When I was a young child just to the verge of adulthood, on the fathers Day I decided to take the plunge and visit the real father that came to my life when my biological father left. I brought an emotional card and the recipe of lemon bar (a favorite of my mother) and a decade of appreciation. What I did not anticipate was being relegated into an exit with few tears and a crumbled truth only faced by me.
I was 15 years old when my mother came to wed Gary. My father had passed on when I was a toddler and throughout most of my life, all I had was my mother and I. When she arrived home with Gary I did not know what to make of it. Yet he was gentle, tolerant, able to repair something around the house, attended school plays and made pitch-perfect pancakes on Sunday mornings. I did not address him as Dad but there was a part of me which thought, possibly, that some day I would.
He did not coerce an attachment. He simply existed–stable, supportive and considerate. Two years back, when Mom died of cancer, we supported each other. Not too close, but sufficiently. To be able to keep in touch.
At 25 and in a different state, I worked as a graphic designer, and now I felt it was time to make that emotional full circle, so I decided to do it on this Father Day. Just to be grateful. I made lemon bars, bought a book on WWII he had talked about and wrote him a card with everything I had not confessed to him. I wrote, “You were not my blood father but you also appeared.” You stayed. You mattered.”
I felt anxious yet optimistic when I reached the childhood home. I felt myself stop at the porch, when I heard the voice of Gary through the open window–laughing at the phone.
he said, never loved her. Housekeeping. Rent free, mortgage free. That is because it is a whole reason.
I froze. I stopped short in my heart. Again he laughed. What about the kid? It is only part of the deal. It was a sham to make pancakes, to go to school plays.”
I was not able to move. I was not able to breathe. And then the stroke which fell on me.
Her natural father? He was going on writing letters during years. Rested, Wanted to come back, to reconnect. I threw away each one of them.”
My palms went sweaty, and I pushed the doorbell. Once Gary opened the door, and as soon as he looked at me, his smile disappeared.
Meant what you said, did you? I asked.
He stammered. It was a matter of talk. That is how men are…”
No, I interposed. You can not. You led me to think that you were concerned. In his letters you threw it away. You took a dream I never will.”
I drew the card out of my bag–the one which I had written so hopefully and lovingly. I let it fall upon the ground.
Put it with your bunch of lies, I said, and turned and walked away.
Mentally in shock, having not recovered yet after the betrayal, I asked to have the copy of the will of my mother. I was shocked by the words of the lawyer, “She left the house to you Jenna”. Sole beneficiary.”
Gary had not been mentioned.
Therefore I went back–with an eviction order. He opened a door very pale and silent. I stared in his face.
This house belong neither to you. It was not.”
He did not dispute. He set off and took his stuff. And when I saw him go I felt the burden of years fall away upon my shoulders.
I can imagine what the truth would have broken the heart of Mom. But I know she would be proud too. I am proud that I have learned to speak, that I have been ready to take back what had belonged to me, the house, of course, as well as my value in the world, my narrative, my purpose.