My Biggest Disappointment

When someone says “This is my favorite song!” you can expect to hear that same sentence from them a couple more times down the line. That is the same way you should take this entry, as there may be another biggest disappointment later in my life. When I think of this now, however, there is no doubt in my mind that my biggest disappointment is my father.

I don’t want anyone to get confused. I already discussed the difference between my dad and my father in My Real Graduation. As a refresher, my dad is the one who raised me and my father is the one who gave me life. Obviously one is much easier than the other.

All I know about the man is his name (I have his last and I will be more than happy to drop it like it’s hot when I get hitched) and that he has started another family somewhere in Alabama.

When I think of this fact, I wonder how he found it in him to be a father to those other kids but not to me. I read something on Facebook about a single mother who ran into her baby daddy at a grocery store or something. Here daughter was there with her and somehow the conversation delved into the goings on of his new life with the family he created. Later, the single mom asked her daughter how she felt about the encounter and the daughter responded so positively, so maturely, that I literally can’t believe it’s true.

I literally couldn’t believe it, as the lady portrayed her daughter to be quite young – middle school at oldest, I gathered. One can’t always believe what is read online, and I am always conscious of that fact. However, this is a lesson that anyone can learn from, no matter who is teaching it.

According to this post, the daughter responded to her mother’s question by expressing happiness that her father was able to learn to be a dad for someone, even if it wasn’t toward her.

Gag.

If the story is true, I apologize for the fake puke. Honestly, to me, it seems too good to be true. The daughter being as young as the writer of this story made her out to be ruins it for me. When was that age, I still thought I needed my father in my life so I could fit in with my friends, so I could go camping and fishing, so I could be whole. At that age, I still thought I was the center of the universe. If I didn’t matter to him, no one could matter to him.

Even my early twenty-year-old friends going through the same issues have not full come to terms with the nature of the relationships with their fathers. They still jump through hoops, still jump at the opportunity to take phone calls from them, still miss out on things in the hopes their fathers would notice them. For one of my friends, he missed out on playing football in senior year of high school, possibly missed the chance to get a scholarship; for the other, he nearly missed graduation trying to resolve some unnecessary drama caused by his father in some other town.

I have the attitude of indifference at this point. The way I see it, I have come this far without him and I can go even further as well. I’m not sure where this came from, the impossible strength I had even as a child to not dwell on being unwanted.

Maybe it was my mother’s example – she always led by it, always held her head high as she weaved her way through the doomsday obstacle course that is life, coming out with barely visible emotional scars. If she has taught me one thing, it is to never rely so heavily on a man that it hurts when he is gone – financially as well as emotionally.

As far as the financial side goes, I have lived by it. It does cause some issues in my relationship, but it also keeps the crippling agony somewhere too deep inside to reach from sneaking up the surface.

The last time I have heard from my father was in high school. For some reason, when I was in 9th grade, he wanted to speak to me. Actually, my mother finally allowed him to speak to me, as he was apparently requesting it for years with months in between. And, for whatever reason, I was excited to hear from him.

We spoke for four hours about anything and everything. What kind of music I liked. What classes I was taking in school and if I was getting decent grades. What I wanted to be when I grew up.

Perhaps he didn’t like who I was. Maybe he realized that it was too much for him to take. Maybe he couldn’t swallow his pride, as I was able to by even picking up the phone when he called.

Whatever the reason, even though he said he “never wanted to lose contact with me again” and we exchanged contact information long enough for him to send me a bunch of pictures of himself, I never heard from him again.

And I never shed a tear. I just took it as a lesson to never fall for it again.

FEATURED IMAGE FROM EPICPEW

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