'Tia's father' says it all

The morning ritual replays, Monday through Friday, with few variations.

"Five more minutes, please," she pleads.

What do I accomplish in these five minutes -- wash last night's dinner dishes or check my e-mail?

The inbox wins.

There's one from a childless friend who naively asks if I want to "hang out" any time soon. Yeah, sure, about nine years from now, when my kid turns 18. "Tia," I say, with a determined singsong lilt in my voice, trying not to sound too cranky this early. "You've got two minutes."

I make her lunch: leftover pizza and fresh fruit.

"Tia, honey, it's been five minutes," I say, a bit louder.

The cat is meowing and nuzzling my feet, demanding to be fed. I hear the television in her room go on. Now I'm shouting: "Turn that television off!"

"Sorry," she says, with a bit of an edge, as she stumbles out of her room. Seeing her for the first time each morning is always a bit of a jolt; could she have grown during the night? She opens her arms, inviting a morning hug, an embrace that reminds me how blissful it is to be a parent. We're out the door at 8:33, giving us 27 minutes to travel from where we live in Los Feliz to the school Tia attends in Sherman Oaks.

The morning activities of a typical family? Yes and no.

Tia is black. I am white. Tia is adopted. I am her single, gay, 54-year-old dad. Miu Miu, the hungry cat, shares our spacious two-bedroom apartment.

What differentiates us from other families, while certainly dramatic, is eclipsed by the similarities that connect us. What makes my daughter and me a family is not based on who we are individually, but on what we've become as a team. Our deep bond is not based on race or gender or sexual identity. Our family unit may not be cemented by bloodlines but we are, without question, bound by intangible things that define family values: commitment, respect, compassion, understanding, playfulness and love.

After a decade of unfathomable loss, enduring innumerable AIDS deaths of friends and peers, I made the life-changing decision to adopt a kid. Instead of witnessing a person at the conclusion of life, marking off each day until the last, I yearned to experience the scenario in reverse. I felt the urgent need to usher in life's beginnings through the eyes of a child.