I’m fortunate to have two fathers. One who raised me, and one I never knew. Unfortunately, neither one is accessible by phone or mail, so I’m limited on how I can honor them on Father’s Day. (in my case, I guess it’s Fathers’ Day.) The father who adopted me and the one I called “Dad” passed away nearly 5 years ago at the age of 93. He was my hero, as a successful career man, respected & popular community member, and war veteran. He provided the model of how I should mold my life, along with giving me the education and abundant resources to succeed. There were times that I loved him, feared him, valued his opinions, and enjoyed his company. He was a loyal family man with a wife, my “Mom,” of over 68 years. I miss them both. 

My other “father” was documented in adoption paperwork “as a Marine. He was 20 years old, 6’2 1/2″ tall and weighed 195 pounds. He had wavy, black hair, dark brown eyes and a medium complexion. He was described as gregarious, easy-going, generous, a good worker and good looking. He was a high school graduate. He played football, baseball, and basketball in high school and liked boxing, swimming, bowling, and dancing. His ancestry was Irish. He was also a Baptist.” This is all I knew about him until this past year when DNA testing uncovered 5 half-sisters. I met them last December along with their mother, where I learned more about the man who gave me life. 

Perhaps it was my birth mother who provided this description of her boyfriend? It seems as though she spoke proudly of him, although they were never married. Instead, he married another classmate – the mother of these newly discovered half-sisters, plus a half-brother who died as a teenager. He took the mystery of my existence to the grave over 8-years ago. His family was surprised when I suddenly appeared in their lives, and therefore couldn’t help me put any of the pieces together. They did however provide me with pictures and graciously welcomed me into their home. I try to stay in touch, but often times don’t know what to say. I can’t help but think of them this Fathers’ Day, craving to know more about the man they called “Dad.”

Out of loyalty, I didn’t want my “Dad” to know that I was secretly curious about the other man in my life that I would never get to know. “Dad” gave me everything I needed and even supported me when I went down some wrong paths in life. I would have never sacrificed one for the other, but there is that question of “What If?” What if my biological parents had married and raised me? How would my life have been different? My adoptive parents were affluent, both college educated, and loving. They waited until after the war to get married, so they were more mature and established than two “reckless” teenagers. My birth-father would have probably missed the first couple years of my life with his service in Korea and I would have been raised by a young mother on a farm. As it was, I believe he never knew of my existence and quickly moved on to marry another. That turned into a 60-year relationship, six kids, and a beautiful eight-sided cabin that he built with his hands.

My “Dad” was not a carpenter. He was an accountant, finance manager, treasurer and comptroller for a major corporation. I’m not sure he ever even owned a tool box. He was all of 5’8″ tall and 160 pounds. He did have wavy hair and played hockey as a kid. In fact, a hockey puck injury was the reason he couldn’t have children. My parents got me at two months of age. It was the same month my birth father married and left for Korea, leaving my birth mother behind with her own thoughts of “What If?” She would have another child 5 years later and marry, then re-marry and have three more children. I’ve tried to get in touch with two of them and her without success, so far. The other two have sadly passed.

Adoption made it possible for my parents to raise children of their “own.” I’m sure they would have loved the opportunity to thank those two romantic teenagers that gave them the family they couldn’t produce themselves. Whether my birth mother wanted to keep me or not? – she gave all of us a gift, resulting in the two “fathers” that I honor on this day. Her father, who most likely would have been embarrassed by his daughter’s “illicit” pregnancy, would have died when I was twelve, another stranger on the Jerry Banister Family Tree.

If you’re lucky enough to have a father that is still alive, cherish that relationship. I got a Father’s Day card/gift from my two step-daughters and have shared in my son’s trip to Disney World this week with my three grand kids. Sometimes it is better to give then receive. Nonetheless, there are many that are thinking of me as a “father” this weekend, as I ponder “What If?” (Also See Post #903). (Plus, Father’s Day Post #564 a year ago.)

Happy Fathers’ Day!