Fifty-two is the number found between fifty-one and fifty-three. Fifty-two will never be the sum of any proper divisors of any number. Fifty-two is the international dialing code for Mexico. Fifty-two is the atomic number of Tellurium. There are fifty-two weeks in a year. Fifty-two white keys on a piano. Fifty-two cards are in a deck. And fifty-two years, have led up to this day, and to this paper that you’re holding. This paper in your hands is a letter to you expressing my gratitude. Though it hardly represents a fraction of it. I want to thank you for being an example of what it means to really care for people. Even in anger, you are never unkind. Thank you for the clothes on my back and the roof over my head. Thank you for educating and molding and nurturing me. For loving me through every stupid lie and every too-short skirt I tried to wear to church. Thank you for the coffee-dates you took me on when I was too young to understand that you were showing me how a man is supposed to treat me. Thank you for loving my mother in such a way that I know exactly what to look for in my own husband someday. Thank you for every hug and every kiss and every “I’m proud of you” that built me up and reassured me constantly that I was loved. Thank you for telling me I was smart. Thank you for wrapping me up in that hug that day I tripped and fell and cried because I was embarrassed. Thank you for every birthday and every Christmas and every light-hearted excursion that resulted in more toys I didn’t need. Thank you for your encouragement and constant support. Thank you for every basketball game and every school play you came to. Thank you for always being present. Thank you for holding my hand in public places in spite of the assumptions strangers always made due to the difference in our skin tones. Thank you for never treating me differently than any of my siblings even though I am not biologically yours. I may not share your DNA, but I am a testament to your love. There is no other father I could ever imagine any of my memories being with. There is no other father I want to walk me down the aisle.
There is no other father I would rather have.

- m.f.