My Mom and Dad divorced when I was 3 years old. I do not remember them together. My mom told me he was one of the first fathers allowed in the delivery room in our small Ohio town. He was a doting new parent.
He was also mean.
He almost broke my mom’s back during one particularly nasty fight.
He cheated. He drank. She left him, which was unheard of back in the early 1970’s, especially in our tiny community.
I remember with such clarity the insignificant details about time I spent with him after that. He had a Gilda Radner poster above his bed. We had exactly 24 pair of goldfish, all of which I named Ernie and Bert. Every Friday night I spent with him, we made pizza and watched The Dukes of Hazzard. When we drove in his car, he SWORE he had eyes in the back of his head. He would guess every number I was holding up on my tiny hands. It wasn’t until years later that it dawned on me he was just looking in the rear view mirror. And after our weekend was over, the last thing he would say to me was “Love you kiddo, TTNF.” Ta-Ta-For-Now. A phrase I clung to until I saw him again.
And then, just like that, he stopped coming. I was nine years old and my mom told me he had moved to Texas. We talked on the phone a few times, I was later told. For me, it was as if he vanished into thin air.
At 16 I was at a doctor’s appointment and the nurse asked me about my family history. My mom had remarried when I was young and he had legally adopted me when I was ten. I told her, with pride, how my grandparents were in their 80’s and had never spent a day in the hospital. Then I remembered that, technically, we did not share the same genes. I could not provide any details about my father’s side of the family. I felt ashamed, a perpetual emotion where he was concerned.
Then came my senior year of high school. I was spending the night at my best friend’s house. “He doesn’t even know I am GRADUATING FROM HIGH SCHOOL,” I said with outrage. We decided to try to figure out where he lived. Unfortunately for me, it was painfully easy.
Without thinking, I dialed his number. He answered on the second ring. “Hi, Dad, It’s Julie,” I said, “I just wanted you to know I am 17 and graduating from high school.” He did something I did not expect. He started to cry.
After a brief and awkward conversation, he sent me a plane ticket to come visit him for a week. My mom did not have to let me go, but she did. With three children of my own now, I cannot imagine how gut wrenching it was for her to watch me get on that plane.
Our visit came and went. It was uncomfortable. He remarried and I spent most of the week with his wife, who I adored, and their two young kids. We spoke often those next 6 months, until my freshman year of college. Late one night, the Tuesday before Christmas, he promised he would call me on Christmas day. “TTFN” he said as we hung up.
I never heard from him. He had vanished into thin air again.
I had an amazing childhood. My mom and step dad were always there for me and he is remarkable. He taught me patience (which I am still learning), hard work, a ‘never say die’ attitude, and gratefulness. He may not have been my birth father, but I guess that doesn’t really mean much.
Several months ago, I pick up my ringing phone, “Hi, Julie, this is your Dad.” I was shocked but not deflated. It had been 20 years since I’d heard his voice. We talked about the weather. I told him about his three grandkids he’d never met. There was uncomfortable silence. I felt sorry for him. As we ended our call he said, “Well, if you ever find yourself in Florida, you should stop by.” I hung up. I cried. I shook my head in disbelief and then I got on with my day.
I do not need validation from him anymore. Would it justify his actions if he called me in a lucid moment and said, “Listen kiddo, I am sorry. You are worth it. I fucked up”? Perhaps.
But I don’t need him to tell me I’m worth it. I know I am.
Whatever path led him to forgo a relationship with his child was his to take. No one forced him. And no one, including me, should judge him. Judgment is a slippery slope if you don’t know all the facts. And I never will. People make life changing decisions every day that impact those around them. Sometimes for good reason and sometimes for no reason at all.
The author of this post has chosen to write anonymously.
