"Here's the Father's Day craft F made today," she said, smiling and holding a colourful, hand-painted card out to me. "I can tell you since you're not his father!"
I felt my heart sink into my stomach as the daycare teacher's teenage daughter showed me the masterpiece F had spent his day working on. It was the week before Father's Day weekend, and I guess I should have seen it coming.
She gushed about how much F's dad would love it and how it wasn't the only piece of artwork the kids would be working on this week, completely oblivious to my (apparently well-hidden) pain. F's Dad hasn't been around for Father's Day in a while.
Both F and I are lucky to have other great men in our lives, like my Dad (Grampie) and Red, but my heart ached when the daycare teacher told me that F had announced that Grampie was his Daddy. Another kid's reply: Grampie can't be your daddy.
I recently saw a Facebook post by a friend exclaiming how crazy it is to not allow Mother's Day and Father's Day crafts in schools. She's entitled to that feeling as much as the next person is entitled to theirs, as much as I am to mine but I think it's a touchy subject for many people.
For the kids who have two Mommies or two Daddies, for the kids who don't have a Mommy or don't have a Daddy or are orphaned, and for the caregivers who have to deal with explaining that to their children.
It's not easy to explain to a kid, especially with society and popular media portraying the "perfect little family": Mommy, Daddy and Kid(s). Throw in a pet and a picket fence, and by George, it's the North American Dream ... except when it's, um, not.
I'm a Dother. Or perhaps a Fom. Mather? MomDad? A hybrid, to say the least.
Dad is a hat I've worn, right next to Nurse, Teacher, Friend, Horse, Punching Bag, Snot Wiping Station and Queen Snuggler. I didn't plan to, and maybe it doesn't suit me as well as I'd like it to but it's one of my hats now. Maybe one day I'll pass it on to someone else, but I'm not sure. For now, I'm just trying to hold my heart in one piece and help F understand what no three-year-old should have to try to figure out.
There's a day in my future that I'm absolutely dreading.
I don't know when it will come, or how long I have to prepare for it but it is a day that I think fret about every day. It's going to shake me to my very core, and knowing that certainly won't make it easier. It's coming.
It's the day when F realizes that he doesn't have a Dad. And I have no fucking idea what I'm going to do when that day comes.
F is a smart little guy, and he understands the traditional mold of a family. Mommy, Daddy, Baby. When he plays with his gazillion stuffed animals, there is always a Mommy, a Daddy and a Baby. Even when he hung out with Red and I for the week, I was always the "Mommy Sheep", F was the "Daddy Sheep" and Red was "Shaun the Sheep". Most people would expect a kid to declare himself the "Baby Sheep" - especially since F usually does when it's he and I - but I wonder if F has already felt the loss of a Daddy Sheep, and doesn't want to set himself up for that again.
When J and I first broke up, F would often point to the photos I had left up for far too long and exclaim "Look, it's Daddy and Mommy!" and it would break my heart. As the days turned to weeks and into months, F forgot about J. When J started coming around again, F would call him "guy" or eventually by the same nickname I did, explaining it away as "Mommy's friend". I didn't know whether to let it break my heart or ease my pain. Is it easier that he doesn't know right now?
I know, as a kid who grew up knowing about my adoption, that coping with the unknown is hard. I felt inadequate. Why hadn't I been good enough for my birth family? It was irrational and wrong and knowing the difference doesn't erase 21 years of self-doubt, self-loathing and hurt.What if F feels that way? What if he thinks it's his fault his dad left? How do you undo that kind of thinking? My parents told me better, just as I will assure F, but I believed strongly in what I felt and there was no convincing me otherwise.
What if he blames me? Will he hate me? Will he harbour resentment? Is that going to be a phase in our lives? Even now, the thought brings a tear to my eye and pains my heart.
The day is coming when I have to try to tenderly explain to F that sometimes life isn't fair. Sometimes the people who should love us turn a blind eye, but that everything happens for a reason. I hope that I can promise F that the people who will hold our hand and not let go when things get tough will always be there for us. I hope I can be strong enough to tell him that his Dad just wasn't ready. It's not F's fault. It's not mine. I can't even say it's J's fault. It just wasn't right...
And I hope F can forgive him... but I wouldn't blame him for a second if he can't. I won't.
