JulieAloha

January 9, 2017

I’m grateful for the man I called Daddy. He and my mom met in 1973 on a blind date set up by friends – when he came to pick her up I (4 years old) said, “I want to kiss him!” which became a family giggle. They married in 1974 and, for the first time in my life, I had a Daddy, my own father having never been a part of our lives as my parents had divorced before I was born.

He could have simply been my “step-father,” as he was legally, but he was always Daddy to me and he formally adopted me and gave me his name when I was 12. He was funny, could be corny sometimes, he was a devout Christian and loved to golf and collect stamps. He wasn’t perfect (nor am I), he had his failings, but I never, ever, felt the stepness in our relationship – he always accepted and loved me as his kid.

My Daddy