Fathers

I was born with a name different than the one I grew up with. My mom left my biological dad when I was around 2 1/2 years old. She packed me up with the clothes on my back, my yellow baby and a few other items on a Kansas bound Greyhound bus. We left Florida and the family there. And when we left, it seems the glue that was holding that family together, came undone. That was the last time I saw Stan. We have talked through the years, mostly rambling letters and confusing phone calls. This year, my 34th birthday, was the only one that I can recall him telling me happy birthday. Thank goodness for texting, it truly has become the best way to communicate with him. There was a time when I was so angry at his lack of fathering that I refused to talk to him, and when I did, I was extremely rude. Especially the day he asked if he could give me away. But becoming a parent and a few other life lessons, have made me realize, that weekly texting is HIS way of being in my life. I don't want to look back when he's gone and realize I never tried. So we text, he sends my daughters books and magazines and keeps his distance. He lives in Alaska, we live here. There are no bridges in between. Now the man I grew up calling dad is very similar to the one I haven't seen in 32 years. He is across the room from time to time, but just as distant. He adopted me when he married my mom. He is the one who went back to the restaurant where I left my yellow baby, to make sure I had the doll to sleep with that night. He is the one who taught me how to ride a bike, how to whistle, how to blow bubbles with bubble gum. And he is the one who held each of my daughters in the hospital just minutes after they were born. He is not a pefect man, though I don't know one that is. He is not a kiss and hug kind of guy. I didn't realize what I was missing growing up, it has only been recently, that I realized how sad this fact is. My daughters are kiss and hug kind of kids and I know they wish Grandpa was. But he tries in his own, keep his distance kind of way. He pushes them on the rope swing, makes sure there is canteloupe and tomatoes in the house. (and sugar, lots of sugar of course!) He is the product of his environment, not much in the loving department in his childhood either. And whether or not I want to deal with he and my mom's divorce and the selling of the one house we had growing up, it is what it is. He is my dad. He took over when someone else didn't want the job. And he worked weekends upon weekends of overtime to make sure I had my own flute in middle school. He tried. And sometimes that is all we can ask. My husband is a good dad. There are lots of hugs and kisses and "P" packs, his version of a piggy back ride. He lets the girls paint his nails and do his makeup. (we have the pictures as proof)He plays catch with them, patches up their boo boos, he comes to school activities when he can, he volunteers in their classrooms, in fact he is well known by the 4th grade and under crew at school. He takes them to Disney movies and sings along. He works hard to make sure they have everything they want. But he is also the first to teach them about money and what it means to save. He puts up with endless Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber songs. And he loves his girls, all 3 of us. Despite our ups and downs he has tried to remain a constant. And though there are times when he is gone a lot, he tries to be here as much as he can. I know he wants to be a better dad, but I think he's pretty great right now.....