I am among a select group of girls who had an absentee father growing up (he will be referred to as either the sperm donor or my biological father from here on out). Thankfully, I had an amazing mother and a fabulous "stepfather" who quickly became my dad both legally and emotionally, so I am not too tarnished as a result. I don't think I have "daddy issues" and I don't think I hesitate to be in committed relationships because my father left me when I was 6. This is simply part of my past and I appreciate that if I had to have some sort of challenge in my life growing up, that this was all God gave to me. I can handle it. Really...
After cheating on my mom, destroying our house in a fit of rage, placing us in a lot of debt because he bought a house for his mistress and tried to start 2 unsuccessful businesses, he saved us all a lot of future trouble and walked away. On a late summer afternoon, during one of our designated time slots to see each other, I awkwardly hugged him good bye and got in the car with my mom, not knowing that it would be the last time I saw him for 7 years. Good riddens.
My mom and I moved into a new house with her new boyfriend and planned for her big Italian wedding. I loved my cozy little room in my new house. I finally lived in a house where I felt safe, where there was no chance of anyone coming in late at night and waking me up, no one destroying my toys or yelling at my mom, no one stomping around the house and barking orders at me. The only thing I was scared of at this new house was dropping food on the new carpet. I adapted, as they say, quite well to my new surroundings.
I was "well adjusted." That's what the counselor called me in my "Kids of Divorced Parents Group" at school. My mom and dad (my stepfather, but I started calling him dad within a few years since I didn't want anyone to know he wasn't my biological father), made sure that I was happy and healthy. We lived a completely normal life and it suited me. My personality wasn't really conducive to drama and it still isn't.
From the age of 7-14, my life was complete with school, a major geeky phase which lasted for about 3 years in which I had horrible 90's clothes, big bows in my hair, a set of bangs that my mom styled as if I had a wave on my head, and of course, glasses (no braces though!), and friends. I tried very hard to find my place among a whole new set of friends in middle school and succeeded in becoming closest with the girl I considered to be the coolest one of the bunch.
By 14, I was in high school and I was about to finish up my first season of field hockey. It was a cold night in November when my parents walked in and my dad's eyes were puffy and my mom was holding a letter looking very nervous. My dad could read the panicked look on my face knowing that I would probablyimmediately assume something was wrong with my mom. He didn't hesitate and said, "He's back. He wants you back." I stood there for a second, I was shocked and speechless.
This was my dad's worst nightmare. If my biological father ever came up in conversation, he would say how he was always a little scared that he would come back and I would leave him. My dad would be replaced by the sperm donor. In his weakest moments, he would say that. I would tell him it was totally ridiculous. I felt more comfortable and connected with him than I ever felt in all my 7 years of growing up with my biological father. I felt a connection instantly on that day many years ago when I met him for the first time after being picked up from playing in the pool at my friend's house. I was in my bathing suit and all wrapped up in a big towel when my mom picked me up and told me she was going to introduce me to a good friend of hers. I remember asking if it was a girl or a boy. When I walked into the house and met him, the first question I asked him was if he had any other children that I could play with. I always hoped I would have siblings and with my dad just walking out, the chance of it happening looked slim. I guess I figured maybe this person could bridge the gap and give me some new playmates.
We got along quite well except for a few minor mishaps--one day I told him that his "five minute" time slot with my mom was up and it was time for him to leave, but other than that, we were fast friends from the beginning. He loved my mom and knew I would have to love him if she was going to love him. He bribed me occasionally with candy and took me to the teacher store and let me pick out whatever I wanted to have for my pretend classroom at home. I was never a barbie kind of gal. My new barbie dream house got destroyed when my biogical father had his "mental breakdown," so I stuck with playing school which was more up my alley anyway. I played school before school and I played school after school and I played school during the summer. Pretending to be a teacher was all I ever wanted to do and I took it seriously and I needed real materials....So, we went to the teacher store and he treated me to an expensive grade book. He still laughs about how he must have really liked my mom to buy such a ridiculous "toy" for me. He used to bring me lollipops and gum too and he would play school with me for hours and be my student. I would teach him simple math and read to him and he would answer all of my questions and fill out my "homework" for him in my extra math workbooks. He would tell me stories about his trip to Disney World and the water slides he went down and we had certain cartoons that were shows that only we watched together.
It was as if we were always meant to be parent and child and something just got mixed up for a few years. God had corrected everything. We looked like we could be related. We talked the same way. We worried about things in the same way. We had a lot of similarities, the cause for some major arguments, but he was my dad. When I see little girls with their dads now, I mourn the time I lost with my dad because we hadn't found each other yet, but I have learned to just be grateful that I got him at all.
Anyway, I digress. My parents told me that my biological father had contacted a lawyer about getting visitation rights for me and that my mom was due into court to address the situation. I was shocked. I guess I figured this day might come, but I really hadn't ever thought about it. My father was a loose cannon the last time I saw him, he was completely unreliable, he destroyed my house, on visits when he would actually come to see me, he would take me out on his bread route and allow me to sit in the back of the truck in old bread boxes that would spin around in the back of the truck. I guess I thought this was amusing. He left me more than once in one of these trucks late at night while he would go into a bank. I had no idea what he was doing and I remember being scared and hiding in the truck so no one would see me. This was the same bank that he met his mistress at, that he offered her a line of credit and then got fired since they thought he was embezzeling money. He lost his job at this bank and put us on welfare and this was the same place he was taking me in the wee hours of the morning.
I remember being scared in his presence and wanting to go home. I would beg my mother not to make me go and see him. She tried to do the right thing and keep my relationship with him going. When she realized I was riding around in trucks without a seat belt and being left in a truck at 2 AM, she pulled the plug on his visitation rights and never said anything else about him unless I asked questions...which I rarely did. I happily moved out of our old house with the unhappy memories and moved on with my new life. I barely looked back. From my short time in psychology classes, I learned that I was at an age where adjustment was easy.
I was numb for awhile. I walked out of the kitchen. I went into my room. I stood there and stared at the floor. My mom came in and asked me if I was okay. I said yes. I was more concerend about them than myself. I felt fine. I told her I didn't want to see him. I had legally changed my last name. My "step father" was my dad now. I didn't want the sperm donor imposing on my life. I was well adjusted damn it! My mom reassured me that everything would be fine and I trusted her.
The next night, a limo pulled up to my house escorted by a cop car. Someone knocked on my door and I knew exactly who it was. I ran into my room and hid in my closet. I was 14 and I was hiding in my closet. It was a bit ridiculous, but there I was, quietly listening and waiting for the limo to start up again and drive away. I was back in the same crouching position I found myself in 8 years ago when I hid next to the garage while my father destroyed our house. Apparently, he had a gift for getting me to my knees in fear.
I know it sounds weird that he came with a limo, but don't worry. He wasn't coming to sweep me in some limo and take me to Chucki Cheese's which he promised to do and never came through on. He was merely working...at one of his 3 jobs which included and still does, apparently, driving a limo. The cop was there to keep things civil and he advised my dad to not come out and confront my biological father. The cop said he understood why my dad would want to but, for his own sake, he really shouldn't. So, while my father was pacing up and down the driveway in typical fashion, my mom spoke with the cop and told him I wasn't home. The cop then advised my mom to make sure she contacted a lawyer and to make sure that she and I were both there for the next meeting that was sure to come. He warned her that she could get placed in jail if a judge made an order that we did not follow. And indeed he did. The judge didn't spend enough time looking over our history and made it mandatory for me to see my father and tell him myself that I did not want to rekindle a relationship with him. This was a real treat for me.
My mom was extra attentive to me that week asking me if I was okay and telling me that it was okay to talk about it, cry, scream, whatever I needed to do. I told her that I was fine and I just wanted the whole scene to be over. And, I truly believed that. I wasn't holding back tears and I didn't feel that upset. One day after school, my inevitable stress showed itself in a fit of me screaming and crying as I threw my school books across the living room floor. When my mom ran into the room and asked me what was wrong, I explained to her that I was angry because I couldn't find a sharpened pencil. Looking back on this moment, I laugh and realize how bad I was at expressing myself at the time...I got a night of ice cream out of it.
So, we made the plan to meet him at the local mall. My mom and dad, my uncle and three of my mom's best friends all hid behind a big planter with fake plants and spot lights that they always have by the food courts at the mall. There was a fountain nearby as well. I tossed a penny in and made a wish as I walked away from the group and left my mom. Two of my friends were posted up two tables down from me and another two friends were hanging out by a kiosk that was directly in front of where I was sitting. It was around the holidays and the new kiosk was selling packaged cheese and sausage. I remember laughing to myself at the ridiculousness of the situation. I was scared to see a man that was suppose to be my sole male protector in life while my friends were hiding behind a kiosk selling sausage.
As I sat at the two person table at the sandwich shop where we were to meet, I looked up and realized that I was safely surrounded on all sides by people who loved me. One way or another I was going to be okay. I took a deep breath and waited for him to get there. As I saw him walking in, he was wearing a long black overcoat, his hair was slicked by, he was much taller than I remember, and he looked like a foreboding creature. I started to tear up and quickly stopped myself. I did not want to break down in this moment. I wanted to say what I had to say and get it over with.
He walked up to the table and awkwardly gave me a hug. I looked at him and tried to feel something. I felt nothing. I felt disconnected and I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. The only thing that comforted me was knowing that I had a lot of eyes watching to make sure I was okay. The meeting went quickly and he basically told me that his mother, my grandmother was dying and that she would love to see me. He also took out papers and showed me that he had an insurance policy for me. I was 14 and had no idea what that meant. I realize later that this was his sad attempt at buying me off, at showing me that he had done at least one thing responsibly and set money aside for me in the case of his death. He was, as I always remember him to be, a quiet talker, a serious man who lacked warmth and sincerity. I was instantly transfixed back to being 5 years old in his presence.
I couldn't understand what he expected from me and I didn't know why he went about meeting me in this way. Why didn't he send me a letter and request that I see him? Why did he have to bring lawyers and judges into it? Why did my mom have to be threatened with prison? It didn't make sense to me. The evening came to a quick halt when he reached over the table and touched my face. I flinched and save farther back in my seat. He said, "Oh you have chocolate on your cheek. I was trying to get it off for you." This is when I was compelled to say, "Well it looks like this meeting is over. That chocolate you were trying to remove is a birthmark. As my father, you should probably know that." Both he and his mother tried to remove that mark on different occasions. I did what the judge requested and I told him that I did not want to see him. That was that. He respected my wishes and stayed out of my life.
After that fiasco, I didn't see him again until my cousin's father's funeral when I was 23. I was a first year teacher at the time in my hometown and I had just come back from a month long trip with my cousin traveling and we were very close. Even though I hadn't seen her father in years and I would have to travel a good distance, I felt that I needed to go and support her at the funeral. It wasn't until my long drive there that I thought it might be possible that I would run into my father. I knew he was friends with my cousin's father at one point, but I didn't really expect him to be there. I walked in with my other cousins and stood in the funeral line. I faced forward and kept my head down. I didn't want to look around and I didn't want to make eye contact with anyone. I was essentially hiding behind my cousin. I whispered to her what I was concerned about and she understood. I asked her to look around for me, but she had only seen my father in pictures and probably wouldn't recognize him. Of course, he came in through a side door and it was impossible to miss him.
Once again, I choked up and this time I couldn't control it as well. I ran to the bathroom with the speed of someone who was about to hurl and I let myself bawl for just a minute or two. My cousin knocked on the door and I let her in. She told me it was okay and that I could do whatever I wanted. If I needed to sneak away, she would go with me. I kept splashing my face with cold water hoping to clear away the red eyes and blotchy cheeks, it wasn't working. I cried, I washed, I dried, and then I cried again and started the whole stupid ritual over again. This is exactly why I never cry, I thought to myself. Someone knocked on the door wanting to get into the one-stall bathroom. I wanted to jump out the window. I pulled myself together and came out. I saw my father's sister who wrapped me up in a big hug and wouldn't let me go for far too long. She was always sweet and I felt for her, but I wasn't about to let my guard down to anyone. He gave me another awkward hug and asked me if I would be willing to go outside to speak with him. I was stronger than I was at 14 and felt like I could do it by myself this time. Everyone stayed in the funeral home and I went outside. He was in a long foreboding black overcoat again. He looked fatter and older than he did 7 years earlier. Both of his parents had died of heart disease at this point. His father and brother (and probably him) were drunks and he feared dying young like both of his parents who had heart problems. He wasn't too worried about it or he would have lost some weight and stopped drinking so much wine and beer. It seemed he was illogical about this issue as well. As usual, he was focused on himself and told me how rejected he felt when I told him I didn't want to have a relationship with him at 14. I asked him some of the questions I always had-- did I have a sibling? why did you leave? was there something mentally amiss? what happened when you destroyed my house? I didn't really get any answers on anything except for a firm no on the sibling part. The one good thing he could have given me, he failed at that as well. He told me he was a creative writer too. He said that whether I liked it or not, I had pieces of him in me, that I was probably more similar to him than I thought.
I said good bye in a colder, firmer fashion than I had 7 years earlier. He tried to tell me we could eat at a local restaurant near my house. I told him that I was moving to CA. I told him I had no interest. I watched his face fall again for the second time in my life. I had rejected him all over again and I didn't care. I didn't feel anything.
6 months later, I made my trek across the country and started a new life on the West Coast.
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