Dad,
It was nearly 12 and a half years ago when you married my mom, nearly 12 and a half years ago when you truly became the someone we all needed: my mother, brother and I. You came into our lives, riding on a white horse and wearing shining, steel armor (okay, not really), but you became someone we could depend on to always be loving, supportive and there when we needed you the most. You became our hero.
I know things haven't always been simple and I know taking on the role of being my father has sometimes been less than desirable. We've had our fair share of disagreements and arguments. Looking back as an adult, I realize I had said things to you that I am not proud of. I can't take back the time I yelled "You're not my real dad!" I can't take back the time I kicked the car door just to accentuate my point. I can't take back the tantrums and the selfishness, but I can thank you for putting up with all of it and still loving me in the end.
They say when you marry somebody who already has children, you have to love those children as though they were your own. But that's not necessarily true; you just have to accept the inheritance, maybe tolerate them until they're adults and no longer your problem. But that's not how you handled us. You didn't just accept us, you chose us, as if we were a part of the decision to get married, as if we were a bonus in the ordeal and not just a side effect. You chose to love us when you didn't have to.
I'll never be able to explain how much it meant to me to see your face in the crowd at my many band concerts, chorus concerts, dance recitals, spelling bees, inductions, poetry readings etc. I'll never be able to explain how much it meant to have you teach me how to drive, to experience all your patience and faith be instilled upon me. For the very first moment in my life, l felt like I was worth the time someone was spending on me. I wasn't a chore or a duty; you loved that time spent with me as much as I did.
And the look on your face after my test when I got out of the car and delivered the news that I had passed, that all those hours of practice, the almost accidents, the fits of frustration (all from me) had finally paid off. You looked at me the way a man looks at his child the day he/she is born. The pride was there and I felt it.
That's the day I learned that you didn't have to see my birth, or my first steps or hear my first words to love me. Maybe you weren't there for all the firsts, but you were there for some, and you'll be there for the rest and that's what matters the most.
Thanks for choosing me,
Raven
