I was barely alive when he left. I was only told about him like he was a storybook. I imagined what he looked like and what could be his type of thing. I assumed he would probably be like me. My mom always looked miserable when I asked her about him.
“John, get busy sometimes, will you? ”
Those were her daily words to get me off her shoulders pestering her about him.
“My friends at school ask me about him all the time and I always tell them he’s out of town just like you told me to. But everyone knows I don’t even know who he is”.
“Why don’t you tell them to mind their business!”
I had a shattered mood. I hopped up to my room and locked the door behind me. I was only 10 and I secretly kept the picture I stole from my mom’s room that shows the faces of a man and my mom who I assumed must be my dad. I talk to the picture every day explaining how I missed him and wished he never left us. I spoke with the picture like he was right there, and I didn’t care, I told him I hope to see him one day in my life.
On my 11th birthday, I decided to write a letter unknowingly to my mom. I wanted to at least try.
It’s me John, your son. I was told you’re my dad. And the fact that I feel you around me sometimes makes me wish you were here with me. It’s my 11th birthday next week Saturday. Will you make it? I’d be waiting for your response. I love you.
I went straight to the postal office and gave the address I copied at the back of his picture with my mom that I stole. My dad never did show up, and this continued till I turned 25, I gave up being his son and forgave him at least to be free with my mind.
I had only guessed that sometimes not all parents stay in our life. I accepted the forever state that I was born without a dad. I appreciated my mom, at least she stayed and appreciated my existence. My daughter is almost three, and I can’t imagine me leaving her side.
Of course, the repetition of an ugly history is an error.