Life as a Daughter of Agent Orange, Part 2

There comes a time in any situation where one has to wonder if one is going crazy because of outside forces. Since middle school I have often wondered if living with this Agent Orange version of my dad has influenced a few weak moments where the outside world would perceive me as crazy. Once we found out what was causing the mood swings and the diabetes, it was as if we had entered a special club that nobody knows about and nobody wants to be invited in to. There is a specific chemical my dad reacts to called formaldehyde; the reactions vary from horrible mood swings to having his blood pressure skyrocket. We quickly learned about which products had formaldehyde in them. I could no longer paint my nails, wear perfume, buy shoes that had a smell similar to jelly sandals, and could not buy certain shampoos and conditioners that combined with my own chemical makeup brought upon his attacks.

The first time I experienced making my dad sick by using a certain brand of shampoo and conditioner was confusing. I had come down the stairs and walked by him while getting ready for school. Suddenly, he gruffly asked me what I sprayed because I smelled. He did not believe me when I said I had not sprayed anything since I knew that would make him sick. That is when I realized it was my hair products combined with my body chemistry. How I felt in that moment can only be described as being less than feminine and the person whose smell made her dad sick. It is one of the worst feelings for a daughter, especially when all she wants to do is make her daddy proud and happy.

It took quite awhile to find the right combination of hair products that would not make him sick after I used them. I also recall sneaking perfume to school to have a few hours where I could pretend I was like every other girl there. Knowing all the different things that could make dad sick did not help us prevent it from happening and the meanness that came about after exposure was enough to make me cower in my bedroom with my little sister. Even in the worst moments, he never struck—that would have been the end of my parents' marriage. But the pain of not having a supportive father is just as sharp as a slap would have been. I recall being jealous of my friends in school because they had fathers who would talk with them, eat at the kitchen table with them, supported their decisions, etc. Even if their dads were not the best, they were at least better than mine and to this day I do not think they know how lucky they were.

Lacking a firm and steady father figure led me to have a lack of independence, security, assertiveness, and being afraid of failing so I would never try new things. I look at my friends' lives now and while I see they are more independent, I also see a gaping hole they try to fill with other superficial things. During my school years I became more quiet, but by no means silent. I stood my ground when the need came up, I stood up for others, and I never gave up hope that someday my real dad (pre-Agent Orange) would return like Vader became Anakin once again.

Even though times were tough and people from all parts of our lives laughed at my dad and thought he was making all of this up, I stayed by his side. I would be on guard for cigarette smokers because the formaldehyde in the cigarettes made him sick; I would be on guard for heavy perfume-wearers; I would smell the soles of shoes before buying them so there would be no plastic smell to make him ill. Even when I allowed hatred and bitterness to enter my heart, I remained loyal because that is what a daughter is supposed to do for her parent. I never imagined I would be sitting where I am sharing my story with the world, but it is time for children of Agent Orange to come out of the shadows and for the world to stop calling our situations "crazy;" it is time to stop submitting to an evil man-made chemical that tears people apart.

Please stay tuned for part three.