Today is Father’s Day. Happy Father’s Day to all of the dads out there. The topic of dads is a complicated one for me. I have lots of experience with dads. I had a biological one, stepdads, grandpas, fathers-in-law, and those who have been like a dad to me. My daughter also has a dad and a stepdad. Dads are important. I do know this.
I’ve always been a little envious of the perfectly intact family with two people who fall madly in love with each other, have kids, and stay married forever. My grandparents were like that. They met while they were young, married, had three children, many grandchildren, and until their last days on this earth, everyone could tell that they were so in love with each other. I know they faced struggles along the way that I know nothing about, but as long as I can remember, my grandparents were solid. You could depend on them and on their relationship always being there. Grandpa was my hero. I admired him so much that I couldn’t see his flaws, and he had a few. We all do. But I grew up watching that man show up for his family year after year after year, and I saw the joy he got out of doing that.
My relationship with my own dad was complicated. He and my mom met while they were young. They married and had me soon after that. My dad was in his early 20s and he began having mental health struggles. Eventually, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia and later with bipolar disorder. This was in the mid-70s. There was so much the world did not know about these conditions, and the stigma surrounding mental illness was prominent. People were scared about what they didn’t understand, and many still are. My mom and dad divorced when I was a baby, and I continued to visit him until I was in second grade. At that time, my dad continued to struggle with his mental illness, and my mom wanted my stepdad to adopt me so I wouldn’t have visits with my dad anymore. My paternal grandparents encouraged my dad to let me go because it would be better for me at that stage of his illness. With a broken heart, that is what he chose to do. I remember lining up by last name in school that year, and the teacher told the class that my last name had changed, so I would be in a different spot. I just remember being confused about what was happening at that time.
I didn’t see my dad again until I was in college. I was feeling lost and wasn’t getting along with my stepdad, and I decided to look him up. I went to a private investigator in my town when I was home for the summer, and he helped me find his phone number in about five minutes. He didn’t charge me a thing. I then called my dad, and his wife answered the phone. She begged me to stay on the line because my dad wasn’t home yet, but she didn’t want to lose the connection. He came home shortly after that, and I talked to him for the first time in so many years. I remember he cried, and he was so excited to hear from me. We made plans for me to travel to visit them soon after that. My dad and I had a relationship from that point on until his death a few years ago. I knew my dad always loved me. His mental illness just never allowed him to be the dad to me that he wanted to be. And I never blamed him for those lost years.
After my mom and dad divorced, my mom married my stepdad. They then had my sister Jen. My relationship with my stepdad was difficult. I don’t really like to talk about it much because he is still alive, and he has an entirely different view of events. To me, it seemed my stepdad didn’t really enjoy kids. He thought they were nuisances, and he referred to my sister and me as such many times. I do believe that he loved my sister. She was his, and biologically, he felt love for her. He tolerated me. He adopted me. I was a package deal with my mom. There was a difference, though, in his feelings for me compared to my sister.
My sister and I grew up watching my mom and stepdad’s relationship. They both worked full-time. When my stepdad got home from work, he would go down into his basement (what they would call a man cave now) and rest from his hard day. My mom would come home and work some more. She would clean the house, take care of my sister and me, make dinner, and then she would hang out with us in the evenings and help us with homework or watch shows with us in the living room. Then, after we would go to bed, she would go downstairs to spend time with my stepdad before they would go to bed. Downstairs was a kid-free zone. He preferred it that way.
In addition to my mom’s daily chores, she also did yardwork, managed the bills, grocery shopped, did the laundry, and whenever we had events for parents to attend, she was there every single time. Conferences, concerts, games, etcetera. She did it all, and when our classes needed parents to pitch in to help decorate for the prom or be poker dealers at the senior class party, my mom was always first to volunteer.
There always seemed to be a shortage of money to make ends meet in our household. If I needed to rent a saxophone for band or get new shoes for cheerleading, there would be a fight about expenses between my mom and stepdad. I could never understand how things were so tight when it seemed there was money for the things my stepdad wanted. His basement had a big screen TV when they first came out and a whole wall of CDs. My mom always found a way to make sure we all had what we needed, and my sister and I both worked once we were old enough, but even as kids, my sister and I could see that the division of duties was not equal in that house, and we thought it was, well, bullshit.
To this day, I cannot be in a relationship that is not equal. My husband and I both work full time. I do the laundry, he does the dishes, I clean the bathrooms, he does the floors, I do the budget and bills, he mows the yard, and it has to be this way for me to be happy. I grew up watching my mom do all the work, and I never thought that was right.
My mom and stepdad divorced when I was in college. To this day, my former stepdad blames me for their divorce. When my sister went to college and decided that she wanted to be a journalist, she changed her last name to my mom’s maiden name. She wanted nothing to do with her father anymore. My former stepdad believes she was influenced by my mom and me to do that. In fact, the exact opposite is true. My mom and I both encouraged her to not cut ties with her dad. She was stubborn. She didn’t listen to us, but her dad will never believe that, and now Jen is gone, so I guess he will never understand the truth.
I don’t blame my former stepdad for the past. He did what he could do in that time. I tried to maintain a relationship with him after my sister was killed, but he could not stop badmouthing my mom. I told him I didn’t want to listen to that if we were to continue to have a relationship. He said he couldn’t live by my rules. And so that was that.
After I graduated college, I married my first husband. My mom met and married my second stepdad Tom just after that. We were like the Brady Bunch except it was a mom, dad, and instead of six kids, there were four of us, two boys and two girls. I suddenly had stepbrothers. I had never had brothers before, so that was cool. And we were all grown and out of the house, all of us in college or just getting out and moving on from that. Tom was there when my only child was born. He was her grandpa. He called her Turkey Sandwich. She called him Grandpa T. Moustache. Tom was good to us. He taught us to sail, and he really seemed to enjoy spending time with us. There were small differences that would come up. When he would write the family Christmas letter that was sent out to everyone, the paragraphs about his bio kids were huge, and the paragraphs about my sister and me were smaller. I didn’t hold that against him, though. Those were his kids. He had known them a lot longer, and he had only just met us. We lost Tom in 2014. He had a heart attack when we were all swimming in a pool on vacation. My mom, husband, and I had to try to perform CPR on him. My daughter and her friend ran in their bare feet in the snow to get help. He did not make it. It was tragic, and I still miss him. He was a good one.
My mom has since married my stepdad, Brian. He didn’t come into the picture until I was a full-grown adult with my own family. Brian never had any kids of his own, so this was all new to him. Babies are cute and sweet. Adults are not nearly as cute and can come with opinions and plenty of personality that is already set and in place. But he has embraced joining our family at this stage. He is so good to my mom and has shown up for us as if he’s always been a part of things. He gave my daughter her first car on her 16th birthday. He’s fixed so many things in our houses. He drove hundreds of miles to attend my daughter’s college graduation a few weeks ago, and today he’ll be coming over for Father’s Day dinner. Happy Father’s Day, Brian! We’re all very lucky to have you in our lives.
I’ve been married now, twice. My first husband is my daughter’s dad. He’s a good guy, and it’s so important to my daughter that he shows up for all of her important events. So important. She loves him so much.
My husband Hank has been in my daughter’s life since she was in second grade. He signed up for this when she was still going through her parents’ divorce and just before it was time for teenaged angst to set in. He has been there for her through it all, and she tells him all the time how lucky she is that he has raised her and loved her just as if she were his child.
I’ve also been fortunate to have a couple of fathers-in-law that were both wonderful men who I looked up to and admired so much. And I had a great colleague who was a psychologist and his advice helped me raise my daughter and get us both through the toughest moments of parenting.
So, to all of the dads, stepdads, want-to-be dads, grandpas, like-a-dad dads, husbands, ex-husbands, fathers-in-laws, uncles, and everyone who has been an important part of a child’s life. Thank you. And happy Father’s Day to you!
