Well I don’t know exact details of him but I do know the stories that people told me. My biological father could walk through my front door and punch me right in the face and I wouldn’t even know him. I have some early pictures to look at, but that is it. I would like to believe that because he is my father that is I ever did meet him and sat and talked with him that I might notice some mannerisms or just “know” that he was my father. I use to meet new people that knew my mother and wonder “Is this him”, is “this my father”. My biological grandfather died, who I barely knew, and I went to his burial like it was “This is Your Life”. I checked out everyone and everything they did. Did he look like me? Is that my shade and texture of hair? Did we have the same eyes? It was a futile attempt, but also an unproductive one. He never came to his own father’s funeral.
They tell me he was a small man, 5’7 or so slight of frame, brown eyes and brown 1970’s feathered hair. They told me he came from a good family. Mom and dad both in the picture, they had money, not too rich but definitely not too poor. Now I look back on his description and think to myself I LOOK NOTHING LIKE HIM. I’m big 6’1” 230 lbs (ok maybe 240) dark hair and dark eyes. They tell me I carry myself differently; I walk differently, and talk differently. They tell me he was extremely smart, very intelligent. He graduated high school and got a job working for NJ Transit. He worked in their accounting department and rumor even has it that he took the CPA exam and passed it without going to college. They tell me he had a photographic memory. This is one thing I can definitely say that we have in common. I can remember anything and everything and I see things in my mind like they are sitting right in front of me. I can tell you exactly what the person was wearing down to the rings on their fingers after meeting someone for the first time. I guess this is one trait I’m happy to share with him. The one and only trait we share. They tell me he did drugs and drank a lot. They tell me he quit his job to become the first male go-go dancer in the state of NJ (I have the newspaper article to prove it). They tell me he beat me one time when I was very young. They tell me he took me on an afternoon drive and we ended up going to a drug deal. I was crying (like all babies do) and he proceeded to beat me until I stopped crying (not like all fathers should do). I came home and I had a big black eye and he made up some excuse that I hit my eye. My mother believed him. This pattern of my mom believing the men in her life and taking their word over my well being was set at a very early age. I guess you could say this was the foundation that my relationship with my mother was built on. They tell me he came home one day and announced he resigned from his job and he was going to go-go dance full-time. They tell me he drank, snorted cocaine and smoked pot all day. They tell me after my mom threw him out he once came back into the house and tried to rape my mother. She hit him a wooden elephant we had in the living room. She called my eventual step father and he threw him out of the house. After this time I would only hear about two other stories about him. The first story being when they divorced. The agreement (so I was told) was the he didn’t have to pay child support or alimony if he gave up parental rights, visitation right and the house. I guess he took the deal. I have not seen or heard from him for 35 years. He left when I was 5 and I am now 40 and nothing. No cards on my birthday, no father and son activities in school, no one to play catch with, basically no father contact at all.
There was a long time that I would think how could someone just leave? How could someone not want to get in touch with me? Does he wonder what I look like? Does he wonder what I’m doing? Does he wonder if I’m a good man? Now that I have my own kids I can’t fathom not seeing them EVERYDAY. I know they are well. I know they are taken care of. I know that they are growing up to be good people.
There was a long time I would suffer from about who I was and how could my biological father just leave, how my biological mother could let this stuff happen to me and how could a step father beat me like he did. I must be a horrible person. I must be trash. I must not be worthy of love. That is hard for a kid to deal with, but let me tell you it is even harder for an adult to deal with. I struggled. I struggled hard with this. It affected every part of my life. I used to think how and why it affected me. I know now it started right here with him. Now I don’t hold him totally at fault, but he started this cycle for me. He left first. He delivered the first blow and from there on out it started. It is like starting with one little snowball and then you roll it down the hill and it keeps getting bigger and bigger, but no matter how much snow builds up on the outside and the fact that you can’t see the original snowball it still started with that one snowball. Eventually the snow will melt, but that takes a long time.
You know after all of this, the hurt, resentment, wonder, anger I would still like to meet him. When I was young I wanted to go to his house have him open the door and just punch him right in the face. Now I guess I have matured a little since then because I don’t have that feeling anymore. I would love to sit down and look at him, watch his mannerisms, study him and see if I have any of those traits that all fathers pass onto their sons. Does he sit like me? Does he move his hands when he talks like I do? Does his face light up when he talks about stuff? What are his likes and dislikes? They told me he remarried and had daughters. Do they look like me? Did he leave them also? And if he didn’t why did he stay with them? Why were they more worthy of him than me? I know the people that supposedly were left to raise me weren’t the most upstanding people. TO be quite frank I don’t believe a thing that comes out of my mother’s mouth and these stories that THEY told me have been sprinkled with many untruths. Now don’t get me wrong I don’t need a relationship nor do I think I want one with him, but I have questions. I would like to hear them from the horse’s mouth and move on. I have finally come to grips with it. It took 3 years, but now it is in my past. The questions still linger and will I let them ruin my life, like they did in the past…NEVER, but they are there and I think one day, god willing they will be answered or one day I will finally realize they have already been answered..
They tell me he was a small man, 5’7 or so slight of frame, brown eyes and brown 1970’s feathered hair. They told me he came from a good family. Mom and dad both in the picture, they had money, not too rich but definitely not too poor. Now I look back on his description and think to myself I LOOK NOTHING LIKE HIM. I’m big 6’1” 230 lbs (ok maybe 240) dark hair and dark eyes. They tell me I carry myself differently; I walk differently, and talk differently. They tell me he was extremely smart, very intelligent. He graduated high school and got a job working for NJ Transit. He worked in their accounting department and rumor even has it that he took the CPA exam and passed it without going to college. They tell me he had a photographic memory. This is one thing I can definitely say that we have in common. I can remember anything and everything and I see things in my mind like they are sitting right in front of me. I can tell you exactly what the person was wearing down to the rings on their fingers after meeting someone for the first time. I guess this is one trait I’m happy to share with him. The one and only trait we share. They tell me he did drugs and drank a lot. They tell me he quit his job to become the first male go-go dancer in the state of NJ (I have the newspaper article to prove it). They tell me he beat me one time when I was very young. They tell me he took me on an afternoon drive and we ended up going to a drug deal. I was crying (like all babies do) and he proceeded to beat me until I stopped crying (not like all fathers should do). I came home and I had a big black eye and he made up some excuse that I hit my eye. My mother believed him. This pattern of my mom believing the men in her life and taking their word over my well being was set at a very early age. I guess you could say this was the foundation that my relationship with my mother was built on. They tell me he came home one day and announced he resigned from his job and he was going to go-go dance full-time. They tell me he drank, snorted cocaine and smoked pot all day. They tell me after my mom threw him out he once came back into the house and tried to rape my mother. She hit him a wooden elephant we had in the living room. She called my eventual step father and he threw him out of the house. After this time I would only hear about two other stories about him. The first story being when they divorced. The agreement (so I was told) was the he didn’t have to pay child support or alimony if he gave up parental rights, visitation right and the house. I guess he took the deal. I have not seen or heard from him for 35 years. He left when I was 5 and I am now 40 and nothing. No cards on my birthday, no father and son activities in school, no one to play catch with, basically no father contact at all.
There was a long time that I would think how could someone just leave? How could someone not want to get in touch with me? Does he wonder what I look like? Does he wonder what I’m doing? Does he wonder if I’m a good man? Now that I have my own kids I can’t fathom not seeing them EVERYDAY. I know they are well. I know they are taken care of. I know that they are growing up to be good people.
There was a long time I would suffer from about who I was and how could my biological father just leave, how my biological mother could let this stuff happen to me and how could a step father beat me like he did. I must be a horrible person. I must be trash. I must not be worthy of love. That is hard for a kid to deal with, but let me tell you it is even harder for an adult to deal with. I struggled. I struggled hard with this. It affected every part of my life. I used to think how and why it affected me. I know now it started right here with him. Now I don’t hold him totally at fault, but he started this cycle for me. He left first. He delivered the first blow and from there on out it started. It is like starting with one little snowball and then you roll it down the hill and it keeps getting bigger and bigger, but no matter how much snow builds up on the outside and the fact that you can’t see the original snowball it still started with that one snowball. Eventually the snow will melt, but that takes a long time.
You know after all of this, the hurt, resentment, wonder, anger I would still like to meet him. When I was young I wanted to go to his house have him open the door and just punch him right in the face. Now I guess I have matured a little since then because I don’t have that feeling anymore. I would love to sit down and look at him, watch his mannerisms, study him and see if I have any of those traits that all fathers pass onto their sons. Does he sit like me? Does he move his hands when he talks like I do? Does his face light up when he talks about stuff? What are his likes and dislikes? They told me he remarried and had daughters. Do they look like me? Did he leave them also? And if he didn’t why did he stay with them? Why were they more worthy of him than me? I know the people that supposedly were left to raise me weren’t the most upstanding people. TO be quite frank I don’t believe a thing that comes out of my mother’s mouth and these stories that THEY told me have been sprinkled with many untruths. Now don’t get me wrong I don’t need a relationship nor do I think I want one with him, but I have questions. I would like to hear them from the horse’s mouth and move on. I have finally come to grips with it. It took 3 years, but now it is in my past. The questions still linger and will I let them ruin my life, like they did in the past…NEVER, but they are there and I think one day, god willing they will be answered or one day I will finally realize they have already been answered..
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