Death Chic

Ok, so yeah the blogosphere will be rife with Father’s Day posts and still I feel the need to throw in my own two cents.

So happy Father’s Day to my husband, who has spent the last eight years being a dad to this one:

Before I go on I’d like to have a word about step-parents. I met my now-husband when I was a rather baffled single mom with a four month old baby and an ex with little interest in parenting (he had taken off with another woman when I was pregnant and only returned a week prior to my son’s birth to interrupt an adoption I had set up).

My now-husband did not shy away from me. He did  not shy away from my baby boy. He did not shy away from a tiny screaming, diaper-wearing human that he had no biological or moral obligation to support.

Rather, he jumped right in with both feet and has been a fierce parent and provider to our son ever since. He’s earned the right to refer to the boy as “his son” a million times over. His first act while we were dating was to baby-proof his apartment. His second was to start an education IRA for the boy. We were married when my son was eighteen months old and he has been a loving parent to him ever since.

My husband is the reason why – if you happen to know me – I get a little irritated when people refer to biological parents as their “real” parents. I think it’s backward to give credit to people based only on their biological contribution to your existence. Your “real” parent is the man or woman who changed your diapers, fed you at midnight, kissed owies, taught you to ride a bike and spanked your sorry ass when you used a rusty nail to carve a family portrait into the side of the station wagon. Many of us are fortunate to have biological parents who double as our “real” parents. Still, there are numerous children out there who, through a fabulous stroke of luck, are being raised by wonderfully caring parents who had no biological obligation to take on the burdens presented by parenthood.

In my mind, my son hit the parenthood lottery with my husband. Happy Father’s Day to my husband and all you dads out  there who are raising step and adopted children. You are the “real” dad.

My daughter, on the other hand, is the perpetrator of a grand experiment in which she is trying to see just how far she can push my husband and I without actually being sold to gypsies:

Also! Happy Father’s Day to my own father, who is spending this one at Club Afghanistan at Uncle Sam’s bequest:

This is my dad’s favorite photo. Ever.

It was taken by a vatican photographer in 1988 after my dad’s unit flew the pope and his mitre-wearing entourage from Colorado to Carmel, California during a papal visit to the states. Upon arrival in California the pope asked to meet with every person involved in his travel so that he could thank them individually. To this day my dad still brags that Pope John Paul II requested an audience with him.

Happy Father’s Day dad. Try not to eat too many MREs will ya? We’re having a budget crisis over here.

(And yeah. I hit the parent lottery by having you as a dad too.)