The day I became a father, aka the day my life went from black and white to color, may be the most impactful and significant event in my life. I recall it as if it was yesterday, even though it’s almost been 29 years.
As a gay man growing up in the Midwest and then seeking my fortune by going west, I spent a lot more time looking for relationships than thinking about having children. In fact, once I realized that I was gay and I was going to live life as a gay man (two very different decisions, I assure you), the thought of children kind of evaporated from my reality.
Fortunately, I was successful in meeting the man of my dreams and after more than ten years together, we felt very blessed that we had a relationship wherein we could count on each other. We supported each other and agreed that we were in it for the long haul.
So in 1991, when on three separate occasions within one week, we were told we would make great parents and we should think about having a child (gay couples do not “accidentally” become pregnant), we decided that it might truly be an amazing journey. Well, maybe not “we decided” but my husband Kevin was certainly sure of the decision. I was not really a kid-person (or a dog-person). Although, the thought of nurturing a child and parenting our own child (I seemed to be parenting others given the vacuum at home) did seem like a potentially rewarding opportunity.
We went down that road, Kevin emotionally and me analytically, with me standing back and observing and Kevin taking the reins. We lined up the various players (my sister’s egg, Kevin’s sperm and Kevin’s cousin as surrogate) and studied biology. After three attempts of IVF (Invitrofertalization), we were pregnant. I was cautiously optimistic and he was in glee. On the day of inducing our surrogate into labor, I stayed behind at home, knowing that these things could take hours and I could get some work done before being “called in.” That plan was overruled when Kevin said, “Get down here, we are having a baby!” So I drove to the hospital, pronto.
Hours and hours later, trying to recall the things that the three of us learned at our lamaze class like holding knees and shouting encouraging (however meaningless) phrases, a beautiful baby girl was born. Because it had taken a village to conceive her, there were many players in the delivery room. Each took a turn at holding her, making peculiar noises and celebrating the miracles of childbirth. Eventually, the doctor said to me, “You can hold her, you know,” and I was frightened. What were they all thinking, entrusting a fragile little being like this to me? I thought I would wait a few years to make sure I didn’t damage her. First, I sat down to reduce the chances of dropping her. Then I looked into the eyes of this tiny little creature and asked if I could feed her. The doctor said yes, so I put the bottle in her delicate mouth and watched her tentatively take in the liquid. I couldn’t believe it.
Moments later, tears were dripping from my eyes onto her. I don’t recall ever crying as an adult, teenager or ever, frankly. The others did not know exactly what was happening, but I felt something open up inside me that I don’t believe I’d ever felt before. To this day, the feeling is indescribable. What I did know was that beyond all other things, I was going to take care of this little girl forever and love her more than I had ever loved anyone or anything in the world. And I have.
Kevin and I always said that being a parent was the hardest and yet the best thing that you can ever do. We took it seriously. Kevin was the stay-at-home dad and I went to work each day and came home to daddy’s little girl. Kevin volunteered at every school, participated in every PTA meeting and I tried to take time off work here and there since I knew I would never get these days back. We would get angsty over every parenting move, about discipline, freedoms, ramifications and any other thing parents struggle with. We asked a lot of questions and went to therapy. Finally, Kevin realized that if we were questioning our parenting, there was a good probability that we were doing okay. We relaxed a bit. We just didn’t want to raise a serial killer.
Being the provider, I took my role and made it infinitely important. I wanted her to have all the advantages, especially regarding education. By three years old, I started to worry about college, her ultimate inheritance and everything I could do so she would feel secure, somehow thinking I could determine how she was going to feel.
When we were actually discussing things like money, investments and inheritance (she was probably eight or nine, but I believe these things should be discussed), she asked me if I was concerned about her inheritance because I didn’t think she would be successful on her own. It almost broke my heart. I assured her that I had complete confidence in her. I told her that an inheritance should be gravy, the icing on the cake. And I had seen so many trust-fund kids sabotage their inheritance due to their lack of self-worth and feelings of inadequacy that I did not want her potential blessing to be a curse rather than a gift. I told her that if the inheritance turned out to be a burden, she could give it to charity. I wanted her to enjoy it, but it was her choice. She said that she would probably want to keep it.
Ultimately, I learned that I had only one role: to love, support and nurture her. In other words, to be her dad.
I could hope for her success, give her positive feedback and encourage her to pursue what she was passionate about, but it would be her choice and my role was to support her in her choice. At five years old she said, “Daddy, I am not going to be an accountant” so I got early on that she needed to have her own life.
During her almost 29 years on this planet, I do not think there’s been a day I have not told her I love her. To this day, even if it is a text as the last thing I do for the day, I try to send her, and now her husband, a text reminding them how awesome they are, how proud I am of them and how much I love and adore them. And yeah, she and I have our own text chain where sometimes I can let her know she is still my little girl, who I adore and love more than anything.
I don’t know that I am a kid-person even now, but I am, without a doubt, a guy who enjoys fatherhood more than I could have ever dreamt possible.
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Oh Dennis–how beautiful, just like you!
The purity and resolve of your love touched my heart.