Father's Day Post

So this is my third attempt at writing something for my dad. To tell him that I love him so much and am so thankful for all he's done for me (and probably given up for me as well). To tell him how much I respect and admire him. Why would it be so hard to say something like that to my own dad?

When I talk about my dad, it doesn't occur to me that I should call him my "stepdad". Though technically he is. Technically, he married my mom when I was five after my biological father, who was a bit of a mess, had left my mom divorced with two small children and some pretty crappy self-esteem a few years before. My dad not only married my mom, he adopted my brother and I and we took on his last name. We became a family.

Somewhere along the way, that family got a little messy. Combine the self-centeredness of your average teenager with the self-consciousness of the same teenager because her "real" father never called or wrote or stopped by even though he ended up living in the same city. My relationship with my dad during my teenage years involved a lot of yelling. From both of us. Me, because I thought I was right. And my dad? Because he was right. Quite honestly, there are very few, if any times, I can look back at the fights my dad and I had and say was I right and he was wrong. My dad argued and yelled at me because he was trying to keep me in line but more importantly, trying to protect me. Of course, at 15 or 16 years old I didn't see that. I didn't want to see that. Even in my early twenties I don't think I realized it yet. But now at the ripe old age of 32, with my own kids, I think I'm starting to get it. And I am so ashamed that it took me this long.

My dad didn't just get married in 1977. He took on two little kids. Kids that not only weren't his own, but came from a biological father who's family is annoying to say the least. But he took us in as his own. We were never referred to as his "step-children" even when he and my mom had two more daughters (and my sisters have never once been my "half-sisters". Please. Don't make me slap you.) Our family is very important to him, even though he doesn't say it often. I know it now. My dad loves us and my mom more than I ever realized. I watched him cry in the emergency room when my mom had her first seizure and it broke my heart.

My dad? I owe him so much for not giving up on me or throwing my annoying teenaged butt out onto the street. I apologize from the bottom of my heart for all of the frustration I caused. And I'm so thankful that he is my dad. He is a fabulous grandfather (this man who used to complain about gas milage now drives my boys back and forth up and down the driveway so they can ride in "Grandpa's truck"). He is a great father-in-law; Rusty loves sitting and watching sports with "Big Dave" when the families get together. Most of all, my dad is a good man. My dad is not my biological father. But he is most definitely my real dad.