When I was a child, my mom separated from my biological father, and we lived alone with her for a while. We had her all to ourselves. We had all her love and all her time. But then she met someone else! How should we react? How should we welcome him? Worse yet, how would we live with other children besides the three of us?
We all reacted differently—some with jealousy, some with acceptance, and some with skepticism. My little brother, with his dear Oedipus complex, was jealous. He’d cling to my mom while we watched movies as a family—our new family. Imagine that! My stepfather’s daughter had the same problem, too. My older brother and I were on the second couch, and we didn’t bat an eye. He even took our stepfather’s arrival very well. He was welcoming. Finally! A man in my mother’s life who was involved with us. Then there’s me, who prefers to be wary, who’s seen my mother cry, who takes care of her. I chose to analyze the situation. You know what? Since the separation, my mom hadn’t smiled anymore; she was living life at 100 miles an hour, trying to make it work as a single mom. So, seeing a smile appear on her face, seeing how well he took care of us, I chose to trust him.
Did I regret it? Not at all! Do you know why? Because seventeen years later, he’s still there; he loves us, and above all, he wants to show my mom that she’s worth it. To me, they’re a model of a happy relationship and marriage. This stepfather is no longer just my mother’s partner; over time, he has become a confidant, a friend, a shoulder to cry on, a rock. In short, he has become my father. Do you know why? He acts this way, even though we aren’t his own flesh and blood.
I want to pay tribute to him for these seventeen wonderful years, but also for the years to come. My “Dad” was there from the very beginning. When our biological father had had too much to drink, he’d come pick us up in his car and take us home. He built a beautiful bond of love between us, simply through his presence, his willingness to listen, and his protection. He was there for me the day my first boyfriend broke up with me; he dried my tears. He was there when those two police officers came to take my statement against my father. It was when I saw his fists clench as he listened to my story that I knew.
I knew he would be my dad—forever. He was the first person I talked to about the abuse I suffered at the hands of my ex-boyfriend, and he was the one I confided in about the self-harm I was inflicting on myself. He was the one I danced with at my senior prom, and he was the one who walked me down the aisle to my future husband. Despite all the hardships I’ve been through—that we’ve been through—he’s stayed with us. We’ve remained a family. In the years to come, I can picture him spending time with my children; he lets them call him “Grandpa,” and he adores them. I know my children will always have an important place in his heart, just as we do.
Thank you, Dad!