Overall it's a non-event in our two-mom household, but I have found myself thinking about fathers and other father-types the past few days.
Yesterday afternoon Jen put on some music and we were dancing around the living room with the kids. Paul Simon's You Can Call Me Al came on. I'm sure this was intentional on Jen's part. She knows the memories this song holds for me. I'm six years old and standing on my dad's feet, curls tickling my back as I look up at his face. Giggling as we both sing "I can call you Betty/ And Betty when you call me/ You can call me Al/ You can call me Al." His name is Allan, aka "Al", and though no one ever calls me Al, I still like the joke of him being called Betty. The Bean and Sprout don't yet know the words, but they giggle as I spin them around the living room, singing loudly and off key.
Earlier this week Jen's dad reassured me that though things are difficult right now I will never regret having this time with the kids. He poured me a whiskey and put on a TV show I could laugh at.
These men, they're good men. Our fathers and father-in-laws. Grandpas and Poppies. We are lucky to have them.
And though he's not a father to us or our children, I've found myself thinking about our donor. His reasons for doing what he did. The gift that he's given us in these children that he will likely never know. I wish I could thank him.
While our kids will never have a father to give homemade cards that look like dress shirts with a tie to, there is certainly no shortage of good men in their lives. Men to show our appreciation to on this day. One day they might feel like they're missing something other kids have, but I hope it won't be long after that that they'll be able to recognize what they have that other kids might not: Great grandfathers. Generous strangers. And a lot of other people who love them very, very much.