Sitting on a creaky seesaw during fifth grade recess, I had an argument with a classmate about me having a father. While I don’t remember how the conversation led to the topic of how children are made, I do remember how strongly I believed in my statement that I didn’t need a dad to be alive. While my classmate argued that everyone had to have a mom and a dad, I argued I was proof that she was incorrect.
I still believe that family is not determined by who is biologically related to you, but by who shows up and cares for you.
I was raised by two of the strongest women I know: my single mother Gretchen Gibson and my grandmother, Dell Gibson. I believe that their dynamic allowed me to grow into an empathetic and resilient woman. While this might have not been the most traditional household, it was one filled with love, laughter and everything in between.
My mom was a travel nurse until I was around five years old. She left her career to be at home with me during my early, formative years instead of having me stay with my grandmother. My mom has told me a few times of a story my grandmother told her. I would play outside and look up at a plane, point it out and tell my grandmother that my mom was on the plane. This decision of hers shows me her personal sacrifice and dedication to motherhood.
When I think back on my childhood, and even now in my early adult years, I don’t feel a strong wish or longing for a father. Instead, I look around, grateful to have women who are stronger than any superhero.
In kindergarten, my elementary school had a Father’s Day event where fathers would come in for donuts, orange juice and other breakfast foods. I don’t remember my six-year-old mindset thinking that anything was different because my mom and uncle came and ate donuts with me. From what I can remember, I never had a distinct questioning of why other people had fathers and I didn’t. Even when I played with Barbies, I found the story more important than whether the plastic doll had a mom and dad.
Growing up, around the holidays, my grandmother and I would make Rice Krispy Treats with an addition of Froot Loops. Recently, our cooking has shifted into me and my grandmother making her rendition of banana pudding that I think my entire family would fight over for the last bite.
I think having these two women raise me has given me perspective on others in life that I might not have if I was raised differently. I see the value and importance of showing up for others and creating a sense of family even if it’s not biological. My mom and grandmother never tried to fill the absence of a father figure in my life. They just made sure to give me enough love and support so I never recognized that gap until I was on a seesaw during recess in fifth grade. Even then, I don’t recognize a gap, just extra space filled with my mom and grandmother’s love.
It wasn’t until middle school that I really gave thought to the idea of having a dad. Middle school is such a formative time when young people are starting to think about who they are, and I found myself trying to figure out the whole dad thing. I understood that I biologically had to have a father, but I didn’t feel emotionally attached or connected to the idea of having one. There would be times when I would feel a twinge of jealousy while watching Luke Danes and Rory Gilmore in “Gilmore Girls” or Danny Tanner in “Full House,” but the feeling would then shift into the mindset of gratitude for the parental figures I do have.
No, I would never have a father-daughter dance and no, I would never have the cliché of my dad walking me down the aisle; but I do have a mom who taught me how to ride a bike and a grandmother who taught me how to make a banana pudding people would fight over.
Now 10 years after that argument on the playground, I have learned that I am not defined by what I lack, rather I am defined by what I do have. My mom and grandmother’s love have helped me grow into the woman I am today. Someone who is grateful for the women who raised me for 21 years and counting.