My Real Father

A couple of weeks ago I received a copy of a letter from my biological father's brother - my uncle.  While I found that there was much to disagree with, perhaps the most disagreeable was the constant referral to my "REAL father."  It was stated just like that.  REAL - capital letters and all.  REAL-LY??  I acknowledge that my biological father has made some contribution to the woman I am today.  How could he not?  After all, we share a certain amount of DNA, and I know that nature plays a part in who we are whether we want to identify it or not.  I don't remember anything about him, and due to his absence from our family, I don't think he had too much of a presence to influence my personality other than from a purely biological stand point.

So, what makes a REAL father?  My REAL father wasn't there to hold me in his arms when I was taking my first breaths.  He wasn't there to record my first tooth or my first tentative steps.  He wasn't there to comfort me when I fell and injured my tongue which is a constant reminder of a forgotten past.  He can't be seen in any of the too few family pictures that I have acquired over the past few years.

No.

My REAL father was there when I needed someone to pick me up and love me when I had lost it all.  When I followed him unknowingly to feed the cows and got stuck knee-high in the mud, he was the one who heard my little girl cries and pulled me close to his chest to comfort me.  He is the one who would put the worm on the hook of my fishing pole, and then removed the fish for me when I caught one because I was afraid and didn't want to touch either of those creatures.  He was my hero when he convinced my mother that it wasn't necessary for me to collect the eggs from the evil hens who would peck at my hands. He was the one who rode bravely on the tongue of the tractor, hung on through all the jerking, and taught me to drive the little red Massey Ferguson.   He was there when my dog was mortally wounded in front of my eyes by a car travelling on the highway in front of our rural home.  My REAL father is the one who taught me that it's okay to laugh at yourself, and even to be a little mischievous at times.  He is the one who helped me see that telling the truth, forgiveness, and unconditional love are all important qualities for people to exhibit.  He supported me when I was searching for answers and afraid of what might lay at the end of the path.  He empowered me to move forward.  He demonstrated to me what I should look for when I looked into the eyes of the man I love, and then held my trembling hands as he walked me down the aisle to meet him. My REAL father held my babies tenderly with tears in his eyes.  He caught them before they could fall as they were taking their first tentative steps.  He remembers all those trips to the emergency room because we have....well.....boys!  He taught them how to drive, and then told us later.  He cherishes their children.

He celebrates with us, and he cries with us.  He prays for us.  He loves us.  He is my REAL father, and I love him.