Blast from the Past

Born while my father served in the Army overseas, I became forever attached to my mother. I also experienced a serious amount of attention from her parents, sister, and brother since we all lived in the same house for a while. My grandparents didn’t seem to mind the kids and granddaughter crowding their personal space. God bless them.

I woke up every morning to look over the edge of the crib and find Mom ready to indulge my every emotional whim. Life was good. Until one morning, I awoke to find a man lying next to her.

I imagine, in my toddler brain, thinking, “What the f*ck?” However, lacking sufficient verbal skills, I grabbed the side of the crib with both hands and screamed until every blood vessel broke and squirted through my eyes.

Grandparents, aunt, and uncle came running. Neighbors called, concerned. And I scared the sh*t out of my parents. That’s right, the “man” was my “biological father”. Did you think Catholic Mom would be lying next to just anyone? Jeez, go to church.

Anyhoo, that’s how I met my old man. And it really just went downhill from there.

Fast forward through a fairly happy childhood, interrupted by my own bad attitude and his lack of patience, followed by a miserable adolescence, when his drinking got out of control. I threw a party when my parents finally divorced. For reasons that remain unclear, when I was fifteen the man took off for greater parts unknown (was my hair to blame?), came back to town for a few years toward the end of the 1980s and then disappeared again.

Fast forward fifteen more years. I got home Friday to this GEM of an email:

“Greetings. Read your blog, with interest. Just wanted to say hello, after a long, long time. Peace and love, Your biological father.”

Gotta love Google.