Formal research shows that a child growing up without a mother in the home has a higher percentage of becoming an "at risk" child. I've also read that children who come from single parent homes are more likely to experience poverty, underdevelopment, economic and psychological disadvantages, and the list goes on and on.

My destiny was to be thrust into just that — a motherless single parent home, but somehow we were not subjected to the associated risks. As a Father's Day tribute to my dad, who single-handedly prevented his family from becoming a statistic, I'd like to share my story.

On August 17, 1999, my dad came home and informed my brothers and I that there had been an accident at the bottom of Sound View Road in Somerset, a few houses down from where we lived. He began to tell us how serious he perceived it to be.

About one hour later, two police officers knocked on our door, but it wasn't until we arrived at the hospital that officials told us it was my mother in the accident and she had died. I was 12-years-old.

The few years following that moment are fuzzy to me now. I remember the shock lasting a very long time. I remember having to bag up her closet full of clothes. I remember how broken hearted my dad was for years and how I was forced to see my school counsellor, like I was automatically deemed an emotionally unstable child. I remember my neighbours sending baskets of food for a few weeks and the support of family and friends. The reality is…life went on.

Growing up, my family was your typical wholesome family; dinner every night together, weekly adventures, distributed household chores, etc. I have so many memories of us at the beach, exploring the forts and diverted pathways, and literally hundreds of pictures to prove it.

My mother, Susan, was naturally adventurous and quite the chef. When I was about 10, I remember running behind my brothers, Jessie and Jahmall, trying to be a part of their "boys club", playing cricket, football and even joining Sea Cadets with them. We never had to buy bread because my mother would always have a fresh homemade loaf on the counter, with treats like cookies and her delicious upside down pineapple cake.

My father, Johnny, has always been a family man. He had three beautiful children from his previous marriage, who were women and men of their own right during my childhood. He made sure we had everything we needed and often times, everything we wanted.

After my mother's death my father was solely responsible for raising his 12, 14 and 16 year old kids. One girl and two boys, and it didn't help that I was the youngest.

What was he to do when my body developed? When I got my first menstrual cycle? When I needed to talk about boys? When I craved for the affection and attention of my mother? As God would have it, I had a close, responsible Godmother, Shelly, who stepped in 150 percent. However, there is not a single topic that I cannot talk to my dad about, still to this day. Even with the years I got to share with my mother, I was definitely a "daddy's girl."

Throughout the years my dad continued to support his kids. He was at every game, play, prize giving, PTA meeting, everything that did, and sometimes did not, require a parent's presence. He made us breakfast in the morning, packed lunch for school and dinner every evening. When he could spare the change, we had money in our pockets.

With the good comes the bad and we ultimately were faced with some family issues, but it was a means to an end. At that time, I was the only child in school at CedarBridge Academy. Every class required typed homework, papers and projects, so my dad bought me a computer. I was very active and participated in basketball, netball, student government, etc. that required after school hours, so my dad bought me a bike for transportation. I wanted to travel with the school choir, so my dad bought me a plane ticket. I'm not talking about a financially wealthy man. I'm talking about a man who was not too far above the minimum wage line and worked 14 hour shifts.

Inevitably, I desired to further my education and attend university. I didn't take the least expensive route either because I went to an American school, Clark Atlanta University.

Those four years were financially difficult, but it could have been worse. I received one small donation of $1,000 and my father paid for the rest. We had to get three loans and I saved money from my summer job to pay for my housing. I did not starve, I always had my books, and eventually I got my own apartment and car.

Since I can remember, I've always had a close knit family. Every holiday we would all go over to one relative's house and celebrate. Whenever a relative needed help, my dad would be there. He is the family carpenter — building just about anything; chef — cooking for every family function; doctor — preparing traditional herbal medicines; babysitter — picking up great nieces and nephews from school; painter — from homes to stores; and the list goes on.

Getting together is so fundamental to my family that they established "Soul Food Fridays," a barbecue every Friday, rain, blow or shine, held up my Aunt Paula's in Warwick. My dad is the "keeper of the grill" and no one else touches it. If you wanted a burger, hot dog, piece of chicken, steak, or anything, you have to go through him. It is truly a time a relaxation in the comfort of family.

My brothers and I are doing just fine with responsibilities of our own, and families of their own. This year Jahmall will be celebrating his second Father's Day and Jessie will be celebrating his fifth. My dad is a phenomenal man with dedication, perseverance, patience and commitment that is unbeatable. I celebrate Father's Day just by saying, "I love you," to my dad everyday.

It is by the grace of God and the blessings of family that my single parent home bares the fruit of three normal, by societal definition, children. I am eternally grateful for my dad, Johnny Mills and wish him a very special Father's Day.