A Plethora of Daddies

Driving my 4-year-old home from daycare last night I was shocked to hear this little voice state from the back seat: “Mommy’s lucky ’cause she has two daddies.”

Oh no. The curiosity and the questioning will commence in … 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …

“How many daddies do you have, Daddy?”

Gulp. I know where my wife was going with that answer. Like half of my generation, we’re both casualties of divorce. Fortunately for my wife, however, it happened when she was only a year old. Her parents split up, and her mother remarried fairly quickly, to a man she’s still married to. Both of her fathers, biological and through marriage, are good men deep down, although as different as night and day, and she loves them both very much. So does my daughter. So when the Little One is trying to make sense of family structure and notes she has two grandpas (three, if you count my stepfather; my biological father is deceased), there’s a bit of trouble wrapping that young mind around the concept of a person having two fathers. My wife skirts the tough issues, rightly so, and simply says that she’s lucky to have two daddies.

I agree with the desire not to discomfort our young one in any way, at least in this stage of her life, but I can’t help but think that this may be the wrong answer.

Then, the inevitable: “I hope one day,” Little One says, a bit louder and prouder, “I hope one day I’ll have two daddies, too!”

Double gulp.

“Wellllllllllll,” I begin, mind frantically racing, “uh …”

“What, Daddy?”

I say what I want to say, and hope that either (a) the questioning will stop, (b) the questions will get easier to answer, or (c) I’ll get inspired in some way. “She’s not really lucky to have two daddies.”

“What do you mean?”

Damn. The Little One ignores options (a) and (b). I’ll have to depend on (c), then.

“Well, it’s best to have just one daddy.” She doesn’t question that, she’s still listening, silently prodding me to go on. “But sometimes, things happen” – please don’t ask for a definition of “things” – “and you might wind up with two daddies. Mommy’s only lucky because both her daddies are really good men.”

She ruminates on this in the dark in the back of the car. A couple of minutes go by, and I mentally wipe the sweat from my brow. Finally, a quiet, high-pitched “Okay,” floats up to my ears, and I sense she’s done with the topic.

Then: “How come Jesus has two daddies?”

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

“That,” I tell my daughter, “is a subject for another day.”