They say women marry men like their fathers .... I thought I wanted the polar opposite

When I was in my late 20s, I made what was probably the most hurtful statement of my life.

I was at that arrogant stage of life when I had actually begun to believe that I was smarter than my parents. I’d figured out where I was going – because I’d finally been somewhere – and after years of my parents telling me what I should be doing and who I should be doing it with, I thought I knew better. And I started telling them so.

This particular moment of candidness happened in a conversation with my father and stepmother about my dating prospects. For the about the 100th time, my dad told me that I should leave the big city, move back home and find myself a good-ole boy who hunted and drove a pickup and chewed tobacco…like him. The first 99 times that he offered this inane advice, I thought “when pigs fly!” and laughed it off. But on this particular occasion, I decided it was time to make it clear to my dad the kind of man I wasn’t looking for, i.e. a man who wore flannel shirts 300 days of the year and faithfully washed his pickup truck on one of those days.

In the middle of a very run-of-the-mill telephone conversation, I blurted out, “No offense, Daddy, but I would never marry someone like you.”

At the time, I thought nothing of my comment. With arrogance comes entitlement. Everything that comes out of your self-righteous mouth feels justified and acceptable – in other words, Teflon-coated. As soon as I said it, I moved on to the next topic of conversation, but soon I realized that my dad had dropped out of the conversation completely and my stepmom was noticeably quieter. While he never told me how he felt, my stepmother told me later that the left hook I delivered sent my dad reeling.

Almost 20 years later, I am still no closer to finding my life partner than I was then. I’ve dated musicians and accountants who drove motorcycles and BMWs and wore Timberland, Nike and Gucci. I’ve had relationships with men who were well-read and widely-travelled, had nice homes, came from good families, and knew the difference between a Merlot and a Shiraz. I’ve had men make me picnic lunches, give me back rubs and shower me with roses and jewelry. But so far, I haven’t found even one who I felt offered the total package.

Two years ago, my dog – and furry best friend – passed away very suddenly. Because I work at home, my family worried about my being alone with my thoughts –and the silence once filled by the pitter patter of little paws. My dad came to fill up the solitude and the silence.

He helped me assemble a lawn mower, hung a holder for my garden hose, got my sump pump working, and took my car for new tires. I made oatmeal each morning and we ate it together watching the morning news. Each evening, we dozed together watching TV. We talked about family and life and things we had never talked about before. He distracted me from my grief, but was also there when I needed to blubber and sniffle and talk about my pup.

I thrive on the solitude of living alone, but I came to enjoy hearing his voice in the morning. And despite my fierce independence, I loved handing over the responsibility for making decisions to someone else and having someone take care of me for a while. His strength both calmed me and propped up my heart when it was “this close” to caving in.

While he was away from my stepmother, he checked in with her each day, sometimes two or three times a day. “How’re you doing, sweetie?” he’d ask and he’d always tell her he missed her before the end of the call. I could tell his calls were never out of obligation. After more than 30 years, he still teased her and she still laughed. Unlike many long-married couples, they hadn’t run short of either words or compatibility.

I’d always known that my dad and I were alike, but that week I realized how we were just different enough to counter balance one another and create a surprising rapport. When my dad left to go home, it didn’t feel like a parent leaving after a fun visit. It felt like I had made a new friend and I really hated to see him go.
Since that week, I’ve tried to carve out time to spend just with him. And sometimes I call him on his cell phone because selfishly, I want him all to myself. Every time we talk, I learn something new about him that catches me off guard and impresses me…and makes me not only love him, but really like him even more too.

In my exhaustive search for a partner, I’ve always been certain of what I’m looking for and pretty smug about my ironclad set of requirements. But in the last year, that job description has suddenly changed. Finally, at long last, I think I may have matured from arrogance into something closer to wisdom.

To fill this coveted position, only guys just like my dad need apply…flannel shirts and all!