They often claim that daughters end up marrying men similar to their fathers. Whenever I hear this saying, I find myself grateful—grateful to whatever force may be watching over me. I appreciate that my biological father is not the one I consider my real father.
As I peeled off my riding helmet, sweat clung to my hair on that scorching day. As a hefty middle-schooler, an hour spent riding in the sun left me parched. I turned to my stepdad, who had also spent that hour under the same relentless sun, observing my lesson. I asked him for a dollar to buy something from the vending machine. He happily obliged and placed me comfortably in the cab of my father’s truck, which was still cool from the air conditioning, having just arrived moments before my lesson ended.
As soon as we hit the road, my father launched into a tirade. “You will never again ask that man for money when I’m around. I am your father, and you will come to me for what you need. I will provide for you,” he declared, his voice unnervingly calm yet filled with anger.
Even at the tender age of twelve, I recognized the hypocrisy in his words. Just weeks prior, my biological father had cut off all financial support for my extracurricular activities, offering only what the law mandated. My mother, a school nurse, was far from wealthy, and horseback riding was a costly hobby. While I took on chores like mucking stalls and watering horses to help, my stepfather, who worked as an elementary school teacher, was there to support me.
Trapped in that truck with a man who radiated jealousy and resentment, I realized he was never going to be my true father.
To the outside world, my biological dad appeared handsome, intelligent, and driven. To me, he was cold, frightening, and unforgiving. My mother made the best decision of her life when she divorced him while pregnant with me. Shortly after, she started dating a teacher at her school, who became a permanent fixture in my life.
My biological father called me “Sports Fan,” a name that felt utterly ridiculous since I had no interest in sports. This misnomer represented our relationship perfectly; he never truly knew me and showed no interest in understanding who I was. He quizzed me on science and math, banned television, and took me camping to dreary, muddy, and eerie woods, making me feel cold, uncomfortable, and alone. He even taught me to shoot a gun, a terrifying experience for me.
In contrast, my stepdad affectionately nicknamed me “Bunsarunski,” a playful term that somehow felt just right. He let me win at checkers, played with me, showed me magic tricks, and patiently taught me to ride a bike.
My biological father was married to my stepmother, a lovely and accomplished woman, for several years. She offered a stable presence in my life until their divorce took her away, leaving me forbidden to say goodbye. There were other women he introduced me to, women I grew fond of before they mysteriously vanished from my life.
My stepfather, however, was a constant source of support. As an only child, I craved family, and he came from a large, loving family that provided stability and joy in my life and for my children.
My biological father imposed unrealistic expectations upon me that I never desired to meet. On my thirteenth birthday, instead of a celebration, he drove me to a secluded spot and lectured me about my weight, reinforcing the insecurities I already battled thanks to school bullies. After that, I made the decision to cut him out of my life completely.
A real father is the one who chases after a toddler with a pot after she accidentally consumes something unsafe. He comforts her when she tumbles off her bike, tends to her abandoned pet rabbit, and attends every school performance. He teaches her to drive, supports her mother through illness, walks her down the aisle, and creates endearing memories during family gatherings. He is there to meet his first grandchild in the early hours of the morning, proudly taking on the role of grandfather.
My stepfather is my real father, the one who has always been present and supportive.
Conclusion
In conclusion, understanding the difference between a biological father and a true father can be life-changing. If you’re exploring options for parenting and family, you might find useful insights in related articles, such as this one on IUI success. For those interested in home insemination, this link could be enlightening, as well as this resource for home insemination kits.