My Two Dads

Did you ever see that ‘80’s sitcom about the girl raised by two single men, each of whom might be her biological father? I was pretty young when the show was on, so I don’t think I was ever clear on the logistics of their living arrangement, or how/why each man was so certain the girl was his daughter. BUT I do remember the three of them lived in the same apartment building as the judge who worked on their “case.” I also remember the two dads were complete opposites: One was this very attractive, too-young looking artist type, and the other was a total Wall-Street. Between the two of them, she got the best of both worlds (like Hannah Montana, except less annoying).

As I’ve been thinking about Father’s Day this week, I’m realizing how much I’m like that girl on My Two Dads (minus the eighties-tastic hair and boyfriend whose voice hadn’t changed). Between my father and my father-in-law I feel like I have everything “normal” and everything “abnormal” in a father-daughter relationship.

One of my dads helped tile my bathroom floor. One helps me figure out insurance statements. One of my dads wears Hawaiian shirts. One wears the old suit/tie combo. One of my dads can see—courtesy of Lasix—the other is blind in one eye. One of my dads sees a doctor, one sees a medical intuitive. Which dad is which might surprise you.

Once I said to my husband: “When you put them together, our father equal one perfect dad.” But I think I had it wrong. My dads are close enough to perfect on their own.

Happy Father’s Day Week, everybody!