As I search through countless pictures of my past I find the one picture that I love the most. The orange printed date in the lower right corner reads July 16, 1997 (I would have been 6)). My adoptive dad and I are in the center of the picture. A creek is at our feet as we sit on a rock. A red mountain slope is behind us and just behind that are the hillish mountains and their many trees. The sky above us is a glorious cloudy blue one.
I always thought that my dad was the coolest dad ever and he is. In the picture, his brown skin shines from the sunlight and his short wavy black hair, black sunglasses, and black facial "chops" made him look cool. His white t-shirt had the logo of our foster agency printed on it and with it he wore blue jeans--nice ones with hardly any wear or tear to them. He wore a watch on his left wrist, completing his look. When I picture my dad I always think jeans, t-shirt, and a watch for the weekdays and a nice white shirt, slacks, and a charismatic tie for Sundays. He is a very clean-cut guy.
In the picture, my straggly long blond hair is a slight mess and I am wearing a white shirt with ruffled short sleeves under bright pink overalls with the leggings only reaching my knees. My facial expression--it is laughing as I am being tickled by my dad who is holding me close to him. I am content as I am in the arms of a man who would do anything to protect me--and he has.
The other "dad"--my biological father
I have found pictures of me on my fourth birthday. My hair was way too short--barely reaching my ears and going around my head like a misguided bowl-cut and the bangs being way above the eyebrows. My hair had been curled in to give my bad hair cut a better look. My skin was a pale white--even paler than my current color. I wore a long sleeve white shirt with a small bow at the neck along with stretchy-waist pants that looked very patchwork-like what with the many squares featuring tulips, hearts, poca dots, and checker board designs--all in purple, pink, blue, and white. I am also wearing a blue and yellow beaded necklace that someone had made for me.
In the three pictures that I have of this day I am seen with my biological father as I open every present--a glass mouse piggy bank, a 26-piece plastic tea set (very much like http://www.oocities.org/eureka/company/6745/l080lg.jpg but just made by a different company), and a "Baby So Beautiful" doll (http://thumbs2.ebaystatic.com/m/mf_NjkrojLdZ40X7-oZAuAA/140.jpg this type but with blonde hair and pink overalls).
In one picture, my biological father is behind me, holding me up so that I can take a picture with the doll still in its box which was half my size. In another picture he is smiling to the right of my face as he is helping me hold the tea set box above my head for the picture. In another picture he is steadying me on a chair so that I can hold up my new piggy bank.
To me, he was my world then and I was his. This event had taken place a few months after we had all been taken away and about a month after I had arrived at my future adoptive family's home. I was more happy about being able to see him than about the presents. The birthday party didn't take place in a home or a normal birthday place--it was in an office area (at the headquarters of the foster agency and it was complete with authorized supervision).
This man, my biological father, looked somewhat like the bad guy off of Kindergarten Cop--just make the hair messier, add some facial hair, and turn the black stylish clothes into a grimy black leather overcoat that wreaked of cigarettes and that's pretty much him.
Due to the fact that I was young and naive, I was unaware of who my biological father really was and what he had done. All I knew was that I couldn't live with him or my biological mother anymore because the state said so. When I was six he was put in prison for a very long time. I didn't know what for and I became an angry child because the system had taken my world away from me. I remember the therapist who had made a home-visit to explain it all to me. I threw a fit and sent her running from my room. I only wanted the love of a father and to help quench my curiosity about my father's prison sentence I fantasized that he had been something "cool"--like a drug lord--to get such a long sentence. Little did I know...
That pain settled down and I learned to not be so angry about that. Soon, it seemed as if I had forgotten my biological father and with every passing day I lost the image of his face and the sound of his voice in my memory. And, in his place, then came my complete and full love for another father--my dad who would do anything for me.
From this experience, I am glad that I walked away from that time in my childhood only remembering the love I felt from everyone involved, unaware of all the painful happenings that occurred during these times. However, I am even more grateful to God for Him having given me a second chance at everything in life--even a second father figure, my very awesome dad who would do anything for me and whose love for his kids radiates from his being every time he talks about and looks at his kids.
I don't believe in coincidence. I believe that everything happens according to God's plan and that families are predestined in heaven even if they are made up in complex ways on earth. The biological father I came into this world with is not my real father because of what he did--my real father is my dad who lives every moment for his kids.
I always thought that my dad was the coolest dad ever and he is. In the picture, his brown skin shines from the sunlight and his short wavy black hair, black sunglasses, and black facial "chops" made him look cool. His white t-shirt had the logo of our foster agency printed on it and with it he wore blue jeans--nice ones with hardly any wear or tear to them. He wore a watch on his left wrist, completing his look. When I picture my dad I always think jeans, t-shirt, and a watch for the weekdays and a nice white shirt, slacks, and a charismatic tie for Sundays. He is a very clean-cut guy.
In the picture, my straggly long blond hair is a slight mess and I am wearing a white shirt with ruffled short sleeves under bright pink overalls with the leggings only reaching my knees. My facial expression--it is laughing as I am being tickled by my dad who is holding me close to him. I am content as I am in the arms of a man who would do anything to protect me--and he has.
The other "dad"--my biological father
I have found pictures of me on my fourth birthday. My hair was way too short--barely reaching my ears and going around my head like a misguided bowl-cut and the bangs being way above the eyebrows. My hair had been curled in to give my bad hair cut a better look. My skin was a pale white--even paler than my current color. I wore a long sleeve white shirt with a small bow at the neck along with stretchy-waist pants that looked very patchwork-like what with the many squares featuring tulips, hearts, poca dots, and checker board designs--all in purple, pink, blue, and white. I am also wearing a blue and yellow beaded necklace that someone had made for me.
In the three pictures that I have of this day I am seen with my biological father as I open every present--a glass mouse piggy bank, a 26-piece plastic tea set (very much like http://www.oocities.org/eureka/company/6745/l080lg.jpg but just made by a different company), and a "Baby So Beautiful" doll (http://thumbs2.ebaystatic.com/m/mf_NjkrojLdZ40X7-oZAuAA/140.jpg this type but with blonde hair and pink overalls).
In one picture, my biological father is behind me, holding me up so that I can take a picture with the doll still in its box which was half my size. In another picture he is smiling to the right of my face as he is helping me hold the tea set box above my head for the picture. In another picture he is steadying me on a chair so that I can hold up my new piggy bank.
To me, he was my world then and I was his. This event had taken place a few months after we had all been taken away and about a month after I had arrived at my future adoptive family's home. I was more happy about being able to see him than about the presents. The birthday party didn't take place in a home or a normal birthday place--it was in an office area (at the headquarters of the foster agency and it was complete with authorized supervision).
This man, my biological father, looked somewhat like the bad guy off of Kindergarten Cop--just make the hair messier, add some facial hair, and turn the black stylish clothes into a grimy black leather overcoat that wreaked of cigarettes and that's pretty much him.
Due to the fact that I was young and naive, I was unaware of who my biological father really was and what he had done. All I knew was that I couldn't live with him or my biological mother anymore because the state said so. When I was six he was put in prison for a very long time. I didn't know what for and I became an angry child because the system had taken my world away from me. I remember the therapist who had made a home-visit to explain it all to me. I threw a fit and sent her running from my room. I only wanted the love of a father and to help quench my curiosity about my father's prison sentence I fantasized that he had been something "cool"--like a drug lord--to get such a long sentence. Little did I know...
That pain settled down and I learned to not be so angry about that. Soon, it seemed as if I had forgotten my biological father and with every passing day I lost the image of his face and the sound of his voice in my memory. And, in his place, then came my complete and full love for another father--my dad who would do anything for me.
From this experience, I am glad that I walked away from that time in my childhood only remembering the love I felt from everyone involved, unaware of all the painful happenings that occurred during these times. However, I am even more grateful to God for Him having given me a second chance at everything in life--even a second father figure, my very awesome dad who would do anything for me and whose love for his kids radiates from his being every time he talks about and looks at his kids.
I don't believe in coincidence. I believe that everything happens according to God's plan and that families are predestined in heaven even if they are made up in complex ways on earth. The biological father I came into this world with is not my real father because of what he did--my real father is my dad who lives every moment for his kids.
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