38/50 Father's Day Eve
1. The TV dad
I can’t help it, my vote’s for Frank Gallagher (William H. Macy) of Shameless.
I figure no matter how low he scrapes the bottom of the barrel he’ll always eventually, in his own way, get behind his fabulously dysfunctional family. (And I do like a good dysfunctional family.) Also if we go back a bit I think we can all agree some of those so-called perfect TV dads were somewhat disappointing. Cough, The Cosby Show, cough. Call me Pollyanna but I believe there’s potential for ‘ol Frank… a little bit.
Minuscule.
2. The baby daddy
My girl has a great one. As much as I try to convince her to make me the fave parent she insists on treating us equally and him as the best dad. No argument there.
3. The real dads
I’ve had two of them. My birth dad, who I was parted from between the years of almost two and almost thirty and my adoptive dad, who brought me up and died when I had just turned eighteen. Both, I am beyond grateful to have known.
I remember being adopted, sitting on my dad’s knee when the judge asked me if I wanted Peter to be my daddy.
‘He IS my daddy,’ was my reply. And so he was. A good, good man who saw me through all the years of childhood, as a sullen, sometimes obnoxious pre-teen and teen where we more often than not butted heads. Strict and traditional, he also beautifully encouraged me in all my passions, lobbied hard to include Art History as a subject at my rugby loving school, pushed me when he knew I could do better and never missed a chance to tell me I was beautiful in a dress and a slob in jeans. We talked honestly about things my gorgeous, head-in-the-sand mother liked to avoid: how the colour of my skin could be an issue for some people in my life (my entire family and friends during my growing up years were as pakeha as pakeha could be) and in the same breath he would ensure I understood how fortunate I was to come from a culture neither of us knew anything about. He truly loved me as his own and to never have doubted that, not once, is a gift I wish I could share with anyone ever considering adoption or becoming a step-parent.
He was diagnosed with lung cancer during my last school year and in the space of mere hours I went from child to carer. My chest still catches when I think back over that time, watching this loved man deteriorate before our eyes; time-wise, quickly yet painfully slowly. The values I hold dearest come from him and I hope I’ve passed them on to my daughter. I miss him every day.
When my girl had just turned one I decided it was time to find my birth father. Out of loyalty to my dad I’d not considered ever doing anything about looking for him, thinking he could find me if he wanted (turns out he couldn’t) but having my own child changed things. I wanted to know where I belonged in a cultural sense. Both my husband and I wanted our girl to feel proud of who she was, to have knowledge and information. And just like that it happened.
We reached out and he reached right back, immediately. I can’t tell you how good that felt. Turns out I not only had a birth father who wanted to know me, but he’d spoken of me to his wife and daughters. I had another family, these loving wonderful people who I’m sure must wonder sometimes WHAT?! I realise how fortunate I am to have been welcomed with open arms and to be part of a story where I’ve come in part-way through yet made to feel like I’ve always been a main character. It’s something else to realise how far-reaching love can be, that there’s no rule book for what constitutes a family.
Both, I am beyond grateful to have known.
If you’re fortunate to have had a great dad in your life, yours or the father of your kidlets, then I hope you celebrate with socks and undies and a mighty good brunch! And big love to anyone who’ll be missing their dads tomorrow x
Photo by Nathan Anderson
© The Yoga Connection 2017