He is not an ex-husband or boyfriend, in fact, he is someone I have never known, but someone I desperately needed to acknowledge me. He is my birth father.
Desperately, it's such a pathetic word. For me, using it implies that you are willing to sacrifice all of yourself for another person and that is just not okay. Ever.
Despite my deep hatred of desperation, I found myself right there in it's poorly decorated living room again on December 10. "Why doesn't he want to talk to me?" Why does he hate me?" "What is wrong with me?" Rarely, these questions sneak their way into my daily thoughts...30 years has given me plenty of time and life experience to logically answer them... but without fail, every December 10th, I loose all ability to think like the well adjusted, grown ass woman I am.
I have a wonderful life. A beautiful, smart, 9 year old daughter; a hard working, loving, "underwear model handsome"(his words) husband, the best parents, and a group of family and friends that are more fantastic than any one person deserves.... but, because of him, I have an dark spot in my heart that I doubt even his validation could illuminate.
 |
| See what I mean?! I'm a lucky lady. |
In April of 1983 my real (they did all the real parenting) parents adopted me, I was 4 months old. My birth parents were young and I was told that they wanted me to have a better life than they were able to provide for me, a noble reason.
A young teen really doesn't understand noble reasoning, so I spent a lot of angry years feeling unwanted by the two people who were supposed to love me, all the while, treating the two people who actually loved me pretty badly... Don't worry, I have since apologized, profusely, to my parents.
Fast forward to March 2001...a few months past my 18th birthday. I have a letter in my hand containing all of my "identifying information," for those of you unfamiliar with adoption lingo, full names of both my birth parents, last known addresses and my original birth certificate.
This part is really important...according to the adoption agency, in order for me to get this information both of my birth parents had to sign a document giving their permission for their personal information to be released to me upon turning 18...they BOTH signed one.
Thanks to the internet it was relatively easy to find my birth father, he's a used car salesman in Florida, now that I am writing this I see.. that should have been my first warning...
Being a pretty outgoing person, who truly believes that people are generally kind and good, I called him. BAD idea. (Adoptees, I strongly advise using email for such communications.) At first he was kind, he sounded shocked to be hearing from me but was willing to hear me out. **Remember he signed a release, so he know there was a potential that I may contact him someday.
I was very clear with him...I didn't want money, possessions or a place to vacation. I didn't expect to be welcomed into the family, I had a wonderful father, mother and family already. I was simply asking to exchange photos and hoped that he would be willing to consider meeting me at some point. He immediately said yes, but "that he would like to discuss it with his wife and call me back."He also told me that he had 3 young children, 2 girls and a boy.
He called back within a few days but this time he was mean, like mean enough to produce ginger babies, mean.(I'm a ginger, I can say that.) This is how the conversation unfolded. I will refer to him as "T," for "tool."
Me: "Hello."
T: "Hello, this is T. I am calling to tell you that I do not believe that I am your biological father, you're birth mother was a whore."(yes, he said exactly that)
Me(interrupting): "Excuse me? If you never believed that I was your biological child why did you sign a birth certificate? WAIT and then you still signed legal documents giving up YOUR rights to a child you didn't even believe to be yours? WHO DOES THAT? If it is true then my adoption isn't even legal because I wasn't yours to give away!"
I have a flair for the dramatic, at this point I was an adult so it wouldn't have mattered anyway..but like I said, dramatic.
T: "At the time it was the easiest way to get rid of the problem."(yes, he said that too)
I believe it was at this point that I hung up, I honestly don't remember much after that. There were three or four hage (rage + hate, I made it up, feel free to take it viral) fueled phone calls that followed. I remember calling him back and offering to pay for a paternity test, I remember him considering it and ultimately refusing because "his wife didn't know her biological father and she didn't feel I needed to know mine." I don't remember if he also expressed agreeing with his wife of if he just placed the blame squarely on her shoulders, either way, it is arguably the worst "reason" in the world...for anything.
I was devastated, angry, sad; I was a walking tornado of every negative emotion a person could feel for a LONG time. It didn't matter that I had two parents who loved me more than life or that I had so many great friends and extended family that loved and accepted me. It didn't even matter that, at this point, I had met my birth mother and her(my) family and had grown very close to them all; I needed this man's approval and I was never going to get it, I hated myself for being a part of him....some days I still do.
We have not spoken since 2003, though I did try to contact him after my daughter was born, I was ignored. My birth mom insists he is my birth father and I believe her.
Over time, with the love and support of my family, most of my rage and anger subsided but the sadness remains. The sadness, along with hope, has made a cozy little home in that dark part of my heart.
The hope that someday he will see that I am worth getting to know, the hope that someday I will meet my half siblings, the hope that someday I will finally have all the pieces to the puzzle that is me.
Until that someday arrives, if it ever does, I will spend every December 10th in desperation's hideous living room, awaiting his call....either way, I'll still have that Xanax. ;)
