I have the best dad. The best dad. You may think that your dad is the best, and honestly, I hope he is. I can’t imagine what not having the best dad would feel or look like, and my heart breaks with those of you who didn’t have a great dad. I wish I could share mine with you.
I actually have two dads. Not in the progressive LGBTQ+ way that I wholeheartedly love and support, but in the “I’m adopted” way. I have a birth dad, and my Dad.
A few years ago, I connected with my birth mom on social media (that is an entirely different story) and she filled me in on some details. One being that I am the product of a “friends with benefits” kind of situation. I was not born out of love. I was born out of uncontrolled teenage hormones. I always knew I entered the world being unwanted; this addition to my story sealed the deal.
Enter Larry L. Crane. We were best friends from the word go. He was always there for me, supporting me, encouraging me, praying with me, crying with me, disciplining me, (the sound of his belt being whipped through those belt buckles can still send shivers down my spine). After the discipline, the issue was resolved, and quickly forgotten.
Before the days of seatbelt requirements, or even car seat requirements, we would drive around town in his green Ford F-100. I would stand next to him, with my arm around his shoulders and he would sing “Put your head on my shoulder” and I would.
Larry has never once made me feel unwanted. I’m pretty sure there were moments where he didn’t want the situation we were going through. There were disappointments on both sides, but regardless of how disappointed or frustrated he was with me, I knew he always loved me.
One thing to know about Larry is that he is a hermit. He lives alone, and he loves it. I do not love it. During the pandemic, I hated it. I knew that I would feel better if someone could check on him, so I started calling him. I would call him on my way home from work. Sometimes our conversations would last as long as my commute (5 minutes) and other times we would chat for over an hour. It became a habit for me to reach for my phone as I walked to my car, and I soon found myself calling him every day, making sure he had water, food, that he wasn’t sounding or feeling sick. We had deep conversations about theology, shared wonderful memories from Soquel Camp Meeting, and solved the world’s problems. Our relationship deepened as I learned more about him, and he learned more about me. Our daily phone calls lasted well into 2022. We don’t talk every day at this point, but I try to call him at least once a week. Our conversations will forever be a highlight of the pandemic for me.
You know, you also have two dads. For some of us, it can be hard to see God as “Dad.” Maybe your father abused you or abandoned you. Maybe like my birth dad, he was never in the picture. It might be difficult to see God as a loving, compassionate, and forgiving father. I want to encourage you to try having some conversations with God as your true “Dad.” Try getting to know God through this particular lens.
Sometimes just a 5-minute check-in will suffice. Sometimes you’ll talk for hours, but I guarantee that you won’t regret it.
Andrea Torres is a daughter, wife, and mom. She spends her time finding a healthy work-life balance and finding time to call her Dad.