pop, hurling her from this appalling nightmare and back into reality. Afterwards, she, being a “good Southern girl”, told herself she would shake off her hangover and get back in step with the Shawnee beat.
As the weeks pealed by, the tarnished memory, along with its accompanying shame and broken trust, took up residence in Stayce’s clouded past. She blamed herself for the assault, and never filed a police report. A recent split with a longtime beau had prompted her drinking binge on the eve of the attack, which, she reasoned, wouldn’t have happened had she been sober. More importantly, being the daughter of a Baptist minister and a Mormon mom, she’d been raised in church and church girls weren’t supposed to be raped. A god failing to protect her from such a trauma was unworthy of further allegiance.
Menstrual irregularities are common in many otherwise healthy women, and for Stayce, they merited no concern. Her petite frame hadn’t changed, yet the keen eye of her mother determined that a doctor’s visit was in order. A flabbergasted Stayce learned that she was nearly 4 months pregnant. Barely into her freshman year at East Central University, impending motherhood forced an immediate withdrawal. Stayce and her ex-boyfriend would not reconcile or marry, but welcomed their expectant news with warm anticipation.
“He was perfect”, recalls Stayce of Justin’s birth. “He had a perfect head, perfect hair, and deep blue perfect eyes. I fell in love with him from his first kick.” Being raised in the thick of strife and divorce, Stayce had never learned personal responsibility. Now a mom at 19, providing Justin with stability was paramount in her mind. Oklahoma’s generous public assistance offered valuable resources for indigent single moms: food, milk, infant formula, and free housing. “Now whether or not the utilities were paid was another story!” Stayce laughs. “I wasn’t yet a good money manager.” Stayce’s ex wore fatherhood well, with his emotional and financial support lending much needed balance to Justin’s life.
Eventually, they began dating other people. Stayce’s empty void beckoned loudly, but attempts to fill it men always brought woeful results. “Once a guy found out I had a kid, he was gone”, she recalls. Her ex became engaged to a woman demanding proof of his paternity prior to their nuptials. Justin was now 18 months old, but to keep the peace, Stayce cheerfully agreed a blood test. The results were nothing less than a surreal knockout. Justin’s father was not Stayce’s former beau, but the unknown rapist. Upon this crushing revelation, her ex immediately ceased all contact, support, and disappeared from their lives.
Stayce and Justin continued their journey in a squalid government housing project in a risky neighborhood. Always fearing for their safety, living here was a daily crapshoot for this fragile young family. Due to the merciful heart of a state worker, they were relocated into a two bedroom townhouse in a prime location for an unheard of rental of one dollar a month-compliments of the federal government! Supplemental income from odd jobs kept Stayce and Justin afloat, but a consuming loneliness kept her awake. Nevertheless, Justin, an energetic youngster oozing with personality, was the cooling water of an oasis and Stayce’s constant light.
Tony one dollar digs were no substitute for growing up fatherless. By age 13, the simmering rage brewing in Justin’s spirit imploded mightily. He’d even kicked down a door in retaliation of the unfair hand life had dealt him. Where was his dad? Why didn’t he love him? Was he not a smart enough, tall enough, cool enough kid? There could only be one reasonable explanation for his father’s absence: his mother must have chased him away. The time had clearly come for Justin to know the truth of his lineage. With the help of a compassionate counselor, Stayce broke the news….and Justin’s heart.
He became easy prey for predatory addicts offering counterfeit solace via a host of illegal substances. At 17, Justin’s drug association landed him in jail. “One of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made was to not bail him out”, says Stayce. “I hoped it would bring him to his senses.” While Justin buried his pain with drugs, Stayce buried her pain with old time religion by day and barhopping by night. They were a powerless duo.
Stayce struck the mother lode with her 2010 baptism into Christ following weeks of intensive bible study. “When I quit looking for a man to fill me, God won my heart. I found the man I wanted all along…Jesus!” Today, she memorizes a new scripture each month to build her personal cache for spiritual survival. Among her favorites are Hebrews 11:6 and Jeremiah 29:10-11.
Watching his mother transform from a needy barfly into a woman of godly conviction accomplished for Justin what jail and rehab could not. Because of Stayce’s example, Justin, now 22, has been clean and sober for over one year. Stayce holds no embarrassment about going public about the assault. “I was raped, but it doesn’t define me, God does. He gave me back my beautiful son. I want to help young girls know they don’t have to give themselves to men to feel beautiful. If sharing my story helps just one girl turn her life around, I’ll tell it in a heartbeat.”
