Son-in-law proves to be special sort of dad

On this Father's Day, I won't write about my dad. He's had lots of turns. Today, I'd like to write about the other dad who is closest to me.

Chuck is my son-in-law and father of the three smartest, most adorable and delightful children on the planet -- and he obviously contributed at least half of that. But, when my daughter, Louise, first brought him home to meet me -- which signaled that they were "serious," and induced in me a flurry of cleaning and a batch of my world-famous tuna salad, which he devoured; later I found out he hates tuna salad -- he had nothing so incredible as my grandchildren to recommend him. Yet, I still liked him almost immediately.

It wasn't because he was tall, dark and handsome; or, because he was beginning a terrific career, with great prospects; or, because he came from a good family; or, because he was obviously intelligent and well-spoken; or, even because he had an outstanding sense of humor, which, for me, means a lot. No, it was because of my daughter's eyes. Any daughter's mother would understand. When Louise looked at Chuck, her eyes danced.

(I'm sure she'll read this and her eyes will roll at this point -- after 12 years and three children, "dancing" probably isn't so much the norm -- but I stand firmly by my original observation!)

In those 12 years, Chuck has become a second son to me. I know people say that all the time, and it irritates me that I can't find a better way to express it ... but, there is no better way. I love him as if he were my son.

It didn't happen instantly, but as the years went by he endeared himself to me in a thousand little ways. Again, not because he never (openly) hated having me around, or hearing my endless unsolicited advice, but because of how he loved my Louise. He was romantic, he was protective, he made her laugh. No marriage is perfect, but I've always known, through thick and thin, that he loved her.

The first time Chuck became a father, I was with them at the hospital, and I left the room so they could give her that miraculous epidural (and again, thank you, Lord!). A few minutes later, Chuck came out, his face ashen and his eyes filled with tears as he said, "I just can't stand to see her hurting like this." I put my arms around him as he cried for her, and smiled through my own tears. I knew that tomorrow Louise would, naturally and blessedly, forget the pain -- but he would not. And, for that, I loved him.

Two years later, eight months after Georgie, baby No. 2, was born, Chuck was diagnosed with Stage 4 Hodgkin's lymphoma. He was 34 years old. Nothing so stunningly frightening has ever happened to someone I love, and the helplessness was overwhelming.

We all fell apart for a while, especially my little girl -- though not for long; Louise has always been a fighter, and I knew she would tackle this head-on. When they offered Chuck a choice of the "accepted" chemotherapy or a newer therapy that was much more toxic, would make him much sicker and could, itself, actually be lethal -- but had an excellent cure rate and a much lower chance it would ever come back -- he chose the new one. He was a fighter, too. I know he was afraid -- who on this earth would not be -- but he didn't hesitate.

Chuck worked at home throughout his treatment. They put a desk and his computer next to the bed, and he'd work until he couldn't and then he'd sleep. The children were too young to understand anything except "Daddy take a nap." They still don't know what Daddy's naps were for -- what he went through for them, for the chance to put this behind them all forever. He was pronounced cancer-free in February 2007.

Then, three months before Gracie (baby No. 3) was born in 2009, Chuck was told that he had leukemia. He'll be taking medicine for the rest of his life, but he is well. He is optimistic. He's working his rear end off to provide a good life for his family, a wonderful education for his children, and every extra support for Gracie, who has Down syndrome, that she could possibly need. He is my hero.

Recently, on a quiet front porch evening, my daughter told me very simply: "He's my best friend, Mom. I couldn't live without him."

For all of this, I want to say Happy Father's Day to Chuck, who is not only a father but is, in the truest sense of the word ... a Dad.

Vicki Wentz's column, which appears here on Sundays, is published in newspapers across the country. She is a high school teacher who lives in Chapel Hill, N.C. Readers may contact her at vwentz@mindspring.com.