fathers day, my day
larger cast of characters?
still my miracle day
The biological process and the other process.
I do not think I have to go into the miracle of birth.
Hands down, no argument, the biological process of birth is a miracle.
I remember an episode of the TV show ‘Frasier’ where Niles Crane was diagnosed with ‘slow motility sperm.”
When his wife learns she is pregnant she says she must have fast eggs.
In this direction, things didn’t work out for us.
But with family history in play, it wasn’t that unexpected.
I guess I was ready for it.
When I had my first one-on-one meeting with the social worker, she asked, “Why do you want to adopt?”
I thought that was a dumb question seeing as how I was talking to an adoption specialist.
“We want a family,” I said.
She looked at me, made a note on a pad.
Then she asked, “What are you looking for?”
Which I thought was an even dumber question.
“Whatcha got?”, I responded.
She made a note on a pad.
I said, “Wait, wait, wait. What are you writing down? What do people say to that question?”
She looked at me and said, “Well in your case, most people would respond, a child with blond hair and blue eyes. Someone who looks like me …”
“OH?” says I, “what happens to those people?”
“They wait for 2 to 3 years.”
I need to say that I and this social worker hit it off.
I can say my response of whatcha got never changed .
I would even step on a limb and say she liked me.
She might have thought I was a bit … different, but she liked me.
She pulled some strings.
She pushed some buttons.
She had also placed a bunch of kids with my wife’s extended family.
Like I said though, she liked me.
She liked us.
Me and my wife Leslie.
She liked us though she warned that on our personality profiles we both tested high on leadership.
She told that could lead to ‘interesting’ situations later on.
But we also got fast tracked for adoption.
10 years later we had 7 kids.
Then there is family history.
In June of 1862, my Great Great Grandfather was shot through the lungs at the battle of Gaines Mill as a soldier in the Union Army.
Left for dead and abandoned when the Union Army retreated and left 2,000 plus wounded soldiers to the rebels.
My Great Great was a POW on Belle Isle in Richmond, Virginia before being exchanged and returned to the Union Army, all the while receiving no medical care.
Once back north and in a military hospital, he was mustered out of the service.
For the rest of his life he carried that rebel bullet in his chest.
But he made it home and THEN got married and THEN fathered two daughters.
One of who was my great grandmother.
Shot through the lungs.
Left for dead.
Survives a Civil War era prisoner of war cap.
Then starts the line that led to me?
You want to stack any of these miracles up against each other?
You want to go to Vegas and get one chance to make a bet on any one of these miracles?
As far as I know, me and my wife have seven kids.
Shortly after getting the girls, they were all in the basement and they were fighting to beat the band over something.
I was frustrated.
I was mad.
I said to my wife they are all down there fighting.
WHY CAN’T THEY GET ALONG LIKE BROTHERS and SISTERS …….
I stopped in mid sentence.
I thought about it.
“Never mind,” I said.
I might not be the brightest bulb in the box.
But I like to think I am smart enough to appreciate miracles.
Sure there were miracles that created our kids.
They are other people involved with that.
I got no problem there.
I got no problem there because I got not problem with who I am and who my kids are.
Me and my wife had this big, odd, weird family.
It has a big, odd weird story.
My kids call me Dad.
I am not prepared to argue.
One miracle or another, I don’t care.
Love these kids very much and proud of what they have done and proud of the grand kids.
Love being a Dad.
Love being a Papa.
Love my wife being Grammy.
It has been rough.
It has been smooth.
Good times and bad times.
Like any other family.
I am lucky guy.