Thats right, I have two fathers. Well, a father and a dad.

My biological father, Robbie, and my mother, Dafna, were divorced when I was about a year and a half old. My mother soon left Colorado, intent on moving to Oregon. She stopped in California to visit some friends, and never left.

My adoptive father, Rich, moved across the street from my mother and I after moving out to California from Albion, Michigan, and the story I was always told was that after a couple of weeks, Rich and my mother started dating, moved in together soon there after, and when I was 5 (3 years after they first met), they married.

At least that was the story I was told. It turns out it was a bit more juicy than that.

My mom was dating my dad’s roommate, who apparently was still married (but separated), when she met Rich and they started dating. I told you it was juicy…

So, there it is. Two dads, two very different people.

My biological father battled drug addiction for a long time which really shaped his interaction (or lack thereof) with me. When I was eight years old, Robbie decided that it was time to stop taking to me, and that lasted until I was 18 years old. in the 18 years since then, we have connected (really connected) maybe a dozen times or so.

Rich, on the other hand, was someone I saw daily. We battled as fathers and sons do, and there were many things he did (he was a yeller), that I refuse to do. There are also many things he does, that I tried to emulate. He is one of the most responsible, trustworthy, dependable people I know.

So the question becomes: nature or nurture?

Last night, my friend Pete over at Mashable, put up a post asking people to link to tweets or posts they had written about Fathers Day. So, last night, right before bed, I tweeted:

I have 2 fathers. One who reminds me of how good I can be; and one that reminds of what I could have been. To both Happy Fathers Day.

I thought a lot about that as I went to sleep. I have tried to have a relationship with my biological father, but every time we interact (he is my vet for example), I am disappointed and scared that the man I see before me is what I could become if I dont watch out. Dont get me wrong, he is not a bad guy, but he is many things I wish never to be. He is selfish, he is self-centered, he is unreliable, he is pig headed and he has difficulty connecting with people.

At the same time, he is many things I hope to be: brilliant, caring, an expert at what he does, and respected.

When I think of Rich, he has so many characteristics I wish I could emulate. He is dependable, intelligent, selfless, unassuming, practical and pragmatic.

So, whats the answer? Nature or Nurture?

For me, I have decided that my nature is something I am inherently. I have all the bad habits and some of the positive characteristics of Robbie. Thats who I am, but its not who I am required to become. With Rich, I see what he has taught me, both directly and indirectly, and realize those things I could become.

At the end of the day the truth lies somewhere in between.

I have 2 fathers. One who reminds me of how good I can be; and one that reminds of what I could have been.

And thats what makes me uniquely me.

Happy Fathers Day.

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Yes, even douchebags have mothers. I assume that often people are unsure of that reality when it comes to me, but the truth is, even I, the #1 douchebag on the internet (Google says so!), has a mother.

And, on Mother’s Day. I like to read all the posts about how wonderful people’s moms are. The quality of the posts never cease to amaze me, but the tone is often the same.

Everyone likes to write about how wonderful their mothers have been, but I havent seen anyone write about how wonderful they have been to they have been to their mothers.

Until now.

I, Micah Gabriel Baldwin, have been extraordinarily wonderful to my mother. How, you might ask, have I been able to do this? Well, lets start at the beginning.

I was born.

My birth was relatively easy, 8 hours in total (not quite as easy Marissa, my sister’s birth, which clocked in at 2 hours, or Natalia, my youngest sisters birth which clocked in at 18 minutes). Most importantly, I was born at 10:08 in the am, which enabled my mother to not miss an episode of her favorite soap opera, All My Children.

I was the man of the house.

From the age of 1.5, when my parents got divorced, until 2 years old, when my mom started dating Rich, my step-father (now adoptive father), I was the man of the house. I supported my mother as she moved from Colorado to California, and made every attempt to help out. I shit less, cried less and ate less. I was quite the man of the house.

I approved her marriage.

At the age of 5, Rich and my mother sat me down at our little wooden dining room table. “Micah,” Rich started, “I would like to marry your mother, and be your father. Are you okay with that?” With a simple wave of my hand, and a slight nod, I said, “Yes.” They have been married for 31 years now.

I stopped asking for money.

After college, I moved to Washington, DC, and soon got a job. The job didnt pay well, but it pretty much began the moment I no longer needed to ask for money. It was a good thing too, because my younger sisters were becoming quite the drain on the wallet, and it was important for me to help out my mom by being less of a deadbeat.

I moved back home.

At the age of 28 or so, after spending some time in Washington, DC and Southern California, I knew my mom was missing me staying at home for long periods of time. I could tell, because two weeks after I left for college, my room was turned into a study, whereas my sisters rooms were left as shrines to them. So, I moved back in while I was starting a new job and new company.

I moved out.

After about eight months, I moved up to Oakland, and realizing that the strain of me being so close, yet so far, was too much for my mom. So, I packed my things and moved to Colorado. Where I live to this day.

I sold my company and got a real job.

Making the ultimate sacrifice for my mother, I sold my company last year and got a real job with benefits. You see, for my mom, benefits are the most important thing, after all one doesnt know when a truck might hit one.

And, most importantly, I call her periodically.

It seems, that my mom loves to hear the sound of my voice. Take today for example. I have called her three times to wish her a Happy Mothers Day, and each time the answering machine comes on. She wants to record my voice! How sweet. So, I left heart warming messages such as:

“Mom, I know you are there, and just not picking up the phone. Why you have to be so mean?”

“Look woman, its Micah! Pick up the damn phone!”

and my favorite (its kinda an inside joke)

“I hope you have a long and painful death. Love, Micah”

You see, today is not just about honoring our mothers and all the wonderful things they’ve done and will do for us, but its about what we have done to help them out.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I know you know I rock.

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