22 July 2008
Fathers: The Truth
Little A's been studying families at her daycare center.
At first, it was repeated requests for "her cat".
The other night after we returned home from our walk, she went bounding across the lawn, waving her new treasure, a turkey feather, excitedly at HRH. He turned off the mower so she could recount the journey that we took, all the while running the feather along the mower.
Suddenly, she looked up at him, her head tilted to the side, her eyes sapphire blue as the sun, as always, shone upon her face.
"HRH, where's my daddy"?
Silence.
So much, in those seconds. As my chest tightened, I could feel the ocean of fear and anger and pain swirling within me, threatening to roar over the levees I'd constructed as I started to walk around the mower to pick her up.
"Where is he? I want a daddy, but I no have one. Where is he"?
I'd just reached my arms out to sweep her into them, when HRH responded:
"I'm your daddy, silly." I stopped and looked at him, shaking my head, signaling that this was not something he needed to say or do.
"You? You're my daddy? I have a daddy"? Little A's face was aglow.
"Yes, I'm your daddy, Little A". Her head tipped back with laughter as she yelled to Big A, "HRH is my daddy! I do have a daddy"! She raced across the yard, her feather waving above her head.
I turned to HRH and smiled, so much between us, so much said with the squeeze of a hand, so much more of a commitment that I've ever felt in my life.
All night long, from the tub and her bed, Little A kept calling out, "Hey dad! Daddy," trying the words on like a new pair of shiny shoes, seeing how they looked from each angle. The next morning as we drove to daycare, Big A remarked, "He really is her dad, you know. No matter what, he's her real dad". To be that young and wise.
I know that someday, my fingers running over a faded feather in my hand, I will need to speak to her of biology and try to prepare myself for the questions that she will have and most likely the inevitable void that she will feel while trying to comprehend the forensic versus the meaning of "family".
However, I'm certain that I'll be able to handle it, for despite the scientific, I will have truth on my side: she does have a father, far greater a father than I'd have ever dreamed for her. A man, who without my asking, and who without reason beyond love, stayed.
That is a father. That is her father. And no matter the DNA, that will remain such. Despite all that I do not know, I know that this much is true:
At first, it was repeated requests for "her cat".
"I have my dogs, where are my cats"? She'd point at the pictures that were sent home with her, naming the faceless entities in them. We skated by the "daddy" part, she wanted a cat.
The other night after we returned home from our walk, she went bounding across the lawn, waving her new treasure, a turkey feather, excitedly at HRH. He turned off the mower so she could recount the journey that we took, all the while running the feather along the mower.
Suddenly, she looked up at him, her head tilted to the side, her eyes sapphire blue as the sun, as always, shone upon her face.
"HRH, where's my daddy"?
Silence.
So much, in those seconds. As my chest tightened, I could feel the ocean of fear and anger and pain swirling within me, threatening to roar over the levees I'd constructed as I started to walk around the mower to pick her up.
"Where is he? I want a daddy, but I no have one. Where is he"?
I'd just reached my arms out to sweep her into them, when HRH responded:
"I'm your daddy, silly." I stopped and looked at him, shaking my head, signaling that this was not something he needed to say or do.
"You? You're my daddy? I have a daddy"? Little A's face was aglow.
"Yes, I'm your daddy, Little A". Her head tipped back with laughter as she yelled to Big A, "HRH is my daddy! I do have a daddy"! She raced across the yard, her feather waving above her head.
I turned to HRH and smiled, so much between us, so much said with the squeeze of a hand, so much more of a commitment that I've ever felt in my life.
All night long, from the tub and her bed, Little A kept calling out, "Hey dad! Daddy," trying the words on like a new pair of shiny shoes, seeing how they looked from each angle. The next morning as we drove to daycare, Big A remarked, "He really is her dad, you know. No matter what, he's her real dad". To be that young and wise.
I know that someday, my fingers running over a faded feather in my hand, I will need to speak to her of biology and try to prepare myself for the questions that she will have and most likely the inevitable void that she will feel while trying to comprehend the forensic versus the meaning of "family".
However, I'm certain that I'll be able to handle it, for despite the scientific, I will have truth on my side: she does have a father, far greater a father than I'd have ever dreamed for her. A man, who without my asking, and who without reason beyond love, stayed.
That is a father. That is her father. And no matter the DNA, that will remain such. Despite all that I do not know, I know that this much is true:
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Although these writings are created by a lowly servant, they still belong to me.
Please, don't take them,
or it's off with your head.
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In 1992, at which point I was three, he began dating the woman who would become my "step-mother."
I still remember the first time I called her "Mom."
She has raised me since my toddlerhood, and formalized her status by marrying my father in 1993.
We've always thought of her, in every sense of the word but the biological one, to be our mother, and she fully regards us as sons.
I'm twenty now, and still look to her for advice and comfort.
my heart just burst right here at our breakfast table. i'm all teary in my coffee.
your words, family vs dna, how true indeed.
huge hugs to you. i am so happy for you and all the love that is surrounding you.
"Real" dad is right.And the word "daddy" looks pretty darn good on him.
This post made me smile form ear to ear :)
(hugs)
JLS
Your patience paid off!
There is nothing "step" about my stepdaughter...she was six when I met her and we love each other as much as any mother-daughter pair. In fact, we are closer than she is to her bio mom.
Big A is so right...HRH will take her to her father-daughter dances, will tuck her in when she is scared at night, will perhaps even walk her down the aisle.
That's a father. And he CHOSES to be HER father, he loves her that much...which will make her feel all the more special when you have that DNA talk.