My Two Dads. Happy Father’s Day!

It is not lost on me, how blessed I am to have had two dads, that I know without a shadow of a doubt, loved me. 

Daddy’s Little Girl

From the time I was a baby, my daddy, Wendell Arthur Webster, always referred to me this way.  Of course, I knew my given birth name, but that is how I liked to be addressed. So, when I made it to first grade to introduce myself to my teacher, I said confidently and proudly, “My name is Adrian Danielle, Daddy’s Little Girl.”

My dad flashed that million dollar gapped smile with pride.  As cute as that introduction may have been, Mrs. Young warmly corrected, “Baby, that is not your name.” To which I countered, “…but it is what I am called.”

Apparently, that made my preamble that much more enduring. Throughout the course of the day, Mrs. Young made sure I introduced myself to one or two of her fellow teachers/friends; all adults involved thought it to be adorable.

My Father The Hero

As the case with hopefully many children, (although arguably not enough), I thought my father was a superhero.  I wanted to be around him all the time and I wanted to be just like him.  He did not seem to be afraid of anything.  He was a bundle of charming, fun, kindness, and love.

My daddy caught bugs with his hands, taught me (at least tried) to fish, and loved all genres of music.  He avidly read, loved to water ski, skillfully drew, went bungee jumping, rode roller coaster, and enjoyed life and the great outdoors!  Being the rebel he was, I was mind blown the day he proclaimed we would have breakfast (pancakes) for dinner. 

Daddy did so many things (often urging timid old me to join in on the fun), that I never saw anybody do, let alone, a black man. Not to mention, there was nothing he would not try to do for his family and friends.

You would struggle to find one person who knew him that has a different opinion.

I will not negate his demons and flaws, but they do not define the spirit that was Wendell Arthur Webster.  I have missed him every day for the last 30 years.

Those that knew my dad say my son carries his spirit. My dad has had a major influence in why, and how, I choose and try to live life, in such a kind, adventurous, loving way.  I dote on my children the way I do because of him.  Obviously, I am not guaranteed to see them grow older.

My world stopped in 1994 when my hero died suddenly. I was 12 years old. But, God…..

When my dad died of suicide at the age of 34, I lost the chance to be walked down the aisle, for my potential children to experience their grandfather, and to share any of the milestones that were to come….I would never be loved like that again….or so I thought.

A New Love Peace and Soul

Following the gap year, there was Pops, Jeri’L Robinson.  A God fearing, charismatic, suave, classic man.  He would have big shoes to fill, but actually never tried. Instead, he came in as his own form of a superhero, and right in time to help guide me through puberty and the teenage years (yay fun!)

I am Pop’s youngest daughter (he has 3 older children (1 son and 2 daughters) from his first marriage. Then me, and my younger brother). So, lucky for me, this was not his first time at the rodeo.  Who he was as a father (and we each had our individual issues and needs) is a consistent tie that binds.  Although we did not all grow up together, we reminisce and share stories of him throughout our lives, and his seemingly death defying presence.

I am thankful and blessed he did not come into my life with an ego, yet a listening ear, gentle spirit, and a loving heart.  Jeri’L Robinson never demanded a title. For years, my brother and I called him by his first name, until we began calling him Pops, which fit the relationship we had created and nurtured over the years.

A Father’s Love

Not only did Pops cheer me on during basketball, but he also created and coached a summer league team for me and my friends. He was there for graduations, debutantes, break-ups, and to filter the sometimes tense relationship between a mother and daughter.

Who else but Pops! All debonair, to walk me down the aisle. Pops was the most Leave It To Beaver (his words) television personified Gramps to my children (they literally could do no wrong in his eyes). I am grateful they were able to experience his love.

It has been 8 months since Pops died. 

This death would be different for me. Anticipating and dreading the inevitable, Pops and I were able to say all the things.  Although we had said, received, and understood prior, it was comforting to have these moments and opportunities to share with him in his last hours. It was an honor to be present as he made his final transition.

Happy Father’s Day

This Father’s Day will be a little different, now that my two dads are no longer here on earth.  Although at different times in my life, these two men showed me unconditional love and support. They encouraged my achievements, helped build my self-esteem and self-worth.  A piece of me died with them, but a piece of them lives with me.

To ALL the men that show up, providing and protecting emotionally, spiritually, and physically, you are needed, you are honored, you are loved.

To the men (some pictured above) that “raised me” and love me, thank you. Happy Father’s Day!!

BTW: I make an effort to not live my life with regret. However, I do have one: not riding The Texas Giant with my dad when it first opened. He all but begged me, “Come on Baby Girl…” Silly huh?

Celebrate Father’s Day by sharing your favorite memories and stories about your dad in the comments!

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