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Many of you know last February my dad passed away. It was, without a doubt, one of the single hardest times in my life.
But what you may not have know was that my dad wasn’t my biological father. My biological father may have passed away last week, and been the man Gretchen found in the park, or he may be alive and well picking through the trash near Union Station. I don’t know.
I last had contact with my biological father at the age of 13. He called to talk to me and I handed the phone to my mom, telling him I knew who he was and didn’t want to talk to him. He honored my 13 year request. No one has heard from him since. I don’t know what happened in the call with him or my mom, and it’s not my story to tell in any case.
But this part is my story.
I have lots of wonderful memories of my dad. I remember the time he hid by the couch and my 4 year old self screamed Daddy at finding him there. I rememmber girl scout meetings he led and long rides in his embarrassingly beat up blue truck to let the dogs run in the dry river bottoms. I remember someone who made me scrambled eggs with cheese, ironed my jeans, and taught me to make his mothers spaghetti sauce. I remember my dad.
I didn’t know he wasn’t my biological father until a few weeks before that last phone call. Of course, everyone else in the world knew. But no one had ever, ever treated me like I was a ‘half’ or ‘step’ anything. It was this huge family secret. One that at 13 felt like a practical joke the world played on me. But I was applying for a private highschool and it was likely the first time they would have needed to produce my birth certificate. Plus, I remember having questions. Why wasn’t I more Italian looking? Why were certain dates not adding up?
I knew my biological father as a friend of my moms. Someone we didn’t really talk about in front of Dad, or my brothers, or my uncle. No one seemed to like him. He would breeze in and out of town once a year or so and buy me some cheap trinket from the mall. I never understood why I had to meet him with my mom. To be honest, he made me uncomfortable.
The day I finally found out my mom and I were driving back from a swim meet in Tucson. I could tell it was going to be one of ‘those talks’. To this day I hate when I get that sense from my mother. It makes my stomach hurt. I think I will always have that pit in my stomach that I am about to get another big secret dropped on me. 13 was not the age to reveal this. When my mom told me I remember I asked her to do one thing: stop at a rest stop so I could use a payphone. To call my dad. And tell him I loved him and thank him for being my dad.
Through my teenage years I remember fights and screaming “you’re not my dad” when I didn’t get my way. But that is the thing about real dads, they don’t hear those words. Or they do. But they never let on.
Were things perfect in my house? Nope. Can anyone say there were no fights in their house? Or bad times? That is what makes a family at times.
I often think how differently my life would be if I hadn’t had the gift of my biological father walking away. And through the years, especially for Carters health reason we have tried to find him. The last known address for his social security number was the Salvation Army in Louisiana about 10 years ago. He is a drifter, by choice, and I have long ago rationalized that he wound up dead in a park like the John Doe Gretchen found.
My heart has ached for him to not know what an amazing family I have and I have cried many grateful tears that he doesn’t know. I have a fear he may one day show up and want something from me. But mostly, I just feel peaceful knowing that he choose his life and left me to mine. Which is why, every single time I pass a homeless man on the street I think “I wonder if he has my DNA?” and then I drive right by and go on with my life.
I think that’s a very brave post. relationships with dads on good days are complicated but i do think they are foundational for a future dealings with the men in our lives. sounds like you were doubly lucky – to have one who was there, a positive force in your life – and also another who through their absence and the complicated feelings of guilt/loss probably helped make you stronger.
Heartbreaking, Barb.
Being a mom via adoption, I think and write a lot about DNA and nature vs nurture. So I can, in a small way, understand the mixed feelings you have about your biological father.
The way you speak of your dad is enchanting. Your love for him is so evident. I’m offering belated condolences for your loss.
I so admire your commitment to champion open adoption. I so strongly believe that gives children such a strong sense of who they are in all their worlds.
Your children are so blessed to have birth parents that loved them enough to realize you were their best mother 🙂
I read this last night, Barb, and have been thinking about it ever since. I’m intrigued by how you made peace with that profound loss. You were given no choice in the matter in the first place as a small child and from that place you grew.
I love how you honor and love your dad who passed away in February. You were and still are richly blessed by that good man.
I lead such a blessed life that I don’t know how I could be anything but grateful for all the life experiences I have. Each one makes us who we are and I truly love who and where I am so everything in my life has been leading me here 🙂
Your story got me started thinking more about him and I felt it was time for me be cathartic and share
Barb – I read this last week and didn’t know what to say. I, like Gretchen, thought about you & your story all weekend. Thank you for sharing. I still don’t have the words but I am in awe of your strength and optimism in life. You take the lows with such grace and keep your chin up. I am truly sorry for all you have had to endure but continually inspired by you.
It’s so strange to me that the reaction to this has been that it wasn’t something negative. I honestly don’t feel that way at all. I think it was such a blessing that he got out of the way and let someone else do it the right way. I think that was brave of him in his own way. I have been so blessed by everyone and everything I have in life. When I think what my life might have been if he was in it I just shudder.
I don’t know why I didn’t see this post when you first wrote it, but I am so glad I found it now. I have tears in my eyes – not for you, but because you get it. You GET what a gift it can be for a parent to walk away. Most people rail about the irresponsibility, the deadbeat, the lack of love. But that’s not it.
My mother gave me the gift of her absence. I was raised by my dad and my stepmom and because my mother allowed me the peace of not being involved, I was able to have my childhood, my home, my parents. I didn’t have to split time between houses, I didn’t have to wonder where I belonged. I didn’t question if my parents loved me. They were there, every day proving that they did.
My biological mom loves me too – in her own way, and now that I’m an adult we are building a relationship. I did visit her twice a year on holidays for a week or two – which I appreciated because I was able to connect with her family that way and have aunts and cousins I wouldn’t have known otherwise. But when I was 13 (what’s with that age anyway?) I said I didn’t want to come at Christmas any more and she respected my wishes.
I never really understood how much her absence proved her love for me also until my husband and I made the choice of giving our absence to my stepsons. It’s not that we don’t love them, we do – so much so we’ve chosen to break our own hearts. Our absence gives them peace they didn’t have before, it reduces the amount of tension in their lives, reduces them being asked to make impossible choices between what their mom wants vs. us, gives them a home and a place to belong.
Anyway, thank you for this post and for the tears I’m crying as I write this. You get it. I’m sorry you lost your dad. I can’t imagine losing mine, regardless of our issues, he’s still my dad. Hugs to you.
I don’t know how I missed it either…
A beautiful post Barb. For most people? It is easy to drive by the guy with the sign and the backpack with all his belongings by the side of the road and not think of them ever again. But for far too many people, your experience of ‘wondering’ is the norm.
I’m fairly sure that there’s never a good time to “reveal” that news to your child. I had a friend who had not one, but 3 (that I knew of) sons from 3 different moms 2 of whom were told after the age of 18 that he was their genetic Dad, the 3rd at 15. This occurred during a 5 year period. I watched as 3 young men dealt with the world-changing news that this man – who had been shifted into the category of ‘family friend’ by all of the women – was suddenly part of their lives. The first one was told just before he turned 19, and just after his Dad’s funeral. Apparently, that was his Mom’s choice – to wait until after her husband died. It was also when she chose to tell my friend (for the first time) that her son was actually his. It wreaked chaos on both of their lives. The second one told her son at 15 because she had divorced the man he thought was his Dad and decided it was “time he knew.” In that case? My friend had suspected, so had her son. That one was a better adjustment for everyone – but the boy did end up skipping a semester due to it. The last one was told on the day after his 18th birthday, a day that had included a literal ‘knock-down, drag-out’ fight with the man he thought was his Dad.
From the sidelines? I watched as all of these events occurred and can say that the news was something that would’ve rocked anyone’s world… so it is not so surprising to me that it rocked yours at 13 (and since.)
But I firmly believe that Dads or Moms are people who are there to get you through the ups & downs of childhood. There really ought to be another word for those who are those responsible for the DNA that brings us into this world – whether or not they raise us. Because they are very different bonds – and both critical to who we become.
No matter how things rolled out? You are amazing.
(((hug)))