My Two Dads

Craaaa—acck! That was the sound of divorce splitting my life in two. I was 10 years old, and my mother remarried 2 years later, now there were two Dads in my life. They couldn’t have been more different.

Just like in the movie “Kramer vs. Kramer” my mother left my siblings and I with our Dad. He scrambled to take care of us. We ate so many frozen dinners and tuna fish sandwiches, I can no longer stomach either. He took us to work with him during the week, and bike riding with him on the weekends we didn’t spend with our mother. He loved playing Bid Whist with his friends, loud men with big laughs who loved to talk trash during the card games. My father told me, “People who really love you, don’t judge you.” He taught us to see past color, gender, or sexual preferences. “The question is whether or not they respect you.” Yep. He’s pretty hip for an old dude.

We nicknamed my Stepdad “the Lion,” so protective and loving of my mother, that he was sometimes jealous of my siblings and I. I’ve never met a man with such a commanding presence. He spoke six languages fluently, loved the Dodgers and the Lakers and was a veteran of the Korean-American war. I shared my first glass of wine with him and my mother when I was sixteen. He taught me how to drive. He told me read, and to have, express and be able to defend my opinions. He saw the world in black and white and never failed to confront an injustice. He roared. He passed away just last November. I miss him.

On this Father’s Day, I honor my two Dads, their wisdom, their patience and their willingness to be present in my life.

- Aunt B