I love my dad. He's my step dad, technically, but to me, his is my dad. See, my biological father abandoned my mom when she was pregnant, denied I was his offspring, made her go through all sorts of embarrassing paternity tests and court hearings (which did, incidentally, prove I was his biological child), tried to refuse to pay child support, actually DID stop paying child support, was totally absent and a general jerk for all intensive purposes. My mom and I lived on our own until I was 8 and then there was a miracle...
My mom met my dad, and although he never formally adopted me, he was the first man to call me his daughter. He was the first man I called "Dad". He taught me how to use a lawnmower, drove me to horseback riding lessons, supported the family when my mom lost her job and then became disabled and couldn't work outside the home. He showed up at my hockey games when I played and yelled and cheered me on. He is usually incredibly quiet, but when he speaks, he has the greatest sense of humor, and wit.
We never had a ton of money, but there was always a warm, comfy house, a little smile and good food. We didn't need to take expensive vacations, because almost every Sunday during the summer there was 'The Track", or, Luskville Dragway as it is officially called. My dad has the coolest damn race car ever. It's a 1971 Chevrolet Chevelle Malibu that he has turned into one hell of a racing monster. Starting it up invariably shook the house, woke the neighbors, knocked every squirrel off every tree on the block, and made us all smile with pride and excitement. Yup. That's my dad.
My 'real' father for all to see.
Love you daddoo, happy Father's Day :)