"You don't look like your dad. You must be the spitting image of your mother!" or "Your brothers look just like your dad! I bet you take after your momma."
I heard these statements a lot growing up. And it's true. I don't look like my dad. And for a while, I didn't really look like my mom. I do now, but that isn't the point. You see, my dad adopted me when I was around six or seven years old. He had been a part of my life, for, well, all of it. When my mother and biological father (sometimes I refer to him as my sperm donor, because I think it's funny, but his name is Chris), got divorced, my dad, Kenny, married my mom resulting in a blended family of me, who was biologically my mom's, and my two brothers, who were biologically his. Suddenly I went from being the only child to being the middle child in a family dynamic that takes a lot of explaining to do.
They say divorce and the things I supposedly went through in my early childhood is supposed to be really tough to get over. I often thank my lucky stars that I don't remember Chris or have anything to do with him. I've heard stories. While my mom protected me from him, she never hid the truth from me. When I had questions, she answered.
I do not remember the adoption itself very well. I know that I was young, and I didn't really understand what was going on. I remember going to court with my family and a lot of questions being asked. I remember the judge giving me pencils and legal pads to draw with. I remember it being a really important, exciting day for my family because while my dad had loved me up until this point, and would love me for always, it was legal now. He became my legal father and I became his daughter. An act of love that showed I was his child and not just a step-kid. He chose me and he didn't have to. He wanted to.
Here's a fun fact about being legally adopted: my dad cannot legally disown me. I like to remind him of this from time to time. It's become a little bit of an inside joke.
My adoption was beautiful, and while I would not change any aspect of my family, I still struggled with identity. When I was maybe fifteen or so, I found out that Chris had been married two other times and I had two half-sisters out there. One of which has graduated high school and follows me on Instagram. Other than social media, we don't have anything to do with one another, though we know about each other's existence. The younger one is probably six or so by now. I will most likely never have anything to do with her, even so much as social media. I can see now that not having contact with them is what's best for me, but at the time I was so heartbroken and confused I didn't know how to handle it. So I lashed out at my family, I dated boys I knew they would hate, and I shut down completely. I couldn't understand why Chris didn't want me. Why I wasn't good enough for him to be in my life. Why he was in their lives and not mine. Why I could have two brothers (who I love dearly) but I couldn't have my two sisters be in my life. It was a complete, and utter identity crisis. I got it in my head that I was only the step-kid and my dad could never love me the way he loved my brothers. They would always be loved and favorited more because they were his.This was so far from the truth it's almost laughable.
As I got older, and teenage angst withered away, I realized that my dad chose me. No, I don't have his DNA running through my veins the way Kaleb and Kolton do, and no, I do not have his features the way my brothers do, but our bond is just as valid and sincere as any biological father and child. My dad taught me how to ride a bike. He yelled at me from the sidelines of the soccer field (I am not good at sports), he came to every colorguard performance he could, he taught me how to drive (not well), and he catches me when I fall and reminds me of my worth and his love with his actions. He never says, "I told you so." He loves me through our many differences.
My dad is not a man of many words. He's been accused of being "robotic" or "emotionless" at times, but I don't agree with any of that. He has my back. He worked hard to make our blended family a family built on love and trust. He writes me letters when I ask for them for Christmas. Every year for Valentine's day, I get a card and roses. He let me lay on his chest and cry when I needed to when I was six and he lets me do it at twenty-two. It's been this way ever since I can remember. His actions speak louder than words ever could.
In a lot of ways, I am not like him at all. We differ on a lot of things ranging from what a clean room really looks like, to politics. However, in a lot of ways, we are alike in the way we carry ourselves and the things we say. My heart always swells for joy when my mom rolls her eyes and says, "you're just like your dad." I wouldn't change our relationship with my dad for anything. He is everything a father should be, and so much more. I am so lucky, so blessed that he chose me. That he chooses me every day. I think God really knew what He was doing when He led my dad to my mom and me and I got to change my name from Allyson Brooke Todd to Allyson Brooke Hibdon. I hope I wear Hibdon well, and I hope I continue to make him proud. I choose him too.
I heard these statements a lot growing up. And it's true. I don't look like my dad. And for a while, I didn't really look like my mom. I do now, but that isn't the point. You see, my dad adopted me when I was around six or seven years old. He had been a part of my life, for, well, all of it. When my mother and biological father (sometimes I refer to him as my sperm donor, because I think it's funny, but his name is Chris), got divorced, my dad, Kenny, married my mom resulting in a blended family of me, who was biologically my mom's, and my two brothers, who were biologically his. Suddenly I went from being the only child to being the middle child in a family dynamic that takes a lot of explaining to do.
They say divorce and the things I supposedly went through in my early childhood is supposed to be really tough to get over. I often thank my lucky stars that I don't remember Chris or have anything to do with him. I've heard stories. While my mom protected me from him, she never hid the truth from me. When I had questions, she answered.
I do not remember the adoption itself very well. I know that I was young, and I didn't really understand what was going on. I remember going to court with my family and a lot of questions being asked. I remember the judge giving me pencils and legal pads to draw with. I remember it being a really important, exciting day for my family because while my dad had loved me up until this point, and would love me for always, it was legal now. He became my legal father and I became his daughter. An act of love that showed I was his child and not just a step-kid. He chose me and he didn't have to. He wanted to.
Here's a fun fact about being legally adopted: my dad cannot legally disown me. I like to remind him of this from time to time. It's become a little bit of an inside joke.
My adoption was beautiful, and while I would not change any aspect of my family, I still struggled with identity. When I was maybe fifteen or so, I found out that Chris had been married two other times and I had two half-sisters out there. One of which has graduated high school and follows me on Instagram. Other than social media, we don't have anything to do with one another, though we know about each other's existence. The younger one is probably six or so by now. I will most likely never have anything to do with her, even so much as social media. I can see now that not having contact with them is what's best for me, but at the time I was so heartbroken and confused I didn't know how to handle it. So I lashed out at my family, I dated boys I knew they would hate, and I shut down completely. I couldn't understand why Chris didn't want me. Why I wasn't good enough for him to be in my life. Why he was in their lives and not mine. Why I could have two brothers (who I love dearly) but I couldn't have my two sisters be in my life. It was a complete, and utter identity crisis. I got it in my head that I was only the step-kid and my dad could never love me the way he loved my brothers. They would always be loved and favorited more because they were his.This was so far from the truth it's almost laughable.
As I got older, and teenage angst withered away, I realized that my dad chose me. No, I don't have his DNA running through my veins the way Kaleb and Kolton do, and no, I do not have his features the way my brothers do, but our bond is just as valid and sincere as any biological father and child. My dad taught me how to ride a bike. He yelled at me from the sidelines of the soccer field (I am not good at sports), he came to every colorguard performance he could, he taught me how to drive (not well), and he catches me when I fall and reminds me of my worth and his love with his actions. He never says, "I told you so." He loves me through our many differences.
My dad is not a man of many words. He's been accused of being "robotic" or "emotionless" at times, but I don't agree with any of that. He has my back. He worked hard to make our blended family a family built on love and trust. He writes me letters when I ask for them for Christmas. Every year for Valentine's day, I get a card and roses. He let me lay on his chest and cry when I needed to when I was six and he lets me do it at twenty-two. It's been this way ever since I can remember. His actions speak louder than words ever could.
In a lot of ways, I am not like him at all. We differ on a lot of things ranging from what a clean room really looks like, to politics. However, in a lot of ways, we are alike in the way we carry ourselves and the things we say. My heart always swells for joy when my mom rolls her eyes and says, "you're just like your dad." I wouldn't change our relationship with my dad for anything. He is everything a father should be, and so much more. I am so lucky, so blessed that he chose me. That he chooses me every day. I think God really knew what He was doing when He led my dad to my mom and me and I got to change my name from Allyson Brooke Todd to Allyson Brooke Hibdon. I hope I wear Hibdon well, and I hope I continue to make him proud. I choose him too.
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| my mom, younger brother, me, older brother, and dad at my college graduation |
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| Me and my dad last summer in Alaska. I made him wear red plaid because I like to match |
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