There’s this guy I know. I’ve known him a while. In fact, I barely remember the time before I knew him. But there was a time before I knew him. Before he knew me.

Before he knew me, before we knew each other, there was this other guy. He was the guy I was supposed to know. I am supposed to still know now. Part of him was involved in the making of me. In my conception, both mentally and physically. For some, that creates a bond. For this guy, it did not. He did not want to know me. And so he didn’t.

For a short while, there was this other guy. Really, he belonged to the woman who knew and loved me best, but she shared him with me. He wanted to know me. And we knew each other. For a short while. But he couldn’t stay. Though he wanted to.

Which brings me back to this guy I know now. This guy who showed up at my door with flowers for the person I loved most. Who told the most exciting bedtime stories. Who picked me up and spun me round and round til I couldn’t stand up straight. Who got to know me

This guy who came to drop me off at university. Who taught me how to think critically, and argue my point. Who comes to my rescue over and over. Who smiles when he sees me, and always has a hug ready. Who drinks all of my coffee. Who loves me.

Some people would call this guy Dad. That’s not how we do things. I may not call him Dad, but he is my dad, and I am so so lucky that I know him.