They often say that daughters tend to marry men like their fathers. Every time this notion crosses my mind, I find myself grateful—thankful to fate or the universe or whatever higher power is at play in my life—that my biological father is not my true father.
As a chubby middle-schooler, I was drenched in sweat after an hour of horseback riding under the searing sun. I took off my helmet and approached my stepdad, who must have been equally thirsty after standing outside to watch my lesson. I asked him for a dollar to grab a drink from the vending machine, and he willingly obliged, placing me in the cab of my father’s truck, which was blissfully cool thanks to the air conditioning; he had arrived just in time to pick me up.
But as soon as we hit the road, my biological father turned to me with a menacing glare. “You will never ask that man for money again when I’m around. I am your father, and you will come to me for what you need. I will provide for you,” he asserted, his tone both angry and unnervingly calm.
Even at the tender age of 12, I recognized the hypocrisy in his words. Just weeks earlier, he had cut off all financial support for my hobbies, leaving my mother, a school nurse with limited means, to shoulder the burden. Horseback riding was an expensive pursuit, and while I worked at the stables to help with costs, my stepdad—a dedicated elementary school teacher—stepped in to fill the gaps.
Trapped in that metal box with a furious, envious man, I realized he had never been and would never be my true father.
To the outside world, my biological father was handsome and accomplished. But to me, he was frightening, cold, and emotionally distant. My mother made the best decision of her life by divorcing him while pregnant with me. Shortly after I was born, she began dating a teacher from her school, who quickly became an integral part of my life.
My biological father had given me the ridiculous nickname “Sports Fan,” despite my complete indifference to sports. This nickname symbolized our relationship—he didn’t know me and didn’t care to understand me. He quizzed me on academic facts, forbade television, and took me camping in the dreary woods where I felt nothing but uncomfortable and lonely. He even taught me how to shoot a gun, which terrified me.
In contrast, my stepfather dubbed me ‘Snickerdoodle,’ a playful name that perfectly encapsulated my personality. He allowed me to win at checkers, played wrestling games with me, dazzled me with magic tricks, and patiently taught me how to ride a bike.
My biological father was married to my stepmother, a lovely and accomplished woman who was a stable presence in my life until they divorced. After that, she was gone, prohibited from saying goodbye. I also became attached to other women he dated, only to see them vanish without explanation.
My stepdad was a constant in my life—always present and reliable. As an only child, I longed for a larger family, and he came from a big, loving family that provided joy and tradition, enriching both my life and that of my children.
My biological father had expectations that I could never meet and didn’t want to strive for. On my thirteenth birthday, rather than celebrating, he took me to a secluded park road and lectured me about my weight, echoing the cruel taunts from school bullies who called me ugly and unworthy. After that, I refused to endure it any longer. I cut him out of my life.
A true father is there to chase after a toddler with a pot after she accidentally ingests something harmful. He comforts her after she falls off her bike, cares for the pet she once loved but later abandoned, attends every school performance, and patiently teaches her to drive—no matter how many times she stalls the car. He supports his partner through health challenges, walks her down the aisle, and creates embarrassing but cherished memories during family gatherings. He is present at 3 a.m. to meet his first grandchild, embracing his role as a proud grandfather.
My stepfather embodies all of these qualities; he is my real father.
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In summary, the true essence of fatherhood goes beyond biology. It is about love, support, and being present in the lives of those who matter most. My stepfather has been there for me in ways that my biological father never was, making him my real father.
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