I have been blessed.  God allowed me to be placed in the care of three fathers, at different stages of my life. Cardinal was my biological father. Joseph was my adopted father (unofficial). Rupert is my stepfather.

I became the direct responsibility of Cardinal when I was about ten months old, as I was placed in his arms and he was told something along the lines that it was now his turn, to move beyond financial support. He placed me with the lady who would become my unofficial adopted mother. In my early years, I remember my father coming to see me as often as he could. I do not remember ever sitting on his lap or being hugged by him.  I sensed that he loved me though.

It is only in the second phase of living with my adopted mother that I came to realize that he was almost a renaissance man. He was a pharmacist by profession. His main avocation was singing in praise of God, with his beautiful lyric tenor voice.  He was a lay preacher. Other hobbies included writing and politicking. I think I know where I got my writing ability. His other children followed him into the medical field and the evangelical field. Some are doctors and nurses and others are pastors. He never had much success at running for political office.  He never cottoned on to the fact that the game of politics is not for the idealist.

I called my father “Mr. C.” I do not remember ever calling him Dad or Father.  I remember Mr. C striding across the street, with his very upright posture, head held high in the air, with a regal look about him. He was cut down by a driver who struck him as he was crossing a street. He did not die from the accident.  Although not immediately killed, he was effectively sentenced to death by that driver.  When I visited on vacation, I could not handle the reality that my vibrant, striding father had been replaced by a shuffling old man. When he died a few months later, I chose not to attend his funeral. I am comfortable with my decision. I wanted to hold onto my version of him, striding across the street, and I have. I know that he can read the following dedication from Heaven, and he understands.

If

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

My father was a man from an early age. He faced up to his responsibilities. He was generous to a fault. He loved God. I am grateful that he or my Mom did not find me “expendable” before birth.

My unofficial adopted father came into my life through my unofficial adopted mother, during my teenage years. The one memory that will forever be in my mind was his declaration to the townsfolk in the small island where I was born,  that anyone who “messed” with me, would feel the ministrations of his machete. I cleaned up his exact verbiage. After taking care of business, his intention was to walk to the police station, turn himself in, and live out his remaining years behind bars. My adopted mother and I were horrified at the thought of him having to carry out his threat. He never had to. Thank God.

High from the earth I heard a bird

He was the faithful father
Of a dependent brood;
And this untoward transport
His remedy for care,—
A contrast to our respites.
How different we are!

Father #3 has now stepped up to the solo filial gig of parenting this very grown woman.  In keeping with my “tradition,” I dubbed him Mr. A. Actually my Mom was the one I first heard calling him Mr. A. When she passed away a few years ago, I told him that he was now “Mr. Mom.” His primary function is to listen to my weekly accounts of the goings on in my life, and give me words of advice. He has been performing this function very admirably. Mom would be proud of him.

He too is a godly man and usually gives me Biblical-based advice. When he had to be placed in ICU about two months ago, I furiously prayed to God to not deprive me of my remaining father figure. God felt my pain and He acceded to my request. Of course, I am sufficiently mature to know that God’s timetable is His timetable.

My Father Was a Farmer

Robert Burns

All you who follow wealth and power,
      With unremitting ardour, O,
    The more in this you look for bliss,
      You leave your view the farther, O:
    Had you the wealth Potosi boasts,
      Or nations to adorn you, O,
    A cheerful honest-hearted clown
      I will prefer before you, O.

Mr. A was not a farmer. He was a postmaster. He never followed “wealth and power with unremitting ardour.”  He is not a “cheerful honest-hearted clown,” although he does have a sense of humor. Were he a “clown” in the sense of the poem, I would have preferred him to be that, instead of  what is his polar opposite, a cold-hearted pursuer of wealth and power, at the expense of the milk of human kindness. He is wise and caring.

I remember, as a teenager, telling my biological father that I felt special. He agreed that I was. By ordinary standards, I should not have felt too special, because I was considered to come from a “broken” home. One of my teachers , a single woman, told me one time, that if she had money, she would have adopted me, because of my travels between homes.

Pre-puberty, when I realized that classmates lived in homes with parents who had been together since the birth of those classmates, I yearned for that type of typical Dad, Mom, 2.5 children and white picket fence environment. Maybe my inner child is still yearning for that ideal home, especially as I never achieved that for my adult self. I did not escape entirely unscathed from my childhood travails, as when I became an adult, my greatest fear was of getting married, having children and possibly reliving the custody battle of my early childhood.

However, with age, has come wisdom – and the realization that I am blessed. The child from the “broken” home, was blessed with the love of six adults, my three fathers and my three mothers, four of whom, have already passed away, who loved me unto death,  and still love me from Heaven.  Their love coupled with that of My Heavenly Father? I am blessed beyond measure. It is indeed a Happy Father’s Day!