Everyone always tells me that I look like Dave. What they don’t realize is that Dave isn’t my biological father. In fact, I met him on October 15th of 2005. My 10th birthday to be exact. And right from the get-go, he seemed different than any of my mother’s previous boyfriends. Instead of letting some grandiose lie slip out about how stoked he was to meet me, and all that other bullshit, this stranger named Dave handed me a box with a bow on top. It contained a pair of rollerblades – just what I needed for the upcoming skate party put on by my elementary school. I thanked him then slunk away to go find someone I knew.
Dave turned out to be all that and a ray of sunshine. Shortly after my birthday, he and my mother moved into an apartment together. Then they bought a dog. Then they bought a house. And finally, Dave bought a ring. They decided to get married four months after Kosmo passed away. He was their first dog and the closest thing to a brother I was ever going to get. Their wedding was August 24th of 2013. It was beautiful.
Most people ask me if I look like my biological father because I apparently look nothing like my mother. Which I can understand. She has light brown, naturally straight hair. She’s also tall and thin. I, on the other hand, have out of control curly brown hair, plus I’m short and curvy. Once when we stopped by my mother’s workplace, a co-worker of hers told me that I looked like my mom when I smiled. I could have cried right then and there. It was such a simple comment, but it felt like the most genuine compliment in the world. Someone finally noticed that something about me was like my mother.
The guy who I’m supposed to call dad is the reason no one thinks I look like my mother. He’s also the reason I look like my step dad. I’m half Samoan and Dave’s Chamorro. No one ever believes me when I tell them. They usually discuss how “white” I look or say I must be “some type of Asian” which I find offensive on a whole other level. But that’s beside the point.
I never told anyone I was Samoan until 5th grade. My overbearing teacher had asked me if I was an Islander and I replied with wary confirmation. She then proceeded to ask me if I could speak some Samoan words to the class. I could not. Just like everybody else, my teacher failed to understand that my “Samoan-ness” had almost zero correlation with how I grew up. To this day, I haven’t met my biological father – and I don’t plan on changing that any time soon.
I’ve known Dave for half of the short life I’ve lived thus far and I couldn’t imagine it any other way. I have never geeked out about television shows and movies as much as I have with Dave. I have never seen two married people joke around as much as my mom and Dave. I have never called anyone my “dad,” except for Dave. Along with my grandpa, Dave has taken on the role as my father. He supports me, my mother, and my family; and that’s all I can ask for.
