For mother’s day, mine gave me a new perspective on my father

After being responsible for two dogs for five loooonnnnnng days, I’ve decided to keep Kadie as an only child. God. The poop. The pee. The barking. The fighting. The roll of toilet paper shredded into confetti while I hid in Starbucks to escape the zoo. The running into traffic. The wrapping of leashes around me like I was a fat maypole. The feeling of wanting their mommy to come home more than THEY did. Oy.

So, speaking of mommies, I got some new information this weekend from mine on the “man” known as my biological father/sperm donor/absent individual.

Apparently, when she found her underage ass knocked up, he actually said they should get together and make it work. And it was my matriarchal grandmother who basically told him to hit the bricks — SHE did not want him to be in the picture.

So, he fled. Took his ticket to freedom and ran for the fucking hills.

I hear that he and his family snuck into the hospital when I was born, just to see me. And they left without incident, and certainly without contact.

Now, I didn’t see him again till I was 18, save for a little trip to Roundhill Farms when I was 3 and he was there with his pregnant bride. Rumor has it that I unknowingly ran up beside him and leaned on his leg to look at some animals. Awkward!

And that meeting at 18 was a failure pile in a sadness bowl. So, I always just assumed he was an irresponsible piece of shit. Which became my view of most men. Squirting out some semen and fertilizing an egg doesn’t mean anything. As usual, the woman has to do all the work. 🙂 And just because you have a child alive out there doesn’t make you a daddy.

But I have to admit, the new information threw me. I’m not surprised — my grandmother was very “my way or the highway.” We battled for the bulk of my life, so believe me, I know what it’s like to go to war with her. I can see why he pussed out.

That’s why I’m kind of annoyed though. That he pussed out. That he cared enough to see what I looked like when I was born. But that he gave up. I figured he left because he could. I get that. Everybody leaves, right?

That scarred me for life, by the way. I don’t want kids, if their dad would be a disappointment. I haven’t even been sure I wanted a man around, because I remain unconvinced that any of them would act any better than him.

How different would my life have been, though, had he stayed? Difficult grandmother or not, I would have had PARENTS. Not some alcoholic stepfather. Not 100% obligation in taking care of my mother today, without a single source of additional support in sight.

Thanks, Gram. *headdesk*

Sure, statistics are against them that they would have ended up together. I could have turned out a lot worse — a statistic myself. But I know I would have grown up in a different (better) school district. I would have had another set of grandparents and even a couple of aunts. Hell, I would have had cousins. I don’t have ANY of that now.

I might have even had siblings, instead of the two half-ones I’ve never met and never will.

But I might not have turned out exactly like my grandmother, a total hardass when it came to anyone outside the family but someone who would give the shirt off her back to anyone she loved.

So, there may be no changing the past. But it’s a case study in maintaining one’s emotions, to look at it with a whole new perspective. And I wonder whether this is a breakthrough that will help me learn to trust the next guy who comes around and actually feel like I can have expectations of him … that he can meet and *gasp* even exceed.

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