Every year there are two special occasions that I never look forward to, one I dread more than the other. Those two special occasions are Mother’s Day and Father’s day. Of the two I dread Mother’s Day the most, it’s a day I haven’t celebrated for the last six years and it’s a day that I won’t celebrate again until I have kids of my own in the future. It’s not a day that you can celebrate when the only motherly figure in your life isn’t there anymore.
Father’s Day isn’t a day that I don’t dread any less. Yes, I do have someone I can show my love and appreciation to every year but he isn’t my biological Dad. I am one of those people who knows that the saying it takes one night to be a father but a lifetime to be a Dad is absolutely true. My biological Dad is an ex-drug addict living in London who left my life before I was even born and doesn’t deserve the title Dad. I prefer to think of him as a sperm donor so that I keep my emotions separate.
My Mum’s sister isn’t making it any easier, every time we talk on the phone she turns the conversation around to my biological Dad and his family who I’ve never met. I have to keep my anger in check for two reasons: firstly because she didn’t live at home at the time and doesn’t know the full story of what happened. For some reason she has herself convinced that my decision not to meet my biological Dad wasn’t a decision that I made, she thinks that my Grandparents and Mum made that decision for me. But then she wouldn’t know if she wasn’t a big part of my life until about two years.
Secondly, she keeps telling me that I don’t look anything like my Mum, apparently I look exactly like my biological Dad’s sister who I’ve never met and she says that I would be dishonouring her memory if I don’t try to talk and build a relationship with my biological Dad. If this was any other situation I would brush her comments off because she’s the kind of person who you can’t argue with because nothing you say will change her mind. However, because my Mum isn’t here to defend herself or talk to me about everything that happened when he left, I feel like she’s dragging my Mum’s memory through the mud.
I don’t know how many times I can say that I don’t want to have a relationship with my biological Dad or how many times I can tell my Granddad that I don’t want to talk to her about it; before she finally understands that my decision is my decision and no one else has forced me to make that decision.
I know who my Dad is and it certainly isn’t him. My Dad is my Granddad. Everyone automatically assumes that he’s my Dad, even the people who know us around the village I live in seem to instantly assume that he’s my Dad. He often tells me how alike we are in our opinions, what we believe in and how we behave, and to be honest those are the moments when I forget that I am actually his granddaughter and not his daughter.
I’ve never felt the need to correct them because in a way they’re right. the man who has been the only father figure I’ve ever known from the day I was born, he’s the man that I am proud to call my Dad when I talk to my friends about him, he’s the man who has taught me exactly what kind of guy I would want to marry and have children in the future.
Because of him I am a very strong willed, independent person and not the most trusting person in the world. I have a very stiff upper lip, my Granddad’s definition of this is keeping your emotions in check in all situations, and apparently he would be very disappointed in me if I ever thought about crying as much as people do on the X Factor.
I am going to be forever grateful for the role my Granddad has played in my life, he’s proven that even though it does take a night to be a father it still takes a lifetime to be a Dad. It doesn’t matter what anyone says to me, stranger, friend, or even family, no one will ever be able to take that away from him.
Thank you for being my superhero Granddad!
Lots of love,