Many Dads

When I was about 12 years old, I found out that the man I was calling dad, the man that raised me, was not my biological father. It didn’t matter. He was still my dad. More than that, he was a hero.

He made me the person I am today.

He died when I was 16 and he took with him a piece of my heart. Since then, I have missed him terribly and often wonder “what if.” What if he was still here?

Now, I have my stepdad, who is amazing. He’s been around longer than I remember. I don’t even remember him coming into our lives because I was so busy wallowing in my own grief and pursuing my own goals. But, now we reminisce. He says, “yep, I remember when you got married. I was there.”

“You were at my wedding?” I don’t even remember.

He’s been there for a long time. In the background. He comes to my rescue. He is my provider right now and the reason I can live rent free. I go to him for guidance. He is so smart. So calm. So strong. Nothing rattles him.

I often think my mom was fortunate to have two such great men in her life.

Then, there was my biological father. I called him Sr because I couldn’t bring myself to call him dad. It didn’t seem right. He hadn’t been in my life. When I had my breakdown, I spoke to him for the first time. Then, I went to live with him, meeting him for the first time. Surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward. He instantly made me feel at ease and welcome. He knew exactly what was going on with me mentally and we talked about it for hours.

I discovered a very smart, spiritual and charismatic man. An enormous man with a big appetite for everything: food, people, entertainment. I’m glad I went to meet him because a few months later, he passed away. Again, he took another piece of my heart with him. I felt privileged to be his daughter and thankful for the genetics he gave me.

For me, I have many dads and I love each one.