The difference between Dads and Daddys

So, I hope I forewarned my followers that this blog would be eclectic! Sorry if you prefer the straight forward approach. I will write as I feel or as I think of things. I'm trying to follow a chronological methodology, but no promises. I warned about that in my first blog. So, this time I'm going to talk about a matter that is very near and dear to my heart.

My biological father had a drinking problem- which led to marital and parental problems as typically happens. I've been told that things went to hell in a hand basket when I was less than a year old. Being an Engineer, I think about a lot of things. All the options and possibilities- unless the answer is obviously right in front of me- then I don't have to deliberate. Sorry, I'm digressing. I know that my biological father already had a drinking problem before I was born, however, I have spent much time considering the "trauma" he went through, fathering an imperfect child. This observation is mixed with very genuine understanding as well as a bit of sarcasm. I also consider the grief that my mom bore through this process as well, but her story will be in a later blog.

So, back to my biological father. Some short time after I was born my mom and he were separated and at some point after that they were divorced. That was my last exposure to him until I was in college. But we're not ready to go there yet. First things first. My title "the difference between Dads and Daddys" is at the heart of this blog. When I was about 3 or 4 years old. My Daddy (my adoptive father) entered the picture. He began dating my mom and when I was 4 or 5 they were married. I have little bits and pieces of memories of those days, but they are quite sketchy. From the start I remember he treated me kindly. As I grew up into adulthood, I recognized the honorable thing that he did when he married my mom, taking on two kids- my older sister and myself. That takes a lot of love. He didn't just marry mom, he took us two kids to his side and loved on us and, in my opinion, raised us as his own. Even though at times, my sister and I were rebellious and even cruel in our remarks and hehavior concerning him not being our "real" Dad. I deeply regret those remarks. At some point after the marriage, we moved out to San Diego, California- Dad had enlisted to the Navy and spent the next three years serving in the Vietnam War. California was fun. I have a few more memories still lodged deep in my brain from that part of life since I was just a wee bit older. That is where I spent some time in the Balboa Naval Hospital for reconstructive surgery- bennefitting from my Dad's Navy service. After three years in California, we moved back to South Dakota (my native state). That was around 1971. We spent the next 5 or 6 years there and in 1976 or 1977 we moved to my grandad's cattle ranch in southwest Colorado. Dad had been given the opportunity to partner up with grandad in the ranching operation. That's when the hard work began. Being a youngster, I wasn't too fond of regular hard work and yet there was plenty of that.

I digress a bit again. Bear with me as I get a handle on this blogging. Back to the title- what is the difference between Dads and Daddys? It took me a long time to figure that out. It wasn't until some time in my adult years that I figured that out. As I mentioned earlier, I met my biological father for the first time, technically speaking (I had no memory of him when I was a newborn), while I was in college. I went back to my home town for a wedding and my older sister told me I could find our "Dad" at the local bar that he owned and operated. It must have been a Friday or Saturday night because the place was packed. I had to ask a person who my dad was because I didn't know what he looked like. They went and got him, I talked to him for about 1 or 2 minutes- the bar was busy and he had to attend to the customers. We exchanged some brief words. I told him I loved him and forgave him.

That was it. I tried communicating after returning home and received no replies. I respected the possibility that he had another family after mine and didn't want to complicate or jeopardize that, so I left it alone. It has been years now and in a recent conversation with my sister, the basic conclusion she presented to me was that our biological father was as the world has come to define them, a dead-beat dad.

So, I will try to conclude this session. My adoptive father is the greatest Daddy in the whole world. He has never abandoned me. He has tolerated my hurtful comments as he raised me up. He always introduces me as His son. He invested a tremendous amount of his life into mine to help me succeed in life. At times he was hard and at times he was gentle- he was not perfect, just like no one is perfect, but he earned the title "Daddy". Today, as I sit here writing this blog, a 44 year old man, I don't call him Daddy in his presence, I haven't gotten that brave yet. I envy those who have that kind of intimacy with their parents. I am working on that one. I know he loves me and is proud of me, and I believe he knows I feel the same about him. He may as well have been my biological father- his lifetime investment in my life has earned him all the privelages to be my Daddy. I know he may never read this blog-but, happy Father's Day, Daddy, thanks for making me a very real part of your life.
James