My father and my mother met when they were 18. I was born when they were 19. They split within a year. When they talk about their brief marriage, they will both kindly explain, “We were just too young.”
I’m sure it all felt much more complicated as they lived through it, and I was so little that I don’t remember it at all. Here’s what I know. My mom left. Perhaps her reasons were compelling but that’s beside the point. Today I’m telling my Dad’s story.
My dad was a single dad before he could legally drink. He kept me safe and loved me and changed my diapers and rocked me to sleep when most of his friends were out being rowdy kids. He was my primary parent during the time when I (according to child development experts) was forming my strongest attachments. Maybe that’s why we think alike. Maybe that’s why I feel such an incredibly strong connection to my dad, over the miles and through the years.
Ultimately, my time living with my dad was short. He sometimes tells the story of when my mom took me back, and I can feel his heart break each time he recounts it.
But my moving back with my mom didn’t diminish his commitment to being a part of my life. Every long weekend, he spent 8 hours in the car; two to pick me up and two to drive me back to his house on Friday night. And then the same on Monday to bring me back to my mom’s house. In hindsight, that seemed a bit unfair, given the fact that my mom was the one who moved away. But he never complained. Okay, well, maybe he complained a little. But not until I was old enough to realize that his desire to spend time with me outweighed the inconvenience.
Each time we began the trip, we stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts. Dad got a coffee and a coffee roll. I got a Boston crème donut. I now live in the suburbs of Boston and I have a bona fide Dunkin Donuts addiction. I can’t help but think that these things are connected.
My dad and I didn’t see each other as often as either of us would have liked, and those car trips were probably not what either one of us would have chosen as ‘quality time.’ But in the end, I’m glad we had all those hours in the car together. We had time to talk about everything and nothing. I shared my secrets and he gave advice. We both sang along to cassette tapes, and he explained the story behind Dire Straight’s “Money for Nothing.” I developed a lifelong love of Simon and Garfunkel, and to this day, I can’t hear “The Boxer” without picturing my dad banging his fist on the steering wheel along with the crash of the drum. Because of these trips, there are some songs that will be forever tethered to my dad in my heart.
But even as we drove these distances, my dad demonstrated his kindness and generosity to the world. In this time before cell phones, my dad never passed a stranded motorist. Never. Even if he’d been driving for four hours, even if it was pouring rain. My dad has a mechanical gift, but he is also a helper, through and through. He never hesitates to use his gift to brighten someone’s day, and I am in awe of him.
I was my dad’s firstborn. He married his second wife when I was small, and they had two more children; a girl first and then a boy. My sister and my brother and I are all lucky to call this man our father. When my dad married for the third time, it was the real deal. He married the woman he was meant to be with. She is as generous as he is, and she brings out the best in him. And he didn’t flinch at the fact that she had five daughters of her own.
If you ask my dad, he will say he has eight children. He has raised us all and fathers us all and loves us all. He is the man who taught me how to open my heart and my home and to welcome people without reservation. It’s not uncommon for me to visit my dad and stepmom and to find out that someone new is living in their home. They’ve welcomed nieces and nephews, children, grandchildren, friends of friends… often for a few nights, but sometimes for months at a time. I strive to have a home like the home that my dad and his wife have created. That kind of welcoming is a gift.
His generosity, with his time and his talents and sometimes even his money, is boundless. He’s the guy that we call when someone’s washing machine breaks, or someone needs a car repair, or someone needs a babysitter. He’s the one I call when my heart is broken or my dryer has stopped working, and either way, he can fix it. My dad is my hero and my champion. He is unflinchingly positive and he’s famous for saying, “… but if that’s my biggest problem, I’m doing alright.”
I’m so grateful for my dad. He’s taught me so much about the kind of person I want to be. I’m blessed to have him in my life, and my kids are so lucky to have him as their Grandpa.
One of the hardest things for my father was when I began to call another man ‘dad.’ I know that this broke his heart, but he came to terms with it in a beautiful way. He says that he finally realized that love is not finite. My love for my stepdad didn’t mean that I loved my dad any less. More people to love and be loved by a child could never be a bad thing.
And so, with humility and love and grace, my dad began to respect and admire the other dad in my life.
Frank met me for the first time when I was about four. I was so shy that I pulled my dress over my head and refused to say hello, but eventually, he won me over. My stepdad and my mom were married for more than 20 years. They had three more daughters together, and this dad is steadfast and strong and stoic.
Picture Bill Bellechick, but handsomer. A man of few words, because actions speak louder. A “Do your job” kind of guy who’s happiest with the sleeves cut off of his shirt. He’s the kind of guy who will roll his eyes and swear when you back your Buick into the basketball hoop, and then spend 6 hours with a winch and a plunger working the dent out of the bumper.
When I was first met my dad, he had a German Shepherd named Bucky. Bucky was a beautiful dog; huge, and well-trained, but I was afraid of him. At that time, I was still a little afraid of the man I would come to call ‘dad.’ But I watched them together, this hulking man and this massive dog, and they were both affectionate and playful and I learned that deep down, they were both teddy bears. To this day, I have a soft spot for Shepherds- both my dogs are Shepherd mixes, and I think of my dad every time I watch my gruff husband lay on the ground and make kissy faces with these mutts of ours.
As we were getting to know each other, my dad and I didn’t have a lot of common interests. I was a bookish kid, and despite his best efforts, I never could, “Watch the bat hit the ball.” I remember him pushing me on the swingset in the trailer park where we lived. In retrospect, I’m sure he had a million other things to do, but he would joke about launching me out of my swing, monotonously pushing while I screamed, “Higher! Higher!”
Before my younger sisters were born, I remember it used to be a treat when dad would ask, “Hey. You wanna go get gas with me?” He’d smile and wink, and my mom would pretend she didn’t know that he bought me a candy bar every time we filled up.
As the family grew, my dad remained the same. He remained hardworking and stoic, loving us through actions that we didn’t always appreciate. My dad didn’t say much, but when he spoke, we listened. My dad’s love was easy to take for granted, and for that I owe him an apology. He loved me so well that I sometimes forgot that he didn’t have to.
When my mom and dad divorced, it shook us all. I was technically an adult. I had graduated college, and was living on my own in Boston. But my dad shows his love by doing. Did I mention he’s not much of a talker? So when I moved 5 hours away, he couldn’t change my oil for me, or rotate my tires, or load up his truck with a yard sale couch that I wanted to buy. My dad and I had to navigate a new relationship, and if I’m totally honest, we’re still working on it.
But recently, I was back home for my high school reunion and I got a flat tire. He came to pick me up. He bought some fix a flat and spent his afternoon checking for leaks and then replacing a faulty valve stem. Because he loves me. And I will forever love this man who didn’t have to be my Dad.
And now I get to Tom. Dad number three. But only chronologically, because this guy has earned his place in my heart.
Tom had no obligation at all to be a parent to me. He met my mom when I was an adult, about to have a baby of my own. In all honesty, I didn’t really think he’d be an important part of my life.
How wrong I was. Tom has accomplished an epic feat. He has won the hearts of all four of my mother’s daughters. He is a patient listener with a quiet calm that will heal whatever is ailing you. He is kindhearted and steady and generous. He is thoughtful and endlessly patient. Tom is exactly the man that my mom needs in her life, and by extension, we are blessed to have him in ours.
He tolerates late night dramatic phone calls and embraces my rambunctious children. He sends thoughtful gifts and leaves sweet messages and fixes things you didn’t even know needed fixing.
Tom, I love you, too. Thanks for being the Dad I didn’t know I needed.
To all the men out there, loving your children and loving other peoples’ children, you are appreciated and loved more than you know. Thanks for doing the most important work there is.
And to my three dads; I love you all, and your card is in the mail.