I stared at my reflection in the mirror, a beautiful bride with a heart full of dread. Who would walk me down the aisle, my biological father, Jerry C., or my stepfather, Jerry R.?
“Mom,” I blurted out, “I can’t decide.”
“Sweetie, you can’t please everyone. Think about what you want,” she advised.
Jerry C. had been pushing for the honor, while Jerry R. had always been there for me. I finally decided on Jerry C., hoping to keep things traditional.
On the wedding day, Jerry C. unexpectedly suggested, “Why don’t we make this a joint effort?” Panic set in as he called Jerry R. to join us. “Dad, no!” I whispered.
Mom intervened, “Maybe Kaia has something to say about this?”
Taking a deep breath, I addressed them both. “I appreciate the sentiment, Dad, but this isn’t about some ‘ultimate experience.’”
Jerry C. relented. “Alright, alright. You make a good point, love.”
I walked the rest of the way to the altar alone, feeling a newfound clarity and relief. At the reception, Jerry R. asked, “May I have this dance with my daughter?”
“Of course you can,” I replied, knowing this was my imperfect but loving family.
