A Dad

The moment you are born, you are someone’s child. The moment your child is born, you become a mother or a father. But “Mom” and “Dad” are something entirely different. “Mom” and “Dad” are earned.

My daughter (who was my son at the time) was born into a loveless marriage. One where the husband is the boss and cheats and spends and does what he wants because he’s “the man.” A marriage where it’s okay for the man to hit the woman if she doesn’t understand or fulfill her “role” in the family.

At a family reunion in Tennessee, my daughter’s father told me it was okay for him to go hang out “with the boys.” They could fish, play catch, and smoke weed, while I could stay in the cabin and take care of food, cleaning, and children. He was the man, after all.

When our “son” wore nail polish or pink pajamas, her father drew boundaries that told her it wasn’t okay to be her. If you wear those things, you aren’t macho enough. If you wear those things, you must be queer. What he was really saying was, “if you wear those things, you aren’t my son.”

I wanted something better for her. She deserved better. All kids do. I also deserved better, but I didn’t see or believe it. Maybe I still don’t. It doesn’t matter. I did believe that my daughter deserved someone who saw her for who she was and would love her, no matter if she fit their definition of “normal.”

Out of all the things we should spend our parenting energy on, how does “teaching our boys to be boys” and “teaching our girls to be girls” even make it on the list? Isn’t it more important to teach your child how they should be treated and to make sure they know how to treat others? Isn’t it more important to make sure your child feels beautiful and accepted, no matter what genitalia he or she was born with?

I wanted a man who was okay with me making money and okay with me wearing the pants every once in a while. More importantly, a man who wouldn’t tell little girls that they shouldn’t climb trees or play football and wouldn’t tell little boys that they shouldn’t wear nail polish or the color pink.

My daughter had a father from the moment she was born, but what she really needed was a dad.

And then, he walked into my life. Someone looking for another to share his big heart with. Someone who took one look and decided to love my kid as his own. Someone who may not be perfect, but considers and even worries about the example he sets. Someone who encourages our children to talk to him about anything that trouble their minds.

A Dad understands that having flaws doesn’t make him less of a man; he believes showing his children that he too is human prepares them for being kind to themselves when they make their own mistakes. Even when his children are young and he has to tell them they can’t do or say certain things. Even when he has to tell them they are wrong. Even when he has to make them sad.

A Dad understands.

A Dad feels the weight of the world, perhaps too often, because of the many things he may have gotten wrong in his parenting journey. He wants to get it right and expects too much of himself. Yet, when his child is grown and makes some of the same mistakes, he will tell them they are doing great and to not be so hard on themselves. When his child hurts, he hurts. When his child is happy and excited and overjoyed, so is he.

A Dad feels.

A Dad accepts his children for who they are. Even when the rest of society doesn’t. Even if they themselves don’t understand who they are. Even if they themselves don’t want to be who they are.

A Dad accepts.

A Dad loves unconditionally, no matter what his kids do. No matter what his kids say. No matter how many negative emotions his kids burden him with. Unconditionally. Even when his kids don’t love him back. A Dad loves.

Somewhere out there, my daughter has a father. Here at home, my daughter has A Dad.