I do not know who my real dad is.
Do I want to?
Do I wonder what he looks like?
In my own mind – I often go back and forth between wanting to know and not really giving two shits who he is. Not out of hatred or anger – I just do not see the point after 22 years of living. How awkward — Hi, you don’t know me … but I am kind of your kid. Well, your adult now but you spawned me 22 years and 9 months ago.
I have told myself over the years that I do not have daddy issues. Repeatedly. But I have been denying some vital information…
I do like older men – but not like, daddy or grandpa older. 6 years is a good number.
Serial Dater – guilty as hell. I don’t think I have ever been “single” for more than 5 days.
Jealousy – I do… I really do… but only when it comes to women from the past. If you have known them longer than me, it will probably bug me.
But further on the note of jealousy — which I guess really it would be more like envy — other people and their fathers. I saw the most beautiful post today on Buzzfeed. “25 Dads With Daughters Who Are Doing It Right”.
They are most definitely doing it right. I would know, because I know how to do it wrong.
I don’t have very many pictures like the ones in that article. In fact, I don’t know if I have any beyond infancy. Dad, did we take pictures together when I was a child? Were we smiling? I don’t have those pictures if we did.
Why didn’t you take pictures of us?
See, I don’t know who my biological father is. I know who dads 1,2, and 3 are. They have names but a lot of times I just call them by numbers – because otherwise it is too confusing for my friends/acquaintances.
Now, don’t go getting the wrong impression of my mum here – she is a wonderful lady and I won’t tolerate you even THINKING something is wrong with her. Because there might be some blemishes, but she is beautiful inside AND out.
Dad 1 – My mom’s first husband. The first man I called daddy. I don’t know how old I was when we did the paternity test. I just remember crying because it hurt and going out for ice cream with my grandma after. Chocolate chip cookie dough thank you. Grandma, why didn’t you get ice cream? I know now, you were nervous… It’s ok. I was too.
Even though I had no idea what was happening then.
You disappeared… You left me…You forced my mother to tell me why you left me…It wasn’t all her fault. I was not your child but I did not know that. Do you know what that does to a small heart? I was young but I understood – I didn’t belong to you, so you no longer loved me.
I was lucky though, grandma and grandpa still loved me.
By this time, we were long into the relationship of my mother and Dad 3. Mom and 1 divorced before I was even 2 years old, maybe sooner than 1? Don’t worry – I have not forgotten Dad 2… he will come up later… probably in Part 2.
My mother picked me up from school one day… “Mommy, why doesn’t daddy talk to me…I tried and tried calling him, but he never answers. And he never calls me back.”
My poor mother, having to explain AGAIN that you were not my daddy. That dad 3 was my daddy and he was a good man. That he was raising me as one of his own and I should thank him and love him. And I did. When that front door opened when we got home, he was sitting in the blue recliner, watching television. Even though he was reclined back, I RAN to him – arms open and tears streaming down my face. When I wrapped my arms around his neck I felt him look at my mom, “What is this all about?” he said. My response? “You love me, you are my dad and you love me…Thank you.” I received a small squeeze, pat on the back, and “well of course I love you.” One of the very few moments where my heart burst with joy around Dad 3.
But I didn’t give up hope just yet…
I continued to call you and call you until one day – you answered…I couldn’t believe it. I do know that during this time, I was 13 years old. I was in middle school still. I was struggling with depression and an emotionally/sexually manipulative boyfriend.
When suddenly you appear like a Godsend.
We made plans to get together at Pizza Hut. I do not remember which one. I just remember that we sat at a booth.
My heart was racing when you picked me up.
Is this a date or am I seeing my “dad” for the first time in what, 8 years? The one thing I did not do was count, I never liked math anyways. It was always disappointing. It was, “It has been xxxx days/weeks/months/years since I have seen my dad” instead of “it is only xx hours/minutes/seconds until I see my dad again”. God I had hoped to see you like no other girl had ever dreamed.
I was wearing jeans, a red tank top, and a black “Agape” hat. Oh the irony.
Agape – self sacrificing love.
It started out as small talk, simple really. How is school (how the hell do you think it is?). How is your mom (Wouldn’t have a clue, I am a teenager now). Then we got into the big stuff.
So, what do you want to talk about.
I tried so hard to speak while choking on years of agony – “I miss you,” was all I could get out. You said you missed me too. My conscience called “Bologna”. I tried to tell you about Dad 3. Why I didn’t like him. But to everybody it came off as a rambling teen girl. But teen girls like their dads. Teen girls hate their moms. I hated both at the time. (Not really mom, I always love you – I was just angry and full of angst). I was pining for you to be my father. My head was filled with happy reunions from bad 90’s teen girl movies. A Little Princess was my heart wrencher. I envied Amanda Bynes in What A Girl Wants.
Dammit what a girls wants is a DAD. A Dependable Advocate for Daughters. D.A.D.
I only wished my father’s absence was as simple as Ever After or A Cinderella Story. Something truly tragic, not just my parent’s mistakes.
I didn’t do anything wrong – why did you take it out on me?
I left that day with answers to many questions – but I also left still feeling alone and unwanted. You couldn’t be my daddy. You just couldn’t. But Dad 3 was a great guy, and he loves me. So I should thank him. Yea. Thanks.
To be Continued….