Two Dads

“I have two Daddies,” Emerson would announce in her children have a way of saying anything that might be potentially embarrassing, loud enough that even the hard of hearing can decipher voice. Without fail, eyes would widen and jaws would drop as people looked down at her adorable little face and then up at me, Brian and Allen, pausing a moment before the awkward smile and the obligatorily whispered, “Bless her heart.”

In the conservative climate of Southern decency, I would imagine onlookers trying to mentally put the puzzle – with one too many pieces – together: two fathers and one woman? What does this mean? I always took some perverse pleasure in the less liberal minded praying for this poor child being raised by this homosexual couple and their surrogate partner in crime.

My daughters do have two fathers, but neither my husband nor my ex-husband are gay and I am a full-time, multiple hat wearing, wanna be super-woman kind of Mom. As unorthodox as our family tree might be to some, and as far from the perfectly picturesque picketed fence family of my childhood imagination, what we have works.

Beyond simple functionality, our family form offers our girls an over abundance of love, and with so many children caught in the cogs of DSS, I don’t see how love and concerned parenting can come in quantities of “too much of a good thing.”

I have no time for regrets. While my first attempt at marriage did not turn out as I planned, I would not trade that experience for the world because I have Emerson – and Allen. He and I, it turns out, are much better friends and parents than we were husband and wife. Who knew?

Because of all his eccentricities, my ex-husband is one of my closest friends. He quotes lines from my favorite movies and makes me laugh until my stomach hurts. We wax nostalgic about the good ole days of grad school and weep for the future of English as a course of study and a professional aspiration.

Things could have been horribly ugly between Allen and I, but to his credit (and mine I suppose), we handled our separation and divorce like adults knowing that a petty finger-pointing tug-of-war between us would only hurt Emerson. When I remarried and had Ella, Allen treated her like his own daughter and has ever since. Likewise, Brian has loved and cared for Emerson since she was only a year old. 

Allen and Brian are not BFFs. They don’t participate in social male bonding and there is no budding “bromance” – though I have encouraged them to see Green Lantern together because Allen loves comic book heroes, Brian enjoys movies about comic book heroes, and, frankly, I have no interest in either.

But we will be celebrating Father’s Day together along with other friends and family members who can testify to the fact that however unique our family might be, Em and Ella are happy and well-adjusted children.

As an adult, I have only two memories of spending Father’s Day with my Dad (there might have been others, but none that I can recall). Geography seemed a treacherous barrier to the development of the Daddy’s girl kind of relationship I have always dreamt of sharing with my Dad. Thankfully, Em and Ella do not have to contend with the same obstacle. Brian lives with us (when he isn’t traveling for business), so the girls spend time with him every day, and Allen spends time with them 3-4 times a week. Growing up without a father-figure is never going to be a concern for them.

In recent years I have made peace with the relationship I have with my father. There are many things I wish were different: I wish I saw my Dad more often; I wish my Dad and I talked more about everyday things; I wish I knew more stories about his life and family growing up. My Dad and I are different people, and the ways we express love and emotions differ. This fact, however, does not change the love I feel for my father. He is the only father I am ever going to have and I love him immensely.

Fathers play a vital role in their children’s emotional, mental and spiritual well-being. As a daughter, I can tell you the presence or absence of a father figure has a tremendous impact on a girls sense of self and the choices she makes throughout her life.

Emerson and Ella have been blessed with “two dads” who love them without condition, who champion their interests, who encourage their dreams, who emphasize the importance of education and experience, who kiss scraped knees and tickle tummies, who tell stories and listen to knock-knock jokes. They have dads who teach them about gardening, cars, bugs, books, super heroes, camping, fishing, swimming, kindness, courage, generosity, honesty and integrity.

Whether the mere mention elicits eye-brow raises, head scratches or general confusion, Em and Ella having two daddies is an odd and unexpected gift that I value beyond measure.

I think it’s a safe bet that most women, when confronted with a rain-drenched ex-husband crawling through their bedroom window, would march immediately to the nearest police station and begin the process of obtaining an Order of Protection. In my case, having my ex-husband climb through my bedroom window last Tuesday’s afternoon is, well, life as I know it.

To call my ex-husband, Allen, quirky is an understatement. Oddly enough, his quirkiness is, perhaps, one of his most endearing qualities. Allen and I met as grad students in the English program at Clemson. We were instant friends. The problem with our relationship, however, is that we were never more than friends no matter how much we might have tried to make the relationship romantic. It just didn’t quite work out.

In hindsight it is easy to say that we probably shouldn’t have gotten married, but I do not regret it because had we never been married, we would not have Emerson. Still, after only three years of marriage, I knew it was never going to work. I was unhappy, and I had the foresight to know that my unhappiness would negatively affect my daughter. Divorce seemed the healthiest course of action for all of us.

Our divorce was amicable and uncontested. There was no fighting over Emerson or money or property (there are some advantages to being a poor grad student when you get married). We kept the lines of communication open, and decided that whatever might happen, Emerson was always going to be priority numero uno.

Since our divorce, I have gotten remarried and had another daughter, Ella. Allen, in some ways, is still as much a part of my new life as he was when we were married. He did enter my house through my bedroom window without any criminal or legal repercussions after all. To most people, I’m sure this entire scenario seems bizarre, but in my life, this unorthodox relationship is par for the course.

Allen picks both Em and Ella up from school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Last Tuesday he happened to forget his key, which is why he came in through the window. He also picks them up on Sundays and takes them to the house he shares with his parents in Williamston. Papa, Gram and Allen have treated Ella like she was theirs from day one. They have never made any emotional or biological distinction between them. The same is true in our home. My husband and I met just as Em turned one. He has helped raise her from infancy, and she has always called him Daddy.   

Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day – we celebrate these holidays together as one big, albeit unusual, family: Em, Ella, Daddy, Daddy Allen, Grandma (my mother) Papa and Gram and me. Today it seems that families come in all shapes and sizes, so perhaps we are less the exception than we are the norm. However one might choose to describe or define us, we are a family nonetheless.

In my mind, Em and Ella are truly the ones who benefit from the blending of our family. How can it be a bad thing to have more than two parents to love and care for them? Doesn’t the saying go “it takes a village to raise a child?” Despite being a child of divorce, Em has never been pulled in a tug-of-war between two angry parents, and Ella has never been treated like an “other” because her DNA is not the same as Allen’s or his parents.

Too often it is innocent children who are forced to cope with difficult issues because the adults in their lives cannot muster the maturity it takes to put aside their own hurts and petty differences. Children become paws in a tortuous chess game designed by adults “get back” at one another. Insult heaped upon injury.

While my family tree might have some oddly entwined braches, its roots are deeply planted in a foundation of love, respect and understanding. Of course there are times when we disagree, moments when we get on one another’s last good nerve, but when all is said and done, Em and Ella always come first – on this we agree 100%. We want them to be happy, healthy, well-developed children. Thus far, I think we are doing a great job!  

The fact that people raise their eyebrows every time my children announce that they have two daddies – that is just an endlessly amusing dollop of icing on the cake of life.