Taking the Step out of Father
My dad is, technically speaking, my stepfather. I just didn't realize it until I was in my 20's. Now don't get me wrong. I always knew he wasn't my biological father. My mom didn't meet him until I was almost four. But he was always just "dad".
Well, not always...
My parents tell the story of how Mandy met Ray. Mandy was a very head strong, stubborn little girl who reluctantly shared her mother with her little sister. But then Mommy brought home a man. A man who started to live with them. A man who told her to call him "Daddy". Every time he asked, she'd stick her bottom lip out, stare him down with narrowed eyes and say, "Ra-ay."
She was a force to be reckoned with and I'm sure there were times when Ray wanted to strangle this headstrong little girl with her mop of curls.
Side note: I had to put that in there because once upon a time I had curls. Blonde curls. *sigh*
Fast forward a few months...
Mommy, pregnant with Becky and with Mandy and Melissa in tow, takes a train from Washington to Missouri where Ray is waiting with a new job. The train trip takes an eternity. Long stretches of it without air conditioning to ease the sweltering mid-West heat. Mandy was miserable. Melissa was miserable. Mommy was beyond miserable. The last leg of the trip was a bus ride. Sitting near the front of the bus with a kind woman who tells her stories, Mandy is done. This trip is never going to end. She's going to be in a hot, uncomfortable bus or train forever. Then...the bus stops in Doniphan. Getting off, holding Mommy's hand, Mandy stumbles down the steps. She looks towards the circle of light illuminating the darkness surrounding the bus station. There, squatted down and smoking a cigarette is safety; an end to the trip...
"Daddy!"
I really do have the best father. Because I was never a stepdaughter. I was just his little girl.