Happy Father's Day, Ted

I would like to wish all the fathers a happy Father's Day today, and to tell those who haven't done so already to call their dads and wish them a happy Father's Day.

I want to dedicate this post to my stepfather, whom I have always considered to be my "real" dad even though I haven't called him that.

Not since I was a little kid did he carry that title. My brother and I both called him "dad" until we slipped up one day in front of weekend dad and called our stepdad "dad." Our biological father is an angry man--always has been, and when he heard that, that was the end of that. So our stepdad went back to "Ted," and thus he's been that since.

When I was younger, I didn't like Ted much. I saw him as a usurper, but I also understood that my mother loved him and he wasn't going anywhere. That didn't keep me or my brother from absorbing the hateful lies our dad told us, and every time we came home from a visit with Dad, my mom and Ted would have to reprogram us. It did not escape my notice, however, that they did not say anything bad about our dad. Contrast that with how our dad would call our mom a "bitch" (and still does) and is still bitter about the divorce that was nearly SEVENTEEN years ago.

Eventually I got older and began to realize that my real dad wasn't necessarily the one that provided the sperm. My dad's anger issues and alcoholism (both things he's very defensive about, yet refuses to acknowledge) have always caused a rift between us, and between him and my brother. But Ted has always been there when I needed. He was there when I decided not to speak to my real dad for months because I couldn't take the constant fighting, the frustration of speaking to an incessantly drunk man that is verbally abusive to his own children (oh, but it's just "jokes"). And yet Ted was the one encouraging me to speak to him, because he is my dad.

The love I have for my dad is obligatory. This is not the case with Ted. He's been there emotionally for me. I've never felt uncomfortable talking to him about anything even that thing that daughters aren't really supposed to talk about with their fathers. With my dad, I often keep things from him because I'm afraid he'll ridicule me, or the topic makes me uncomfortable. When I was in a bad relationship in high school and it bothered Ted to no end to see me so unhappy, he only encouraged me to do what was best for me; my dad, however, only saw that my boyfriend was black, and encouraged me to dump him on that alone.

I think my favorite memories are the ones from when I was really young. Like when Ted used to "fly" me to bed, lifting me up and telling me to put my arms out. He'd fly me through the whole house before finally landing me on my bed to tuck me in. I would get out of bed and run back to the living room just to make him do it all again.

Or when my brother and I would wait until the commercials came on in the middle of whatever show we were watching, and then pounce on Ted to wrestle for those few minutes before the show would come back on. The best part was it would drive Mom crazy.

Or when Mom or Ted would grab my treasured raggedy stuffed cat, Smokey, and throw him down the hall shouting "Smokey go pee!" where he would land ungracefully on the bathroom floor, sliding into the bathtub. This was my least favorite as a kid, but it's funny as hell now that I'm a grown up (and yes, I still have Smokey).

When I got older, I appreciated Ted more. We haven't always gotten along, but that's to be expected. I miss going to the bar with him and my mom (sometimes just me and him at three in the afternoon after he got home from work). I miss camping, and laughing my ass off at Ted's campfire antics. I think the simplest thing is just sitting at the kitchen table talking about what is going on with me, and what he plans to do next with the house or yard, or what car he's thinking of buying to fix up and sell. Phone conversations are okay, but they don't compare with actual presence.

I have long understood that I have something better than a dad or a real dad or whatever. I have a Ted, and I wouldn't trade him for anything. I've often heard people sympathize with my having a bad relationship with my real father, and I've always responded with, "Well, it's not a big deal, because I've still got Ted--and he makes up for everything that my dad doesn't do." In a way, that kind of sucks, because no one ever asked Ted to take on responsibilities that should have fallen to my dad, but I think that's what makes him awesome--no one asked him to do all the things he's done for me and my brother, and yet he does.

I always laugh when I think of what made my mom decide to get married to Ted--when he offered to help clean up when my still-in-diapers brother decided to make artwork with the "ew from [his] diaper" without my mother asking him to.

So, happy Father's Day Ted. I love you.

And now, I call upon you, my readers, to share your Teds. Show them some love in the comments.