Day 318-MET-I Never Knew My Father, However, My Dad Is My Hero

Welcome to another installment of My Essay Tuesday, the day I write an essay on some aspect of my life, past or present.

My Dad, on his game.

I never knew the man who sired me, my mother never wanted me to. I guess he was a pretty bad guy, then again, I only have her word to go on. The story is, she had a relationship with this man, got pregnant with me and before she could have me, he was sent to an overseas post. In the meantime, she discovered he had an entire other family, wife and kids that she never knew about! She said that he tried to come see me and sent gifts after I was born but she wanted nothing to do with him after that, I grew up never even seeing a picture of him.

When my Mom met my Dad, he stepped into her life and stepped up to the plate, adopting me as his own and then three years later they had my brother, Kevin. My Dad had met this other man and even threatened his life if he ever bothered my Mom and me again, so the story goes. It’s not that I don’t believe her, I mean my Dad backed up the story, I just know how she could skew the truth when it suited her purposes. Either way, if it is true, then he is someone I am better off having never known. Still, I was curious of course, never having known what he looked like or why I might have some of the traits I do, as any child would naturally be.

Like, is he responsible for my love of music, he was a drummer so I heard. What about my height, they called him “shorty” so my guess is yes. I’m four foot nine, about 100 pounds, give or take a pound. Was he handsome? I will never know, yet I know my mother had good taste in men, even though her luck was not great until my Dad came along and rescued her, just like my husband rescued me. We were alike in our struggles with men, I had a habit of picking bad boy loser types and evidently, so did she. My mother went through a marriage that ended in divorce, the fiasco with my “father”, a rape that produced a child, for which she was sent to a home for unwed mothers until she had my half sister, and then my Dad walked into her life. He was her hero and I consider him mine as well.

I was two and a half when he adopted me and he is the only Dad I have ever known, therefore he is my Dad in every sense of the word. I was raised with my brother, I knew I had three sisters from my mother’s first marriage, yet I never understood why they didn’t live with us. We saw them from time to time, when either they got to visit us, or we made a trip to Biloxi (my birthplace). No one ever told me the story except to say they lived with their daddy and their new stepmom. Then when my mom passed away, none of them, and I have four, came to her funeral. Wtf??? I was beside myself with anger and grief. I did not and still do not understand what could be so bad that your children don’t come to your funeral. My mom had her faults but I loved her and now, I don’t want to hear the story and have my view of her ruined forever.

Now, that family that my “sire” had at the same time he impregnated my mother? Don’t know them, don’t feel related to them, but my mother always worried that I might meet them someday, being the world traveler that I was. I only know his last name was Foster and trust me, I have never met a guy with that last name. She thought it might be just my luck to accidentally meet and even possibly date my “brother” but luckily, that never happened. I’m not even sure how many other kids this man had. According to Mom, he also had a bad temper and would beat her if she didn’t give him her money when he wanted it. Yeah, not a good guy at all.

Now I’m at a time in my life when I’m spending a lot more time with my Dad than I ever did, could be getting to know him even better and here is, hardly able to speak anymore because of some problem no doctor seems to be able to figure out. I finally got him good hearing aids, but that didn’t fix his speech. He is tired of going to doctors and I don’t blame him, or he might go to a speech therapist. He tried that once a few years ago, it didn’t do much to remedy the situation. My dad is a saint, I wish I could help him but I just try to spend quality time with him, take him to see his doctors and help him around the house. He took care of my mother through years of her illness, never complaining although that’s all she ever did. He worked and took care of her until he was eighty years old! Now he should be enjoying his retirement, and I guess he is, but he would love to be able to speak better. It’s like he has had a stroke or has Parkinson’s, yet the doctors checked him for all that and cannot find anything wrong.

I love my dad and wouldn’t trade him for the world, he has been my teacher, a friend, and my supporter. He is generous to a fault and true to his faith. He was in the Knights of Columbus, and still attends church when he feels well enough. His eyesight and coordination may be starting to bother him, he prefers I drive him around unless it’s a close place and I have no problem with that. My oldest boy lives with him, an arrangement that suits them both. When the time comes for us to do something different, he would be welcome living with us, although I can’t ever see him wanting to leave his house. I will get him a nurse or whatever he needs when the time comes but who knows? He may outlive us all.

 

Day 183-My Tuesday Essay-My Firstborn Son

This day and age, it is not unheard of for someone to have a baby out of wedlock, for me however, 34 years ago it still had the stigma attached. When I had Sean, my firstborn, I was still in the Army, unmarried, alone, scared and unsure of how my parents would react. The letter I wrote to my mother was tear-stained and heartfelt, the hardest thing I had ever written in my life-due to the time it took for letters to go back and forth, I had to wait an agonizing amount of time before I got her answer back. That answer surprised and relieved me, for she agreed to help me and from then on, my only fight was with the military as I had to convince them Korea was not the place I was willing to have my child.

When I left to join the military, my Dad and I had talked abouut what it was like to be a woman in the service, I felt I let him down by going a bit wild and was ashamed of the fact that not only did I not have a partner to help me raise my son, I simply did not know who the father was. It was a crazy and confusing time when I was in Korea, there was way too much partying and alcohol kills the brain cells you know. Anyway, I can’t blame anyone but myself, sleeping around was not seen as cool or hip, and I was afraid my parents would only see me as a promiscuous whore and want nothing to do with me. My mother, being a mother, convinced me, however, that everything would be alright and she was going to help me. She did not lecture or judge me, and told me not to do anything rash, just talk to my Top and get home.

That was easier said than done, but after going through many channels, talking to my “boss” who was my Top Sergeant (also a pediatrician!) who tried to convince me to have an abortion, all the way to the Army legal personnel, or JAG as they were known-who said “Woman, doesn’t he know you’re about to have a baby?” They were the people finally responsible for getting me on a plane out of there, just in the nick of time. I had to wait until a C31 was ready, he did not want me flying on the less-than-safe C4 plane. That meant a short layover on Osan, where I frantically waited to transfer to the safe flight home. I was over the limit considered safe to fly, which was 7 months by that time, by 10 days. When I arrived at the airport in Dallas, I was still so small, my Mom said, “I thought you were pregnant!” I was not even showing yet.

In Korea, black marketing items was rampant, so there was not a lot for me to eat. What I did eat, I usually found off base somewhere, and I was trying to eat healthy for the baby. When I got home, however, my parents set out to make sure I got lots of comfort food, and by the time Sean came, I had gained around 20 pounds. That still did not make me look very big, the doctor had a hard time finding him on the sonograms prior to me giving birth and when the time came, I spent 22 hours in labor before they declared it an emergency for me to undergo a c-section. Turns out my pelvic bones never spread and they said it would kill me or the baby to try to have them naturally, therefore all my babies would have to be delivered that way.

Just to be clear on one point, before I left Korea, I did talk to two of my closest guy friends, potential baby daddies you might say these days, and tearfully told them of my dilemma. Both of them were stand up guys and offered to help, even to marry me, but I just could not bring myself to ruin someone’s life, not knowing for certain if either man was the father. One of the guys actually stayed in touch with me for a few years after I got out, even after knowing there was no way he was the father, I was always thankful he was my true friend. Eventually the letters and visits stopped coming, that happens when you get married and start raising a family. The other guy I talked to was someone I had a mainly sexual relationship with, I saw him three or four times and did not know him very well at all. I could never remember his last name once I got back home, so Sean nor I have any way of locating him, and he may not be the father anyway. What a mess I made with our lives.

Unfortunately, my mother compounded that mess, insisting I carry on with the rest of my tour, saying she would keep him until I got out. Her way of “helping” me. What I could never know at the time, was that Sean filled some void in her life, she needed someone to love and take care of, and had no intention of giving him back to me to raise. Sometime later, unbeknownst to me, she adopted him and I did not know it had been done-she even got me to sign the paperwork, telling a naive me that it was something for insurance purposes and took me to get it made legal. After that, there were other excuses every time I asked if it was time for me to take him, you need to finish school, etc. until finally, when Dave and I got married, she threatened me that if we tried to take him, she would not attend the wedding. That did it for me, and I decided that he was better off with her, having been with her four four years by that time, and we would not disrupt everything he knew, or ruin our relationship, such as it was, only now, I wonder if we should have.

Sean and I in 1982 after coming home from the hospital
Sean and I in 1982 after coming home from the hospital

He is 34 now about to turn 35, still confused and having a difficult time in life but has a job and lives with my dad, a good arrangement for the both of them. I have told him the honest truth, many times, yet I have no idea what my mother told him in his developing years that may have influenced his thinking and view of me. When he was a toddler, he used to call me Mama Kid and my mother was Mama to him. To him, I looked like a kid that was playing his mama, that’s how he saw me. Due to my short stature and easy going personality, I can see why he would think of me that way. At least we lived close by and once Dave and I started our family, the boys could play together from time to time, although it was always stressful. My mother was very lenient with him and we were pretty strict with our boys, Dave and I spent a lot of the time biting our tongues. He knows now that he was a spoiled child and that is the reason he has a hard time understanding why everything can’t go his way in real life. Some day he will grow up and learn to live on his own, that is my hope anyway. I have tried to get him to seek counseling, talk to a professional about why he seems unequipped to deal with life like everyone else does, yet he is stubborn and wants to figure it out for himself.

He has a lot of issues, and for that I blame not only my mother but myself. Back in the day I was a wild child and who knows what his father might have also been doing at the time. We have no way of knowing what the contributing factors may have been, developmentally. He seemed normal as a baby, passed all of the tests they give them in the hospital, and I breathed a sigh of relief about that. The other thing I have somehow failed to mention is that he may be part black. We never really addressed that issue or had him tested in any way, we went on about our business like he was a white child and raised him as such. He has ethnic hair and a darker skin tone, more olive really than anything, he is a gifted musician and highly intelligent thinker. He and his brothers actually make jokes about the things that make him different, yet he never pushed the issue or looked into learning about African American culture, he just is what he is and deals with it. Other than buying certain products for his hair care, he acts no different than his brothers and they treat him as such. (other than teasing him about being a spoiled only child) since that was how he was raised.  I figure if he really cared, he would have found a way to be tested, maybe some day he will, but at this point, does it really matter? He has enough other issues to deal with, demons to conquer and lessons to learn, I really don’t think the color of his skin should become an issue at this point in his life. What he really needs to address is why he feels the need to self medicate and what is at the root of that.

He may walk to the beat of his own drum, but he is my son and I love him, even if our relationship is still a work in progress. We sign off every conversation with our trademark “Love you, bye” something he started years ago when he lived in Austin. I hope that someday we can mend the broken parts of our relationship and grow a stronger bond. Now that he is a grown man, trying to find his own way in this world, I don’t know how long that will take, but we’re working on it.