Like most fatherless daughters, I have a complicated relationship with Father's Day.
As a young kid, I was embarrassed that I was the only person in my class who didn't have a father. In fact, I was so skittish on the subject that I actually lied and claimed my father was still alive, farming the land. That person, of course, was my grandfather who helped raise me. But it took me years to even talk about the man who left this world when I was only eight months old.
I tried to avoid any situation which required the attendance of a dad. I skipped the annual Girl Guide Father-Daughter banquet. I prayed every year that we wouldn't have to make a Father's Day card in class. Fortunately, back in my childhood, people didn't make a fuss over dads who were seen as not being as needy as moms. Dads didn't require cards and flowers and chocolates.
They just got a nice meal at home, or something.
Because I was fatherless, I had a big void in my life to fill. I looked for my dad in older men who were successful or brilliant, thinking that I would like to have had a dad who was a doctor or a lawyer, or a big business tycoon. For my whole life, I made the acquaintances of men who would often take me out to lunch, or dinner, men who were lonely and in need of female companionship.
Most of these guys were married, and were fathers, but I was always their special girl.
I was careful to pick men who were safe, much older, and just happy to have a pretty girl to be seen with. I chose professors, well known celebrities, brilliant bigwigs, and even a Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.
I learned a lot listening to them, soaking in their wisdom, and I felt warm and loved in their presence -- just like I imagined I'd feel with my own dad who had let me down so many years ago.
I made the mistake of marrying one of my dads, who was never really comfortable having a young wife with a young family. He'd already made that mistake once before. But he was flattered that a woman so much his junior hung on his every word.
At one point, we both realized this was a ridiculous relationship. I watched him age before my eyes; he became preoccupied with retirement when he was only in his late 40s. He saw me as a silly girl who didn't want to grow up.
And so he found himself a woman his own age. They are still together.
I'm glad for them. At least I won't be the one to change his diaper.
Everybody knows you can't marry your dad.
But I didn't know that.
Ever since I was little, I was actually scared of dads. They all seemed mean, and they drank a lot of beer, and smoked a lot of cigarettes. They seemed to keep their kids at a distance, to do their own thing, and pay attention to their kids only when making a Sunday barbecue.
When my husband-dad eventually left me, I was devastated. He had reopened the old wound of a fatherless girl who had severe abandonment issues. Why do dads always leave?
Probably a better question is: why do dads always leave me?
Scott was the first man I loved who wasn't a father figure. He is just a guy who is the same age as me, who loves me and my kids unconditionally. He doesn't care that he's not their biological father. Like he says, anybody can be a father. Not everybody can be a dad.
Scott is a great dad and a terrific granddad. He's a happy warrior who is grateful to me everyday for giving him a family.
So on Father's Day, I will make him a nice dinner, and be grateful that he's not my dad.
Just a guy standing in front of a girl asking her to love him.
Which I have for 17 years.
As a young kid, I was embarrassed that I was the only person in my class who didn't have a father. In fact, I was so skittish on the subject that I actually lied and claimed my father was still alive, farming the land. That person, of course, was my grandfather who helped raise me. But it took me years to even talk about the man who left this world when I was only eight months old.
I tried to avoid any situation which required the attendance of a dad. I skipped the annual Girl Guide Father-Daughter banquet. I prayed every year that we wouldn't have to make a Father's Day card in class. Fortunately, back in my childhood, people didn't make a fuss over dads who were seen as not being as needy as moms. Dads didn't require cards and flowers and chocolates.
They just got a nice meal at home, or something.
Because I was fatherless, I had a big void in my life to fill. I looked for my dad in older men who were successful or brilliant, thinking that I would like to have had a dad who was a doctor or a lawyer, or a big business tycoon. For my whole life, I made the acquaintances of men who would often take me out to lunch, or dinner, men who were lonely and in need of female companionship.
Most of these guys were married, and were fathers, but I was always their special girl.
I was careful to pick men who were safe, much older, and just happy to have a pretty girl to be seen with. I chose professors, well known celebrities, brilliant bigwigs, and even a Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.
I learned a lot listening to them, soaking in their wisdom, and I felt warm and loved in their presence -- just like I imagined I'd feel with my own dad who had let me down so many years ago.
I made the mistake of marrying one of my dads, who was never really comfortable having a young wife with a young family. He'd already made that mistake once before. But he was flattered that a woman so much his junior hung on his every word.
At one point, we both realized this was a ridiculous relationship. I watched him age before my eyes; he became preoccupied with retirement when he was only in his late 40s. He saw me as a silly girl who didn't want to grow up.
And so he found himself a woman his own age. They are still together.
I'm glad for them. At least I won't be the one to change his diaper.
Everybody knows you can't marry your dad.
But I didn't know that.
Ever since I was little, I was actually scared of dads. They all seemed mean, and they drank a lot of beer, and smoked a lot of cigarettes. They seemed to keep their kids at a distance, to do their own thing, and pay attention to their kids only when making a Sunday barbecue.
When my husband-dad eventually left me, I was devastated. He had reopened the old wound of a fatherless girl who had severe abandonment issues. Why do dads always leave?
Probably a better question is: why do dads always leave me?
Scott was the first man I loved who wasn't a father figure. He is just a guy who is the same age as me, who loves me and my kids unconditionally. He doesn't care that he's not their biological father. Like he says, anybody can be a father. Not everybody can be a dad.
Scott is a great dad and a terrific granddad. He's a happy warrior who is grateful to me everyday for giving him a family.
So on Father's Day, I will make him a nice dinner, and be grateful that he's not my dad.
Just a guy standing in front of a girl asking her to love him.
Which I have for 17 years.
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