Dear Dads

Dear Bio-dad,

18 years. It’s been 18 years since I’ve seen you, and there are things I’ve been wanting to say for a long time.

I guess I should thank you for giving me up. Otherwise I’d never have had the life I do now. I wouldn’t have the dad I do now. Y’know, the man who actually tried? The one who didn’t disappear? But “thanks” seems too generous an acknowledgement for glorified abandonment.

Why did you give up trying? They say you left because you didn’t want to end up like your dad. Hard, abusive, cold. Well, the years have been pretty icy between us, huh? You upheld the family tradition of terrible fathers pretty well, even if you didn’t walk the same path.

Why did you fight the court for the adoption? You hadn’t seen me for nearly a decade, you didn’t care to be my father. So why did it matter so much to you that I kept your name?

I always wonder what I would do if we met again. Would I scream? Would I cry? Would I be able to look you in the eye? You disgust me and terrify me all at once. You are my deepest shame and greatest curiosity.

Morbidly, I’m drawn to you for answers. I am half-you, after all. I’ve tried to forget you, but… you are twisted into the very fiber of my being. I may not have grown up under your hand but I carry your anger in my bones and your lies between my teeth. How many years has Mom witnessed my outbursts, seeing your irrationality in my eyes and your abuse hurled at her again in your daughter’s words?

They say that curses are generational, and every time I feel my blood start to rise, I realize that our wretched family history of hate and selfishness and cruelty is like a volcano in my chest, lying dormant, yet too easy to summon to the surface. I will live with you as my curse for the rest of my life.

What of my future family? Will my children carry a part of you in them? Will I see your blue eyes rise to the surface of the gene pool, or, God forbid, will our anger pass down to another generation?

I hate that I am half-you. I hate that you are my dad, whether I like it or not. But rest assured, I am chipping away at the pieces of you left in me every day, because I’d rather be a ragged, jagged mess than let you ever, ever claim me as your daughter.

+ + + +

Dear Step-dad,

11 years. I’ve been yours officially for 11 years, but we both know in our hearts you’ve been my “Pops” much longer than that.

I’m sure your family thought you were crazy when you started dating my mom. What young, single guy would want to take on not only a dizzyingly fast courtship and marriage, but a precocious three-year-old that might never be fully their own? But you took it in stride. My mom and I were a package deal and to this day you still love to tell me that you knew, deep down, that you were always meant to marry a single mother.

You were instantly the anchor in my life. Even as a little kid I was ready to move on from the man that gave me life, and you were the more-than-perfect replacement. You loved (still love) my mom, you loved (still love) me, you were willing to stick through the thick and thin.

I still don’t know all the details, but you fight long and hard to make me your legal child. It was more than just putting your last name on the end of mine, but it was for my safety and to be able to tell the whole world that you were willing to fight for me.

You have taught me how a man should be a husband and a father.

You may crack terrible jokes and threaten to run off my future love interest with a hunting rifle, but you are strong when I need you to be and serious when the time calls for it.

Sure, you have your share of rough edges and character flaws, but instead of pulling away and letting them fester, you actively work to overcome them and learn from them. You stand your ground and you don’t shy away from hard things.

You are every bit of the man I needed you to be, then and now.

I will always be trying to emulate your patience, your generosity, and your kindness, and maybe with time I can take up the chipped and cracked parts of me that I dig out from my soul and replace them with parts of you.

Your letter may not be as long, but trust me, love is far harder to put into words when you simply live it everyday.

I love you, dad, and I will always, always, be your daughter.