To My Other Dad on Father's Day

In this post last week, I shared about my dad. The words were difficult to write, and some have shared that they were difficult to read as well. This week, I want to share words that come more easily, words of gratitude to the man who stepped in when my own father fell short. I never felt as though I was a burden to him. He seemed to act on instinct, doing the next right thing, taking the necessary actions as they came to him. I cannot imagine the weight that he carried, but I never even thought of it at the time. He didn’t let anyone see the heaviness that must have been upon him when he decided to take on two more children, not his own, not even related to him by blood. 

When my uncle allowed us to move into his home, he gave me so much more than a place to stay. He gave me a dad during years when that role was immensely important.

My uncle taught me many valuable lessons by his presence and his patience through my high school years. Some of the lessons were concrete, intentional teachings. Some were lessons absorbed by being around him, learning from his presence and his life. He was patient and calm and reassuring. He corrected my mistakes and gave me the tools I needed to travel out into the world. 

This Father's Day, I want to say thank you to the man who was a dad to me when he didn't have to be, my Uncle Bob.

Thank you for teaching me how to drive. I always recognize a stale green light, know that once I hesitate I have made my decision about what to do next, and especially remember not to slam on my brakes without a signal in the middle of the road if I am planning to make a left turn (you know, in case I don’t want to get rear-ended by a car behind me).

Thank you for teaching me that having a good day is a matter of choice, and always better than the alternative.

Thank you for making me exercise budgeting skills by using a small allowance to pay for all the extras in life, and to value the fact that they really are extra--bonuses, luxuries.

Thank you for showing me that whistling while you work really does change the way you feel about the job at hand, especially if you choose to whistle Christmas carols in July.

Thank you for teaching me that I was acceptable, by being willing to acknowledge and embrace me in the high school hallway, and calling me your kid.

Thank you for being an example of faith by how you live. You serve the least of these faithfully, and you held on tightly to the promises you knew even in the midst of extreme trial. You weren’t afraid to use your gifts to help others, from building projects to eye contact, a good squeeze and a reassuring hand pat for a lonely soul.

Thank you for helping me to realize my own coping mechanisms, by noticing that the bigger the bowl of ice cream, the tougher the day must have been.

Thank you for teaching me that procrastination on my part does not result in an emergency on your part.

Thank you for showing me the value of presence, by coming to support me at countless swim meets and cross country events, no matter how hot, humid or long the day would be.

Thank you for teaching me how to mow a lawn without chopping off my toes.

Thank you for patiently quizzing me on the names and locations of NFL football teams, the various ways to score and penalties, because I wanted to learn.

Thank you for showing me that it is always worth it to get off the couch to help someone else, even on the days when you really needed to rest.

Thank you for introducing me to the happiness that is a perfectly grilled, slightly charred, heavily barbecue sauced pork steak. And for knowing that it is best shared with the people you love.

Thank you for teaching me how to play Hearts, and to always duck unless you are absolutely sure you can shoot the moon.

Thank you for helping me to value others and be considerate, even if that lesson meant I was grounded for my scheduled first date.

Thank you for making me understand that a gentleman always comes to the door and you don’t leave the house for a honk or come back to the porch by yourself. Thank you for teaching me that all boys are bad, but some really are better than others.

Thank you for teaching me compassion for others, and a willingness to expect people to sometimes make mistakes, and to be able to forgive them for their humanity as they found their way.

Thank you for teaching me to keep offering yourself, keep reminding others that you are available, in the way that you consistently told me you would be there when I was ready. You gave me reassurance that your offer wouldn’t expire when I needed more time to get out of my abusive situation. You gave me the courage to leave when I needed to. 

Thank you for always helping me to consider the other person’s perspective, even when it was hard and I really didn’t want to.

Thank you for trying to teach me the importance of being on time, even if I never quite managed to get the hang of that one.

Thank you for helping me believe I was capable of more than I thought, encouraging me that I could walk to find a job at college and that I really could get by without a car.

Thank you for showing me integrity and helping me to find it within myself, learning that it was essential to always be where I said I would be and do what I promised I would do.

Thank you for walking me down the aisle and into the arms of a man who would love and protect me the same way you did.

Thank you for teaching me that family always shows up when needed, driving me all night so that I could see my brother, and standing beside me in the hardest days I ever faced. You taught me that strength is about how we hold each other up even when we all feel like falling apart. 

For taking me in and calling me your own, thank you. I would not be who I am today without your willingness to fight for me. Thank you for never giving up on me, for continuing to be there for me, for walking the happy and the hard places of life with me. 

The words don't seem enough to convey how grateful I am for the all the ways you have been a dad to me. They are not enough, but they are all I have. Thank you.