I've been mulling over this post for a while. Despite what you might have thought when you clicked on this link, it is not about my husband and my daughters (at least not on the surface). It is about me and my dad.
For years I talked about my "real dad" and my "step dad". This was for lack of a better term; biological dad sounded ridiculous. The reality is, I have two dads. Really. I have been blessed to have two men help shape my adulthood. I've joked with my mom for years that my husband could not be a better mix of both of these men. It's true...and kind of weird.
My dad, the man who gave me half of my DNA (and more than half of my strong-willed personality, if you ask my mom), and I have not always seen eye to eye. It is not a secret that my parents were very young when I was born. My mom was 16 and my dad was 17. This is shocking to many because I seem so "normal". lol I've been told this many times...and this is, honestly, a testament to my mother...keep reading. For years my dad and I had a very sketchy relationship. I remember hating to visit him at times and being enamored with him at others. As an adult I have come to understand that this negativity between us stems largely from our similarities; note: strong-willed personalities. I remember crying when I had to get on the plane to visit him in Colorado. And I remember rolling my eyes at him...a lot. But I also remember laughing so hard that I cried, screaming while I was going down the Alpine Slide, white water rafting, and watching my first MLB baseball game. But all of these good memories were tainted for the longest time. I missed him. I felt like he had abandoned me. And it didn't matter that I had a wonderful step-father who loved me like I was his own child, I wanted my dad. And I spent many years feeling like I wasn't good enough because he wasn't around. But for years my mom "made" me get on that plane. And she made sure that we talked on the phone. She bridged the gaps between my dad's family and her own, even if it meant driving me to multiple houses on holidays. And even though, at the time, I didn't understand her decisions, and I didn't always (okay, rarely) agreed with them, she was right to do it, and I am better off because of it.
It wasn't until I was about 16 or 17 (not coincidentally the ages of my parents at my birth) that I started to understand what it must have been like for my parents. Until that time, I hadn't known anything differently. I had a young mom. So what? I went to Kindergarten singing "Like a Virgin". So what? I was happy, healthy, and, really, living in my own world. But as I neared adulthood, and I looked at what lay ahead of me, I began to realize what my birth meant to my parents' futures. Not in an "I bet they wish I had never been born" kind of way. It was really just a realization of what it must have meant for their lives to be turned upside down. To have people tell them (people that they loved) that they shouldn't "keep" me, that they'd never be successful parents. To have to fight that battle and break those stereotypes EVERY DAY! I began to understand. They were kids. Really. My mom stepped up to the plate in a way that I don't understand, even today. I couldn't have done it the way she did. My dad still, to this day, reminds me what a remarkable woman my mom is. But we all know what they say about the maturity level of teenage boys. I began to understand how scared and overwhelmed my dad had felt. I began to understand that it didn't have anything to do with me. And I began to forgive him.
And then my grandmother died. And I was devastated. I was just beginning to reconcile all of these conflicting emotions I was harboring, and my world was turned upside down. There are so many days that I look at Bella and Sophia and hear what Grandma Resy would say about them! She was an amazingly kind-hearted woman. I am so blessed to have so many memories of her (again, I thank my mom for this). But this unexpected heart-breaking event brought my dad and I closer together. Maybe that was her last gift to us; a reminder of life's fragility. And a challenge not to let the past rob us of a future.
For the last ten years my dad and I have reconciled the past. We've talked about it. A lot. We've cleared the air. We've let go. And I've forgiven. I've learned a lot about myself by rebuilding my relationship with my dad. And in the process I found a great friend. My dad makes me laugh. He keeps me grounded. He tells me like it is. He challenges me to think outside of the box. He pushes me to do the right thing, even when that may be the hardest path. And he loves me. My dad tells me, more than anyone I know, that he's proud of me. He compliments me more on my abilities and successes as a parent than about anything else. And he's never shy about his past. He's told me, "I know what I'm talking about because I've made a lot of poor parenting decisions. But you and Jason are excellent parents." I'm not sure that there is anything more vulnerable or genuine than those words.
Letting go of the past and allowing yourself to move forward is the most difficult decision anyone can make. But it is a decision. It is a choice. It is empowering. And it is beautiful.
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