For My Dad….by Karolien……There’s life after kids
“Any man can have a child, BUT not every man can be a DAD.”
Truer words have not been said. I myself grew up with a stepdad and these words rang true for me my whole life.
My parents got divorced when I was only a year old and my mom remarried when I was four. My stepdad took me warts and all and I got his name since day one. This man was my DAD from day one. It did not matter that he was not my biological father, he was my dad
He was the dad who loved me and cared for me. The dad who carried me to my bed when I fell asleep in the car. The dad who dropped me off at school. The dad who wiped the blood of my grazed knee and held my hand as I got 25 stitches in my forehead when I nosedived into a heap of bricks at 8 years old.
He was the dad who was proud of my achievements and bragged to all about how clever I was. He was also the dad that gave me a hiding when I overstepped the lines. He was the dad who bought me my first bicycle, my first motorbike, my first car.
He was a stepdad BUT he was the dad who fed me, put a roof over my head, bought me clothes, toys and gave me pocket money and gifts for my birthday and Christmas. The dad who worked his fingers to the bone making sure we had all we need. He was the dad who took me around the block on his motorbike. He taught me the love of camping and a love of cars. He was the dad who wiped my tears when I was sad, the dad who loved me, laughed at me, got mad at me. We could fight, scream and get mad but we’d always make up and things would be good.
He was the dad who my hubby went to for permission to marry me. He was the dad who walked me down the aisle. He was the dad who held both my born children and loved them from the moment he set eyes on them. He is now the grandfather who loves them to bits and can see no wrongdoing on their side ever.
He was the dad who nearly died in a motorcycle accident when I was 8 years old and although I knew at the time it was serious (how could I not when my dad spent a year in the hospital), but only now, later in life I can appreciate the horrible effect it would have had on our lives,had he not survived.
When I was five a brother arrived and shortly after a sister but never did I feel any less than a daughter to him. I’ve never felt anything less in 38 years of having a stepdad because my dad never made me feel insignificant or any less than his own children with my mother. He was never the stepdad. He was my dad; he still is and he always will be. I love him as if he is my own blood relation and often people have commented on how much we look alike and I’d have a quiet giggle inside.
My kids could not wish for a grandfather who loved them anymore than he does and they are lucky to have him as so am I. He is not a stepdad, he is MY DAD.