Musing

My mom and biological father divorced when I was about a year old. They had been married for about ten years at that point, but because I was so young, I obviously don’t remember any of it. My entire childhood is encrusted with drop-offs and pick-ups, let downs and the feeling of never quite fitting in with him and his new family (er, families). Thank goodness my mom married someone a few years later that treats me as though I was his own – and I am.
When I was about 22 I stopped speaking to my bio dad all together. It was kind of unceremonious, honestly. We didn’t even have an argument. We had had a chat a few weeks prior in which I really felt like he was on my side about something (I don’t even remember what, but I remember feeling like maybe we were taking a turn in the right direction) and later I mentioned to my step-mother that the aisle at the venue I had chosen to get married in wasn’t wide enough accommodate both my bio dad and my step dad giving me away, and I didn’t really know what to do. She said I should do what I felt was right. A few weeks later I called my dad to check in and I heard him in the back ground saying he didn’t want to talk to me, for some unknown reason that my grandmother later clued me in to – he was mad that he wasn’t walking me down the aisle (I hadn’t made the decision yet, though…). He called me a few days later and I missed his call, and when I returned it, he didn’t answer. I left a voicemail and that was just it. That was November of 2006. It may seem like that was kind of out of nowhere, but it wasn’t really. I think the fact I was considering not having him give me away at all should be a pretty serious indicator of the frailty of our relationship. And after all that, his entire family kind of threw me away. I speak to some cousins here and there, and one aunt once in awhile, but by and large they are done with me, and I with them. It’s fine, really. I’m fine, we’re all fine.
A few years ago, when I was pregnant with Grant, I sent a Christmas card to his mom, my Grandma P. – I suppose in a veiled attempt to show him where I am – and a few months later I got a really long letter back from her about how my dad was struggling with his wife and how she’s turning everyone against him, blah blah blah. I wanted to write back and tell her that it was that wife who had lied to everyone about my having decided to have my step dad walk me down the aisle and was the impetus behind our estrangement, but I never found the words or the willingness to open a dialogue. I put it off, and put it off and the next year, when I sent her Christmas card, I got nothing back. I found out later she has dementia.
Now as a parent myself, I think of my dad more and more often, mostly quizzically. How does one have a child floating around the atmosphere that they know nothing about? Does he know where life has taken me? Does he know I have babies and dogs and a husband that busts his behind to give me everything I could ever even possibly dream of wanting? Does he even remember meeting said husband? Does he google me the way I google him? I think often about contacting him, but I have to wonder if I really want him in contact with my kids. He’s not a terrible person I guess (though he's certainly not the best), he was just a bad dad. And I think he knows that, or he’d probably be trying to contact me. Or maybe he thinks I used him for tuition money and dropped him after graduation. I guess I’ll never know.

I listen to that song, Highway 20 Ride by the Zak Brown Band, and wonder why my dad never loved me *that* much. The most I ever felt he valued my company was when he took the “long way” home when he was taking me home every other Sunday. And seriously, that was just a couple of blocks out of the way. Maybe he did the best he could, I don’t know.  I guess some days I wish I did.

I'm not writing this for sympathy. Obviously all of this was a very long time ago and I'm fine with it. Maybe, more than anything, I just don't understand how someone walks away from their kid. I know it happens somewhere in the world every single day, but man alive I could never. And the more I think about it, maybe I just want him to know how well I'm doing in spite of him. All I can do at this point is take the lessons I learned from being the child of someone who didn't necessarily want them and apply it to raising my own children - children that heaven and earth couldn't keep me away from.
So when you drive
And the years go flying by
I hope you smile
If I ever cross your mind
It was a pleasure of my life
And I cherished every time
And my whole world
It begins and ends with you
On that Highway 20 ride.