Maybe one day you’ll read this and know i was thinking of you all along.
You know what sucks? The fact that I know you’re a doctor somewhere in the country, able to make ends meet.
While all I have is a mother struggling to pay bills and stay up on her feet.
You know what sucks? When people ask about you.
Because I have the same questions too.
It’s hard to look them back in the eyes and tell them you don’t have a dad,
But it’s even harder to pretend not to be mad.
It happens all the time.
When I’m sitting in a booth eating chocolate chip pancakes,
Only to stare up and see a man with a similar shaped face.
When the lights rise after a movie
And leaving the theater is a random man who looks like maybe he produced me.
When I’m in line to get ice-cream and the man in front orders the same exact thing
It’s hard to look away — but it’s worse to feel the sting.
The burn, the pain it’s what we all learn
When all you’ve ever known your whole life is anonymous sperm.
Wishes are dumb.
Every time I make one my body goes numb.
Little do you know I’ve wished for the same thing since age 8,
To get to know my father is all I want at this rate.
Sometimes life begins to get a little crazy,
It always seems to be because the vision of my biological father is far too hazy.
Stephen Chbosky once said, “So, I guess we are who we are for alot of reasons. And maybe we’ll never know most of them. But even if we don’t have the power to choose where we come from, we can still choose where we go from there. We can still do things. And we can try to feel okay about them.”
But without knowing my father I don’t know if being okay is an option. I’m happy to be alive, but what I’ll never be happy about is not knowing.
Not knowing what your life is like. It’s 4am and I sit here typing about my father who probably has a beautiful child of his own. I sit here typing about a man who’s mind I probably haven’t crossed since the day I was born and he got the call.
A call.
That’s all I want. A call from my dad.
A reminder that he is somewhere on the planet.
At first I tried to make this description of my life rhyme, but then I realized that its pointless. Rhymes are expected, but finding my dad — now that’s not expected.
