He didn’t just adopt a son; they adopted each other, and that’s the kind of forever no paper can fully describe. Derek stared at a blank screen for an hour, wondering how to sum up their adoption story without losing the heart of it. Then his son, Connor, wandered in and asked what he was doing. “Writing about our journey,” Derek said. “So why is the page empty?” Connor shot back. Derek shrugged. “Because I’m not a writer.” Connor grinned and gave him the push he needed: “You don’t have to be a writer to tell people how amazing you are.” That was all it took.
He’ll tell you nothing flashy about Derek, except how fiercely he loves his family. He and his wife, Sarah, have two kids: Connor, now eleven, and Everly, two. Everly is his by blood; Connor is his by choice. It doesn’t change a thing. Both are his children, and he loves them without measure. He met Sarah fourteen years ago. They dated, laughed, then split, just young and not ready. Life happened. Derek lost his grandmother. Sarah lost her father in a motorcycle accident. Grief brought them back into each other’s orbit. They’d stayed in touch, and by Christmas Eve 2016, a boy in a green coat knocked on Derek’s door. Connor. Connor cried by the night’s end because he didn’t want to leave. Sarah had to turn the car around so he could give Derek one more hug. It felt like the start of a family.
Soon, the three of them were inseparable, calling every night and visiting every day. One afternoon on a “guys day,” Derek caught Connor watching him in the rear-view mirror. “Can I call you Dad?” he asked, all courage and hope. Derek’s heart leapt, and stalled. He wanted to say yes, but needed to talk to Sarah first. A week later, the same blue eyes were in the mirror. “Can I please call you Dad now?” “Do you really want that?” “More than anything in the world.” That was the day Dad became more than a word. The firsts stacked up fast: Donuts with Dad, little league together, Derek asking Connor’s permission to marry Sarah. They wed on Friday the 13th at a Christmas tree farm with a Halloween theme and fireworks. Connor was the best man, Derek’s best little man.
After the wedding, a new question: Connor wanted Derek’s last name. They explained adoption, what it meant, and what it would change. He understood. He didn’t just want a name; he wanted to be his son in every way. While they looked into the process, they also tried for a baby. Month after month, nothing. Tests said everything looked fine. They tried fertility treatments, but there was no luck in the first round. They agreed on one more try, and if it didn’t work, they’d pause and soak up life with Connor.
Then, a sunshower painted a rainbow across their driveway on a scorching August afternoon. Sarah opened the door in tears. “We’re pregnant.” Their miracle, Everly, arrived in April 2021, right in the middle of a pandemic. Derek was allowed into the delivery room at the last minute; Connor had to wait at home to meet his baby sister. She was perfect.
The first year was a blur of staying home, protecting a newborn, and finding ways to make joy, crafts, new recipes, and long FaceTime calls. Derek and Connor, on a whim, started a TikTok called “BadicalDadical.” A silly father–son video exploded overnight. More posts, more laughs, more followers. It became their thing, another way to bond, another memory bank. Derek never had a father growing up, and Connor’s biological dad hadn’t been involved. Derek promised himself he’d be the kind of father he never had, and he kept showing up.
By summer 2021, adoption shifted from a dream to a plan. Derek asked Connor’s biological father to meet. They talked for three hours. It was honest and kind. He saw how loved and stable Connor was and gave his blessing. Derek rushed home with the news, and Connor wrapped him in a hug that didn’t end for long. Life kept life-ing. On a family weekend at a lake, Everly had a seizure. Hospitals, tests, and an infection, they rode that rollercoaster for months. She’s healthy, loud, and living up to the “terrible twos.”
Adoption day came on April 5, 2021. No courtroom; just masks, a lawyer’s office, and a judge on the phone. It didn’t matter. The words still landed like fireworks. Derek told his boy, “You’re officially mine. Officially adopted. Officially a Julian.” A stretch limo picked Connor up out front, and he shouted out the window, “I’m adopted! I’m a Julian!” as they rolled off to celebrate. It wasn’t easy. There were hard conversations with a sensitive kid who wanted simple answers. There were forms, waiting, explaining to classmates why names didn’t match. There were days when Derek felt wrung out, and Connor, wise beyond his years, would pat his shoulder and say, “Dad, don’t give up hope. Keep fighting. We will win.” And they did.
Their home was loud and happy: a toddler demanding snacks, a brother teaching her to say silly words, parents squeezing in date nights between bedtime stories and bottle washing. They still make videos. They still chase rainbows. They still choose each other. Connor was Derek’s son the first night he knocked on that door, the first time he asked to say “Dad,” the day he stood beside him at the wedding. Adoption only put legal ink to what love wrote long ago. Derek still isn’t sure he’s a writer. But he knows this: family is a choice you make daily, and love is the bravest signature you can give.
