My dad became my dad when I was 6 years old and he married my mom. (My bio dad was out of my life at that point.) I remember very fondly that as far as I was concerned, the three of us went on dates - to the zoo, ballpark, places that would appeal to a little girl. I distinctly remember my mom saying to me “(First name) is going to be your father soon so now you should start calling him Daddy instead of (first name)” and I accepted that so naturally and easily that I said “great” and went back to playing. My mom and I lived in a 1 bedroom apt (I had the bedroom, she slept in the living room) but we moved to a 2 bedroom apt when they got married and when I first saw it, I said “oh mommy, a bedroom for you and me and one for daddy!” And she had to explain it didn’t quite work that way
For their wedding, I walked with my mother and stood between them at the altar. I truly thought “we” were all getting married. It was such a kindness.
Shortly their wedding, he legally adopted me. As the serious, intense little girl I was, I was very afraid and intimidated by this big imposing courthouse and even more nervous because I knew my bio dad was going to be there (though they kept him in another room). I was so afraid I’d be called up to “testify”, which as you can imagine was a frightening prospect for a 6 yo. My dad got up there, the judge swore him in and he answered a few questions about how it was his intention to take care of me etc and he looked at me and winked as if to say “you’re my girl.” I will always remember that. I told that story to someone a few months ago and broke down crying just thinking about it.
My parents went on to have my sister, but I was never a “step” at all, and there was not one iota of distinction made between me and my sister, ever. Even when I had normal teenage angst, I could never hurl at him “you’re not my real father” because it just wasn’t the truth. Ironically, since my mom married 2 men who physically resemble one another, I look more like my dad than my sister does. We always smiled when people remarked on how much I look like my dad.
When I was in my twenties, I decided to go look up my bio dad (that’s another story entirely). My dad supported me fully in this endeavor and when i found out that my bio dad has died years prior, he paid for my mom and me to travel to visit his grave and get closure.
You could put bamboo shoots under his nails and it would never occur to him to think of my sister’s child as “more his” than my kids.
My dad was raised in a converted chicken shack in deep East Texas with his sister and brother. How they all managed to go on and get their PhDs and JD is beyond me.Two became professors and he became a lawyer.
I never really knew my dad. He and my mom were divorced before I started school. He managed to finish law school with two little kids and worked full-time in the summers. He was an assistant DA by the time I was in 2nd grade, and was the lead prosecutor in a high profile death penalty case. He won the case, the man went to death row and then my Dad killed himself 3 months later…for reasons of course that no one really knows but many have speculated about and written about in the newspapers over the years.
Was it the death penalty case? Was it related to deep seated crooked East Texas politics? Probably yes and yes. Could I write a book? Yes, I need to write the book. But when the people involved tell me not to even google some of the names from my home computer I backed off. I don’t know if I have it in me to write a John Grisham novel.
His last words to me were a few weeks before he died. I was at his house for a weekend visit and he asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up. At the time I was totally loving our weekend archeology digs on family land where we actually dug up some Indian pottery. So I told him “archeologist” and he said “don’t do that…you’ll never make any money” ha! Probably good advice.
He did pass on a great love for reading. When he would pick us up for our weekend visitation he would take us straight to the bookstore and let us pick out whatever we wanted…it was SUCH a treat! I loved all of the “Harriet The Spy,” “The Great Brain” and “Anne of Green Gables Books” and I spent the entire weekend sometimes reading through my stack. He would be super proud of his grandkids who all love to read and learn. As a small tribute to my Dad I take my daughter every 6 weeks to the bookstore to reward her for her grades and sweep my hand and tell her “pick out whatever you want…thanks for working so hard and making great grades” We have never paid her straight up for her grades but we usually drop at least 100.00 at the bookstore. It’s a small price to carry on the slightest of traditions that links me to him.
His all time favorite book was “To Kill A Mockingbird” and I don’t think I will ever reconcile how a lawyer who loved that book could ever do something crooked himself.
So yeah…,maybe my empty nest project should be finally writing that book!
My dad was an incredibly loving man. When he saw his kids, his eyes popped out of his head. He could barely control himself.
If I was sitting on a couch in an empty room. My dad would come into the room, with big eyes, and sit right next to me. Butt cheek to butt cheek. Even when I was 55. I hated that.
“Dad please move a foot away from me”.
Now… I don’t hate that. My dad died two months ago. Now… I kind of like that he sat cheek to cheek with me.
I’m a dad. I love this thread. Love the stories. This thread makes me feel good.
I would love to share, but my dad might shed too much to ID my kiddos.
I love him beyond all measure. Plus as he ages I will probably have to fight him.
