Above is a photo from my own version of "My Two Dads." You see, through a twist of 1970's communications, my mom was courted by and married into the same family twice. Nothing to see here, "she just really liked the in-laws," has been the tongue in cheek comment for most of my life.
D & D were born 11 years apart, to sisters Dorothy and Margaret. So many years later, we are certainly not "ONE BIG HAPPY" necessarily, but we do have a rich heritage of cousin connections, family stories about how we define each other, and some not very appropriate tales that get trotted out at family dinners about an antique family bed and its' generations of occupants (It's my opinion that this story needs to be recorded for posterity, then buried, Message me if you'd like to hear it).
I like to imagine that I have things in common with both of my grandmothers, but I've been compared to Dorothy a few times as well. She died when I was 6 weeks old, so I never got the opportunity to make my own opinion. However, this is really about the sons they raised and their daughter.
For my part, after 50 years of ups and downs, I have some really great memories: My Daddy (TM) read to me, carried me on his shoulders and gives fantastic hugs and backrubs. He buys me books and discusses global issues and social justice with me. My bonus Dad (TM) taught me how to ride a bike without training wheels, taught me about unionization and work ethic, helped us move and talks to us about financial and vehicle hurdles. He gifts me books too. Both tell me how much I mean to them, and I hope I do more than a fair job in return.
I love both of my dads, both have given me much and loved me hard. Both have showed up for me in very different ways, and while they are not friends with each other, I would not be me if I hadn't had (and still have!) them both. It took a lot of steps to get where we are, so Thanks, Dads
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