Open Letter to My Husband

Dear BH,
I met you almost exactly 17 years ago. I was working in a sleazy bar and you and your best friend came in after a wedding. I tried to work you for tips but failed. You asked me for my phone number, just like five or six guys a night did. For reasons I still don’t understand, I broke precedent and gave it to you. Before I did, I told you my flaws as I saw them. I was not nearly as attractive out of the dim lights of the bar; I wore glasses when I didn’t have my contacts in; and I had a seven month old son. You didn’t care, you still called. I tried to keep you separate from my beautiful mixed race son. When you picked me up for a date, he was already at the sitter’s. One day, after we had been dating for about three weeks, you showed up unexpectedly at my apartment. When I realized it was you at the door, I said out loud, “Oh no!” You later told me you thought I had another guy in there. You were sort of right. My little man was there. You met him before I would have introduced you. He worked his calm wide-eyed charm on you. Over the next year, you fell in love with us simultaneously. The feeling was mutual. We married. The charming baby turned into a mouthy four year old. You approached fatherhood from a logical angle whenever you could, emotional when you couldn’t fight it anymore. You have always understood that true love is always accompanied by action. You coached DB’s baseball teams. You took him camping. You rolled your eyes over my head, so he knew you thought I was crazy too. It has always been obvious that there is more than meets the eye with DB. He is half black, and you and I are both white. When people meet the two of you together, they assume you are his father, and I am his step-mother. No one can tell by your behavior that you are not his father. He can’t even tell, even though he knows. He told me once, about four years ago that he was so grateful he didn’t have a step-father. He forgets that there is any other man but you responsible for his existence. He is right. You are the man responsible for everything he is. He stands like you, argues like you, laughs like you. I could never have taught him how to be a man. I taught him to learn about the world by reading. I taught him to have compassion, to have empathy. You taught him the importance of ambition. You taught him when to walk away and when to stand and fight. You taught him that a man appreciates the females in his life. He got his dark skin and curly hair, wound into messy dreadlocks from someone else. He got everything that matters from you.