Fathers Day post mortem.

I never know whether and where to use an apostrophe with Fathers Day, Mothers Day, etc. I asked the internet and the internet told me there’s no definitive answer. I thought the argument that the day does not belong to fathers but instead celebrates them makes the most sense, plus I think apostrophes are abused enough as is, so I’m going to omit the apostrophe entirely and sidestep the issue of singular vs. plural possession. I already have enough of that in my life.

Anyhow, yesterday was Fathers Day, the day we thank the Hallmark Gods for giving us fathers to send cards to. I didn’t send a card to anybody. I called my a-dad. A-mom said he’d gone to Pittsburgh. I left a message. Happy Fathers Day, Dad. I normally blow off the holiday, since it’s so close to his birthday. We just sort of do a combo thing. But since I’d just told him about finding my natural mother’s identity I figured–well, actually my wife figured–I owed him a call just so he knew we were still related in some way. I have some issues with a-dad but I really do love him and I want him to know that.

It’s hard not to think about being adopted on Fathers Day, especially when I’ve been thinking about it so much lately anyhow. Driving by a Wendy’s sign, “Buy a frosty and support adoption!” No, thanks.

Luckily, being a dad myself I got to focus on that part of Fathers Day, instead. My little girl gave me a card. She picked it out herself and wrote her name in it in big 3 year-old crayon letters. She was so excited about giving it to me. I hate getting cards but I love this one and I will keep it forever.

I have yet to ask my n-aunt about n-dad’s identity. I am very hesitant to bring it up. She even talked about mom’s husband as if he were my father, briefly, until I asked her about it directly–I had never thought he was, so I was surprised–and she said in rather hushed tones that no, he wasn’t. So it’s a tough subject for her, and I’d say it’s pretty likely that she knows very little about my dad given that mom was living pretty far away from the rest of her family when I was conceived.

There’s a pretty good chance he’s still alive. That kinda stops me right there, though. I don’t think I’m ready to find another grave. I’ve only barely started to recover from the first. From the non-identifying information, he’d be 67 or so now. A pretty good chance of being alive, but not overwhelming odds.

Those odds aren’t going to get any better, but even if he’s alive I’m not sure I want to find him, just yet. Maybe not at all. I really don’t know, and it’s something I just can’t think about right now. I wanted my mom to tell me about him, and then I could decide whether or not I wanted to find him. But she can’t, now.


2 Responses to “Fathers Day post mortem.”

  1. 1 elizabeth June 19, 2007 at 2:34 am

    I wish your Mom could have told you about him too. So sad for you both. Thanks for sharing your story.

  2. 2 Valentina July 5, 2007 at 9:17 am

    I don’t know if you’ve yet asked her.

    I waited about three months before I asked, but in your case, you’d be asking your aunt. I don’t recall how long after finding her it took me to muster enough curiosity and strength again to turn to him. I knew she held the key and I didn’t want to harm my chances. The obsession returned, and the find was very quick. It was an incredibly emotional year.

    Gather your support where you can.

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