Midwest Chick's Place

Most people just get one father.  

I have three:  the one that sired me, the one that raised me, and the one who has been there for me to act as a sounding board and a source of strength.

From the dad who sired me I got the gift of gab, a love of hot sauce, an enquiring mind, some words of wisdom that have stood me in good stead, a few wicked good jokes that I still tell, and really good hair.

From the dad who raised me I got skills–how to change a tire, re-wire an outlet as well as the knowledge that I was loved and treasured. He was steadfast and steady and I was his little girl but he treated me as my own person as well.  The greatest gift he gave was letting me fall on my ass, dusting me off, and letting me go on again–a little wiser.

From my third dad I got the gift of knowledge of science, gemology, and ginger beer starting when I was sixteen.  He has also been there for me as an adult when I was hanging on the edge by my fingertips, assuring me that I was strong enough to handle what was being thrown at me when I didn’t think I was.

So I think that I’m pretty blessed and am grateful to each of them for their gifts.