Medcalf: George Floyd’s daughter, now 11, on life without her dad: ‘It’s hard’

Do you hear her?

In the background of a phone call, I heard her, humming a tune as she floated on a Friday night, content that the week had ended. Somewhere in Texas, Gianna Floyd — the 11-year-old daughter of George Floyd — played with her younger sibling. In a few weeks, the world would mark five years since Derek Chauvin murdered her father in Minneapolis.

It’s a truth that a series of soulless filmmakers, social media contrarians and mean-spirited leaders have tried to erase. They traffic in hate, a disease adults often spread to one another.

“It’s hard,” Gianna told me about her life without her father.

Five years ago, she sat atop the shoulders of Stephen Jackson, a former NBA star and her father‘s friend, amid protests against police brutality both here and throughout the world.

“Daddy changed the world!” the 6-year-old shouted then. “Daddy changed the world!”

Can you see her now?

The years that followed came with pain — a pain only she can feel. Adolescence should come with freedom, joy and wonder. But Gianna Floyd’s youth was hijacked by incomparable loss. Each step she takes is one her father had a right to take alongside her.

“This might sound mean, but it’s not, though,” she said about the way her family allows her to speak about the tragedy on her own terms. “Them not talking about it that much? That makes me feel OK.”

She hopes to join a team soon. Well, maybe. You know how 11-year-olds waffle between thoughts from one minute to the next. Cheerleading seemed to interest her at one point, but then she decided she liked volleyball. And now, she’s not sure.

I know that journey. I’ve been to track meets, basketball practices, volleyball matches and cheerleading extravaganzas over the years. The exploration is part of a child’s curiosity. Children do not know exactly what they want to do, so they have to try different things until they find something they really love. And once they do, it’s a beautiful experience.

I wish she could call him and ask for his opinion. George Floyd played basketball in high school and college, so it wouldn’t be shocking if he tried to nudge her toward that sport. Or maybe he’d surprise her and tell her that he’d back her either way. Even if he offered his perspective, however, there would be no guarantees that she would listen.

At 11, kids tend to feel like they’re basically teenagers and deserve to be treated that way. They prefer suggestions over directions. Because they know more than you think, but also less than they realize. So what? They’re ready to conquer the world. They want you close but also to stay out of their way. With three daughters, I know. But I wish Gianna Floyd could tell her father that she does not want to hold his hand in public, or announce that she will no longer laugh too loudly at his jokes. Because 11 years old is cool and fresh, and fathers born in the ’70s and ’80s are not.

If she had the chance today, maybe she’d make fun of her father‘s playlist, or his old-school dance moves. Perhaps they would peruse YouTube clips from the 1990s together and she’d chuckle as he told her about VCRs and cassette players. And if he tried to explain the late fees video stores once charged whenever you’d forget to rewind a VHS tape, she’d probably laugh at him again.

“I’m OK,” Gianna told me on our phone call.

Last week, I bought a prom dress for the first time. There, my 16-year-old stood in front of me, just a few years — months — from adulthood. “Do you like the dress?” she asked. “Definitely,” I told her. But I don’t know anything about dresses. I would have told her any dress she’d picked was the right one. As the seamstress took measurements while my daughter watched in a mirror, I wanted to ask time for a loan.

Because that’s what Derek Chauvin stole from George Floyd and also from that little girl: time. Their journey together ended five years ago. And a child was left behind.

Did they forget?

And do they know about the bullies?

They’ve teased her at school. They know about her father and the nasty things bad people say about him, so they repeat those words. Blame the adults. Remember, hate is a disease and their children have caught it, too. Gianna’s mother, Roxie Washington, shows restraint as she grapples with whether she should allow her daughter to stand up for herself or dash to the school to demand a solution. But we can only do so much to save our children from their worst days.

I wish Gianna could call him, and ask her father if he ever faced a bully at school. How did he deal with that? How did he stand up to them? He might have had the answers.

I’ve had so many questions about Gianna Floyd.

For a month, I searched for her. I called people who knew people who knew people, but I couldn’t find her. And then, on a Friday night, just as I’d turned on the TV, my phone rang.

It was her stepfather, who then handed the phone to her mother. Roxie told me that the years after Floyd’s death have been a challenge for her daughter and her entire family. They did not always feel supported. But they raised a little girl who can now find her father‘s tragic last day, in 4K, on a smartphone. That’s why they kept her hidden, where she could live and rest and grow and digest everything that happened — everything that’s still happening.

That man was her daddy.

She does not always talk about him. But sometimes, she’ll stun her mother and begin to speak about him, as she did a few weeks ago. Her mother, recognizing a rare moment, grabbed a voice recorder to collect her words. She will not share them with anyone, but she was glad that her daughter had expressed herself. That’s part of the process, five years after she lost her father due to a senseless act.

A few weeks ago, her mom handed Gianna the phone, and I smiled when I heard her voice. I told her that I’d been trying to find her only because I wanted to know if she was OK. After our brief conversation, I thanked her for her time and for talking to me.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Have a nice day.”

The last five years were not easy for Gianna Floyd. The next five years will not be, either. Because George Floyd is gone. She cannot hug him. He cannot hug her. They will only connect through memories, dreams and feelings. Maybe tears, too.

But as she hummed in the background of that Friday night phone call, I only had one wish:

That her father could hear her song.