My son grew up on the DINING BY DESIGN TOUR, dancing his way into the hearts of DIFFA supporters around the country. Many of you know him. When asked to write a Father’s Day post about our journey, I reflected on the joys and challenges we faced together in becoming a family, and my heart filled with pride. My son may not have fulfilled the ambitious hopes I had for his future, but he’s a responsible young man with an enormous heart, and that’s far more important in these turbulent times.

It was my 45th birthday. My professional and personal lives were going well, but something was missing. On a friend’s advice, I reflected upon the end of my life, and immediately realized I hadn’t raised a child. As a single, gay man, I wasn’t sure if I could adopt, but I did what I always do when I get inspired about something—researched my ass off—and discovered many countries at that time adopted to single men. Not so much anymore.

I had no desire to raise a baby, nor the skills to raise a child with great physical needs, but was fine with tackling behavioral or mental challenges. I found You Gotta Believe, a wonderful adoption agency in Brooklyn that places older children in foster care, filled out reams of paperwork, ran a criminal background check, and took ten weeks of parenting classes, a state requirement. A social worker visited my home, wrote my home study, and certified me with the state in February 1996. I discovered the state website update on Friday afternoons and inquired every week about any new boys within the age range (7-13) and perimeters I’d set.

In April, I returned to the office following a brief vacation, and had a message from a social worker regarding the child who would later become my son. I returned her call, and we chatted for thirty minutes. I sent her my home study and two weeks later received a message she and her supervisor would like to meet. In July, I met my son via email and immediately relaxed, because I realized he was just a frightened little boy who through no fault of his own needed a father. He told me he liked Pokémon and Power Rangers. I asked my co-workers afterward, “What are Pokémon and Power Rangers?” They shook their heads and told me I had a lot to learn. Boy, did I ever.

Each weekend that July and August, I drove to Troy, NY and got to know my son. The fourth weekend, I brought him to NYC for a visit. I had so many fun things planned. He had a cold. We stayed home and I took care of him. Welcome to parenthood. He brought Rosie with him, an old, worn out stuffed bear that his birth mom who he hadn’t seen in years had given him. Since he was moving down for good the following weekend, he left Rosie in my care. I’ve never worried more about the well-being of a stuffed animal than I did that week, because I knew his trust in me depended upon how Rosie fared.

We discussed what he should call me. I knew his stepfather would always be Dad. He came up with Pop and I agreed. He refused to call me Pop, though, until his adoption finalized in March 1997, pointing out I hadn’t signed the paperwork yet. Smart kid.

All my training and research prepared me for potential challenges specific to children raised in foster care, but not for practical things like how do you enroll a child in school and where did you find after-school care on the fly in Manhattan, but I quickly worked through those details, and over the subsequent weeks, months, and years, we became a family that includes his birth family, my birth family, and our families of choice.

I’ll never forget the first time my protective Papa Bear instinct kicked in. My son and I were walking home from the store when I spotted a kid who’d bullying my son in school. A rage like nothing I’d ever experienced swelled inside me and I realized I would do anything to keep my son safe.

The one moment forever seared into my heart, however, is the first time my son stormed into his room, slammed the door, and shouted, “I hate you!” Rather than getting upset, I immediately realized he would never say or do that if he thought I might leave. He knew I was here to stay. I was real now. I was the Velveteen Dad.

Happy Fathers Day!

Steven Williams
Associate Director
DIFFA