When I first met my daughter Darlana 15 years ago it was not while she was in the loving arms of her mother at a hospital maternity ward.
No, when I first laid eyes on my daughter she was 10-years-old. She greeted me at the door. She shook my hand, and then dominated a conversation for the next three hours with a language I would eventually come to know as pre-teenspeak. I was her mother's boyfriend. It was her way of getting to know the longhaired dude who had come a calling for her mom.
Four years later after marrying her mother, she became my stepdaughter. When she was 15-years-old, following many years of her absent biological father putting his priorities elsewhere, she tapped me on the shoulder while I was having morning coffee and said, “I have thought about it, and yes, I think you should adopt me.”
And I did. The journey into fatherhood had officially begun. So what can a poor boy do at a time like this ‘cept sing for a rock and roll band?
He improvises until he gets it right, that's what.
So here was the thing I had to get into my head to be a dad. This kid, now in those tumultuous years as a teen, hated mushrooms, cried her eyes out over losing a boyfriend, had a cellphone glued to her head night and day, rebelled over any chore assigned to her, and constantly argued just because she could.
This thing of fatherhood required me to be witness, and yes a victim too, to all these things. Sometimes I would smile. Sometimes I would shake my head. Sometimes I would rise to anger. But whatever I was feeling there was no giving up. No. There was a higher power-type of thing going on here without coincidences.
And there is this one thing that has over and over, usually coming from a Grade B television movie, irritated me to no end. It is that phrase “real dad.”
Yes, you may have heard it too, even many times. It is the type of conversation a kid might have with another about her mother's new partner, and whether he steps up to the plate to do this and that for the child. And then comes this comment, “Well, maybe you will have a better time with your real dad.” Or even this, “When your real dad comes he will know what to do.”
But hold on. I was there for every heartbreak. I showed up at all the parent/teacher talks. I taught her how to drive. I was there to congratulate her for every one of her accomplishments. I was also there for the times when things went south for her. And I was there for every single fight we had. Best of all, I was there when we made up in the only way a kid and a parent can – suddenly talking and laughing about the benefits of a mushroom diet.
And now she is 25. My kid will soon graduate from university with an arts and communications degree. She is getting married next year to a good man. I will walk her down the aisle.
I may not have her genes, and I don't have her DNA but I do have her love.
Only real dads get that.
