Happy Birthday to the man who raised me.

 

Today is going to be a different kind of blog post. Today is the day that I thank the man who raised me as his own: J.R.

*Warning if you’re like me, you may need tissues, because I needed them just writing this.*

Dear J.R.

You were there for my first days of school, my first bloody nose, my first scary movie, and subsequent nightmare. You were there for my first dance, my first boyfriend, my first kiss, and my first date. You were there for my first days of school and for the first friendship I lost and then regained.

When I was disappointed, angry, or upset you were there to support me in your quiet ways. You stood up for me, and what I believed in and you taught me to be strong. You taught me that I had to stand up, even if I was standing up alone.

You never told me that I couldn’t do something because I wasn’t good enough or strong enough. You always told me to do what I wanted especially if it was hard, because the best things in life aren’t free, you have to earn them.

I know now that every summer that Brad and I spent in Maryland was because of you. I know how much you sacrificed to let us see our dad.

You taught me to love music. To really listen as every piece becomes a whole. You taught me to listen with wild abandon. You’re the reason I love horror flicks so much. I remember you and I jumping up and down when we found out Taken had a kill counter. I remember how disappointed we were in The Last Exorcism”, but how much we loved “Paranormal Activity”. I know that we’re both psyched to see “The Rite” together soon.

You were there for us when we lost Ricky. I watched you hold my mom as we walked away. I saw your heart break a little because she was in pain, and I’ve watched you try to heal her heart ever since. I’ve seen you give my mom whatever she wants, because you love her and she deserves it.

I never wanted for anything in my life. If I wanted it badly enough you made it happen. I was desperate to go to Europe, but I didn’t want you guys to have to spend so much money on me. I remember you telling me that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and if I wanted to go I was going, but that I would earn whatever I could, and I did. I remember walking out of St. Severn’s in France and seeing you two there. I remember having dinner with you, and introducing you to my friends and nearly crying when you left.

I remember you came to every awards ceremony, and choir concert that you could since 4^th grade. I think you only missed two. I remember you videotaped most of them so that I could them later to look at. I remember looking into the stands as I was handed my “diploma” and seeing you and mom clapping for me, and I think I remember seeing you smile when I got the real thing in the mail.

You were there for me when I got sick. When I was scared of what the doctor’s would say you kept me laughing. You wracked your brain for months trying to figure out what was wrong. You always asked what every blood test said. You were the one who figured out what was wrong, and got pissed at the ER for not listening to you. You’re the reason I got better.

You gave me everything, and asked for nothing in return, but that I do my best at whatever I had to. You took me to plays and musicals, and made sure that I was as cultured as I could be. You got me books and books so that I could learn everything there is to learn. You were disappointed in me when I needed it, and supportive when I needed that. You taught me every lesson I’ll need later in life, and that being right doesn’t always make you smart. You taught me that strength is better tempered by wisdom and that sometimes it’s wise to not speak at all.

I don’t think I could’ve asked for anyone else to raise me, because I wouldn’t be who I am today. You married my mom: a single mother with two kids, who weren’t exactly the friendliest. You gave us a home, and good schooling, and you let Brad go when he said he didn’t want to be here anymore. You watched me grow up from a snotty little 4 year old, to the occasionally snotty 18 year old that I am today.

I’m sorry that I thought you were taking me away from my dad. I get now how much you tried to make peace. I never should’ve believed what I was hearing.

I’m sorry that I thought you were trying to replace him, because you weren’t. You became my dad on your own. You raised me, and fought for me and that’s what a father does.

I’m sorry that I would correct people when you introduced me as your daughter, because that’s what I am. You raised me to take on the world, and I can never repay you for that.

We may not be blood, but we’re most certainly family.

I know that you don’t say it often, but I love you J.R. Thank you for everything you’ve given to me.

Happy Birthday.

 

Your daughter,

Kristen

Since this is already up on my facebook, I’ll add it.

 

P.S. just because I write this doesn’t mean I don’t love my biological dad.