A Daughter Between Worlds
Hello, Dear Stranger,
Because of who my father is, I’ve had access to spaces most young women, especially those of my race, could never imagine—hanging out at the White House. My best friend is the President’s daughter. From the outside, it all looked like privilege. But even there, I was reminded to watch my steps, guard my words, and never drift far from her side.
My friend and I were both daddy’s girls. It was the role we knew best. So when it came time to think about love and marriage, we carried our fathers’ influence with us.
When the opportunity to study in Europe wasn’t supported by the man I thought I could spend my life with, I chose to let him go. I believed the right partner would honor my dreams, not stand in their way.
The husband that I wanted would be like my father, measured, logical, and loving.
While studying abroad, I met a man. But he was not of the same race, and I was reminded why it could not work. My stepmother reminded me that all my father wanted was for me to be secure. It was then that I knew what I had to do.
When I arrived back home, my dad greeted me at the railroad platform. And from behind him stepped my soon-to-be husband. The man, I once thought, and against my stepmother’s advice, I had moved on from.
We married on the last day of October in 1907. On the way to our new home in Washington, DC, we stayed at a grand hotel in Atlanta. After my husband explained to the hotel who my father was, we were taken to the largest hotel suite. As soon as we entered and closed the door, ‘draw me a bath’ were my husband’s first words to me. He followed up with, ‘one of the things you will learn to do is do what I say.
That was the beginning. I had never known the weight of emotional and physical abuse until then.
I didn’t tell my father. I thought it would burden him too much. Still, he must have sensed something. His advice was simple: As long as you support your husband in all things, my Portia, things will be fine.
But things were not fine. And though I loved him dearly, I could see more clearly now. Truth be told, I loved my dear father with all my heart, but now as a married woman, I could see he had asked a lot of the three women he married up until his death.
Years later, I would look back and ask myself a question I still struggle with: “How do you greet someone for whom you bore three children? Someone who made it his business to apply damage to your body, your mind, your spirit?” I stayed silent for a long time. And then—when the moment came—I said everything he needed to hear.
With all I have lived,
Portia Washington-Pittman
Daughter of Dr. Booker T. Washington
This letter was inspired by the book American Daughters by Piper Huguley. Some lines slipped directly from its pages:
The husband that I wanted would be like my father, measured, logical, and loving.
…all he (my father) wants for me is to be secure.
We married on the last day of October in 1907
…one of the things you will learn to do is do what I say
After my husband explained to the hotel who my father was…you will learn to do is do what I say.
As long’s you support your husband in all things, my Portia, things will be fine.
Truth be told…until his death.
Short Content Brew: Not every story brews the same. This one feels rich with history, poured through the voices of two young women navigating privilege, expectation, and friendship. Some moments steep heavily — Portia’s marriage among them — but the story never loses its lighter notes of ambition, resilience, and the bond between friends. It’s a blend that surprises you: strong, layered, and more hopeful than you might expect.
The Cup We’d Share
Consider this a moment to sit down with Portia over a steaming cup of tea. The Authenticitea Barista (a character from my upcoming book, A Cup of Authenticitea) would pour something to match her story: a blend that carries both weight and resilience, a mood steeped in endurance, and a question that lingers long after the cup is empty.
A Sip of Contrast
Tea Blend: Lapsang Souchong + Hibiscus
Mood Pairing: For moments when strength and sorrow live side by side.
Flavor Note: Smoky and tart — grounding yet sharp, heavy yet alive.
Reflection: How do you honor both the bright notes and the bitter ones in your own story?
Why This Letter
Before this book, I’d never heard the story of Dr. Washington’s daughter, Portia. She was an intelligent musician who did her best to carry on her father’s legacy. She was celebrated and had much to be thankful for, but some people around her — her husband, and at times even her stepmother — seemed to feel it was their duty to remind her what a less privileged life could feel like.
She was a young woman torn by decisions, navigating expectations of family, race, and marriage.
I’ll admit, I usually cringe and sometimes try to skip over stories heavy with abuse. But Portia’s story pulled me in. It revealed the beautiful, the good, the bad, and the ugly of her life, and I appreciated that honesty. To go from special privileges as a Black girl to a woman enduring abuse while still striving to create the best life she could for herself, her husband, and her children — her story stayed with me.
That is why I slipped a letter through these pages.
That’s the sip I’ll leave you with today. Thanks for reading — until the next page.
