I Have A Father, But He’s Not You

I was about 12 when I heard your name for the first time.

Playing a game of Monopoly in my grandparent’s living room, Samantha and I talked about our dads. Hers wasn’t in her life much. Mine was a hardworking mechanic that I loved with all my heart. And then, we talked about you. The one who technically is responsible for my existence in this world, despite your lack of wanting to acknowledge that.

“I heard mom say his name was Marvin.” She said quietly.

We rarely ever brought you up. I have two parents that love me, very much. I never wished to have any other, and I knew I was a very blessed little girl. I was also extremely blessed to know my biological mother: my mother’s sister. I was able to grow up around her, and my biological half siblings all of my life. Few people are lucky enough to grow up with both biological and adoptive families together. I had all of my pieces together my entire life.

It used to bother me, when I thought too much about it. Because I wondered why I wasn’t wanted by you. Why I wasn’t worth staying around for. Why you decided that whatever life you had going on was more important than a life you had helped start- mine.

It was hard to ever be too upset though. My father, the one who chose me, he was (and still is) everything a girl could ever hope for. He’s hardworking, dedicated, loving, and understanding. He has always done his best by me and for me-making sure I knew I was a valued and loved daughter. He tried to provide every opportunity to help me pursue my dreams, as well as teach me the value of working hard to get where I want to be in life.

You stayed in the back of my mind, though. I always wonder if I’ve ever seen you and not known it, because from what I’ve heard you still live in the same town. I wonder if I have ever crossed your mind, if you’ve ever thought about me, ever thought about reaching out to me, and then stopped because you know better. Or have you simply forgotten I exist, blocking me from your mind completely? I’ll never know.

But you know what? I’m doing alright with never knowing you. You chose to go do whatever it is that you’ve done with your life. My parents chose me. You chose to pretend you didn’t create a life, a life that holds some of your DNA and parts of you. My parents chose to love a little girl that didn’t come from them, and love her like she was their very own.

I don’t know where you are now. And even if I don’t know you, I still hope you have a good life. I hope maybe if you brought any more life into this world, before or after me, you chose to stick around. To be a man that a son or daughter can be proud of.

I hope that you somehow decided to be a great man.

Even if I never witness it for myself.