Daddy Was A Rolling Stone? No, He Was A Hoe

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I have daddy issues. It’s not something I often talk about- if I talk about it at all. They are so deep and go so far back that I couldn’t begin to untangle them. It surprises me that I’m choosing to blog about it. I wouldn’t have, if not for the Facebook request I received a few days ago.

It was a friend  request from a young man who I did not know. The only connection was that he has the same last name as my father’s side of the family. I added him not thinking anything of it. My father’s side is huge and extensive, with many aunts and uncles and cousins. I assumed he was a forgotten cousin. It’s been years since I’ve spent any real time with that side of the family.

However something was nagging at me. I didn’t know what it was but it was enough to cause me to call my mother and inquire about this young man.”He’s another one of your dad’s children” she said after I told her his name and described her to him, “By a woman who lived in the neighborhood, her parents where friends of your grandpa’s. He would be around your age. While I was pregnant with you there was a rumor going around that your dad had gotten another woman pregnant but I had never seen her or the child she had.” Twenty-eight years later we find out that the rumor was indeed true.

This one makes seven children that my father has, including me. Earlier this year I reconnected with my sister in pretty much the same way, through Facebook. I’m the oldest, I think. And the youngest is just seven or eight years old. It’s really a damn shame because it’s not as though he’s played a crucial role in raising any of his children. He was never a part of mine, even though he’s always lived less than twenty minutes away from my mother. Drugs and jail and women kept him too busy to look after his children but not too busy to make more. Damn shame.

It’s overwhelming to find out about brothers and sisters that you never knew existed. I never quite know how to feel about this things when they come up. Well…not entirely. It pisses me off that my father was so reckless. Bringing new lives into the world without any real intention of sticking around to help raise them.  But this isn’t new. These things happen every day.

I’ve long since recognized that I have some deep seeded resentment toward my father for the choices he’s made. Children he’s created that he never cared enough to stick around for. He never even tried to do better. Instead he leaves a trail of offspring who don’t even know each other, or him. Somehow that makes it worse. Birthdays, first days of school, proms, graduations, weddings, the birth of grandchildren-he missed all of that.

Nowadays I choose to have limited contact with my father. I spent my entire life without him and the important lessons I gained from him were a result of  his absence. As a woman now grown I don’t need him for anything. And even if I did it’s not as though he is in any position to provide me with them. I know that one of these days I will be at a place where I can begin to untangle all the issues related to my father.

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