For my dear Reluctant Farmer,
Thank you for willingly choosing to be my kid’s real father. The Boy doesn’t even remember the father he had until he was six, though he knows that his Dad loved him very much, and thankfully he seems not to carry any scars from all the drama that happened with the brain cancer and all the mess that followed.
The Boy has seen you with your own kids, seen how you love them, how you care for them, how you have fun with them. You’re a good dad to all your kids. You brought The Boy siblings. They’re still Small People, but they have fun together despite the age differences.
The Boy also knows that you were willing to pay for the privilege of being his guardian, that you were willing to adopt him if he preferred, but that you gave him the choice. He knows that you accepted both of us when you chose me.
You are his real dad. You are the one who’s been here for most of his growing-up. You’re the one teaching him to drive, you’re the one who helps me deal with the inevitable episodes of testosterone-poisoning-stupidity … in fact you’re the often the only one who can get through the fog of hormones to help the kid see sense.
Even if you are teaching the kid your warped sense of humour and how to eat half a piece of cake in one giant bite, I’m grateful for all you do for us.