I watched a movie last week titled, “October Baby.” It was beautiful. Lately I have been red-boxing and purchasing movies on direct tv so much I believe my couch will become red, my tv too, and like those cheesy insurance commercials where the agent appears in their living room delivering hot tubs and random goods a Redbox will POOF, appear in my living room. That and my husband will take away my ability to order movies. NNNOOOO. Nonetheless, out of all the movies I have watched in the past two weeks, “October Baby” was the first that made me think, “Now this was worth the $4.99 two day rental.” I do not even watch movies more than once yet I contemplated watching this movie again.
For those who have yet to see this film it is about a teenage girl who is approaching graduation who learns that she is adopted. Her world is turned upside down and she seeks her birth mother. From there the movie is just S-A-D. It is not a tear jerker, it is a full on crying session jerker. Through my tears I got to thinking about my own struggle to close the gaps and find who my father is. I have never felt the need to honestly. I feel complete, whole, not like finding my father will complete me but I know their are gaps that could be filled if I found him. People question me about who my father is, what my nationalities are and I am unable to answer them because I do not know the complete answers. These are the gaps that I believe will be filled. In a previous blog I discussed how I changed my name and was given my fathers name at the Social Security Office. I googled the name and one in the city and state I was born popped up as the first available link. It was a no brainer from there, only I phoned and he never phoned back. He sent a text, “I am in a meeting.” I replied, “please call when you are available.” I did not know what else to say. Was I supposed to text, “hey I think your my dad?” It felt all too weird and I did not want to disrupt his life. I do not know if he is married, with kids, or if he even knows I exist. Here I am a woman who spent her entire life in the foster care system and I am being considerate of his life and how me making him aware of my existence could effect him. As I write this that realization goes to speak to a part of my character that even I am surprised is there. I am baffled that I was so cautious and considerate of someone who in fact may be a complete lowlife, deadbeat dad. I don’t say that to be harsh I say it to be honest. I mean, you never know.
This is a lot to reveal online, even for me but my rational is that I have written a book that will go through publication soon and it is a memoir so the world will see my story. I want the world to, but they don’t have to know everything. Some things are best kept between family not necessarily for secrecy but out of respect. What I can’t say I will keep to myself and what I can share I will share with the world. There are people like me who have the same story, perhaps telling mine can allow others see the light in the midst of their darkness and know that the world feels their pain to. At least I do.
Father, Where Art Thou? I tried to reach you before but came up empty handed. It was a Friday and when 4 o’clock started to roll around I began to get impatient. Scared that I would have to wait another 48 hours of my life until Monday to roll around to hear this mans voice as he tells me, “I am” or “I am not, your father.” It seemed like eternity and since he did text me I chose to text back before 5 and tell him who I was. I gave him my mother’s name and said that I believe he is my father. I told him that his name was listed as my father at the Social Security Office and I wanted to know if he was my dad. It was not about wanting anything monetary from him and I said so. I simply said that I wanted to know him and if he wanted to know me he could call or email if that was easier. He never called and he never emailed. In my head I told myself that I would wait and then I would send him a hand written letter but I never did. Then I watched, “October Baby” and I remembered my father. I pictured myself getting on a plane like this young girl and going to a different state and where I had been born but never visited to go to his office like she did with her mother and look him in the face and tell him who I am. I envisioned that like this young girl’s mother he would either accept me or deny me and I would possibly live the rest of my life saying, “Father, Where Art Thou?”
Yesterday I decided to call again. No one picked up the phone and no one called back. By the time I could think to leave a voicemail the words that I could say would not come out because I did not know what to say. So I hit the end button when the message played because I did not know what to say. I am going to call again, but I do not know what will happen. I am going to write that handwritten letter but what happens when I don’t get a response. The sad part is I know me, I play things out to the end, I do not give up on something even if I had no desire to start it. Well for whatever reason I started this and somehow I envision getting on a plane and walking into his office where he advises the rest of the world on how to live their life and stare him in the face and tell him. What exactly I would say, I don’t know, but I think I would say, “I think your my Father.”
To Be Continued…
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