A Father's Day Story

It's about a really great dad, who also happens to be my husband.  It's kind of long, but I can't help it.  I have a lot to say about him.

Almost 22 years ago I was on vacation in Maine with my family. I had been divorced a few years earlier- it was a bad marriage. I married the wrong guy, with lots of problems; as a result my children didn't have much of a dad in their lives. Anyway, it was a rainy Saturday, and I thought I'd get the kids out of the house so they didn't make my parents crazy- they were about 4 and 5 at the time.  I got them in the car and was driving into town- as I passed the little road that led to the one-room aquarium, I suddenly decided to turn down it. We had already been there a couple of times that week, but the kids loved it, and there's not much else to do on a rainy day in Boothbay Harbor.

There weren't too many people there- the kids immediately went over to the touch tank, where they could pick up slimy sea cucumbers and starfish.  There was a dogfish tank in the middle of the room, where spiny dogfish swam around and around in circles- they looked like little sharks, but were gentle enough to touch.  There was a chubby, mean boy standing at the tank, man-handling the poor dogfish- I made eye contact with a guy standing across the tank from me and gave him my "what's wrong with that kid, and where are his parents?" look.

Well, the guy was pretty cute, and turns out, very funny.  We started talking and I found out he was spending the weekend camping, in the pouring rain, with his little boy.  I thought, how can I send the two of them back to their soggy tent?.. so, I invited them back to my parent's house.

So, to make a long story not quite so long, we were engaged three months later.  His wife had died several years earlier- he was raising his little boy alone.  I moved to Massachusetts, and we started our new life together, with our blended family.  I didn't worry about any of it, because, from the beginning, he loved and accepted my children as his own.  Their own father had little to do with them, but refused to give up his parental rights, so he could never adopt them.  But it didn't really matter- as my son said to me, years later when he was in college,  Allan was his real father.  He was there when they were sick, when they needed stitches, when they had trouble in school, or with friends.  He taught them things, he coached them in sports, he supported them financially. He put up with their love of animals, and the menagerie of pets we ended up with, from iguanas to goats to chickens.  He disciplined them and hugged and kissed them and made sure they always knew how much he loved them. He shared his faith in God with them.  He was completely committed to them, as if they were his own flesh and blood.  An outsider would never have known that my two children were not his own.

And now, he is filling the role of father for another child, who isn't his own, who, once again, isn't even related to him.  It's his little granddaughter.  Her father can't be in her life, so he is both her Pop-Pop and Daddy.  He loves her with all his heart- he is lying in bed talking to her right now.  He is supposed to be putting her to sleep, but I can hear them talking about Rudolph and monsters and cousins and school and other things that are very important to her.

He is the most loving, loyal, unselfish man I know.  I am so fortunate that I just happened to decide at the very last second to turn down the aquarium road that day, and that it was pouring rain.  And so are my children.  Our lives became so much better when he said yes to my invitation to come home with me.