Merry Christmas Eve
For those who aren't gonna read behind the line break, merry Christmas eve!
I think this is the first time I have felt sufficiently melodramatic enough to want to actually get blitzed out of my mind for an evening. With nothing even remotely alcoholic in the house, I will settle for cola and pouring my heart out into the internet, if only because nobody else is conscious. As stated by my prior entry, I found my father on Facebook, in the wee hours of the morning. I feel like this should have made me... ecstatic. Twenty two years, not a whisper of communication; no father's day cards; no birthdays or Christmases(sp?). No phone numbers. No addresses. No social security number. No friends, no family, no grandparents I knew who could guide me to him. And then, thanks to the wonder of social networking, suddenly I have a picture of him set directly in front of me.
No, not just a picture; dozens of pictures. So many smiles. I could pull out my sketchbook and draw him right now.
I can see three kids. The eldest daughter is older than me; I think she was from his wife's prior marriage. She's already got a husband and a child of her own. Then there's the eldest son, who is maybe two or three years younger. My half-brother, then. And a little girl, only three -- a half sister. My grandmother looks good for her age. I was named after her.
They travel frequently. Hawaii. New York. Jamaica. Croatia. I can't help but wonder if I was ever in the same city as them without knowing it.
I have his smile, hair, eyes, and dimples. I wonder how tall he is. He's a little fat. I don't mind.
I don't know if the address I found is legit, so a six hour road trip to show up on his doorstep is probably out of the question. No phone number either; it has to be through Facebook. I hate that. It makes it seem so inconsequential, so easily ignored. I don't want him to ignore me.
I notice that he likes Law & Order and Pillars of the Earth, and feel myself desperately scrabbling to grasp this straw of connection. I like them too! I want to shout at his profile picture. We have those two shows and blood in common; surely that's enough! He also likes boats. I can support boats -- wait, what do I know about boats? They can go fast, or not. Both are nice. Maybe I shouldn't talk about boats. Ah, but wait, he's wearing blue; does that mean he likes that color? It has to, right? It's my favorite color, most days, maybe that's another point in my favor. No, he's wearing other colors too... something else then.
The littlest girl looks kind of adorable. I'm sure that's something we can all agree on. Maybe if I tell him his other children are lovely, he and his wife won't hate me.
I keep riffling through his wife's photo albums in hopes of finding something, anything, to give me any scrap of insight as to who he is. There is nothing. I keep looking at the crow's feet around his eyes and trying to deceive myself into believing that he's a kind man who would be overjoyed to have a long lost daughter sending him greetings.
I can manage it for a moment. I can imagine a hug after knocking on the door, being introduced to my half-siblings and his wife. But then I imagine him yelling at me for standing on his door step as his wife crosses her arms and waits for me to leave, wondering if she'll have to have the police remove the arrogant intruder at her threshold.
So I try to come up with ways to introduce myself so that I seem like the best person in the world to turn out to be a missing daughter. No criminal record; good grades; studying to be a therapist-- but what if he hates psychology? What if I'm unpatriotic for moving to Canada? Will he hate me for being more left than right? And sure, brag about what a goody two shoes I was as a child. I'm sure the gold stars I got in first grade will work wonders in my favor. And what about the arm? Let's face it, having random kids show up is bad enough without being... different. I've grown used to it, but how will he see it?
I'm... kind of a freak.
I do a quick skimming of my own pictures. None of them are too crazy -- they'll pass muster. Should I hide my artwork, maybe? Those could be construed as weird, since I don't have more normal sketches up for viewing on FB. Or maybe I should replace them with the best, least intimidating things I've made? Hm. Food for thought.
I've been so tense all day that my biceps ache. (Aren't I fun when I'm whiny?)
I briefly considered making a series of videos to attempt to introduce myself in a way that makes me more real. Like -- it's easy to delete a personal message, but what if he saw my face and heard my voice? Would it make him more likely to write me back? I imagined walking a camera around my home here, and then again in my apartment in Canada, introducing him to my sister and Dan and re-introducing him to my mom. I imagined talking at it for ages, pouring out my soul into how much I missed having a dad all of these years, who I've become, and how much I hope I can at least meet him once.
But then I realized it was probably not such a great idea. Besides, how would I like it if I did all that and still never heard back? It'd make the rejection more real, somehow. No matter what I do, no matter how golden I try to portray myself, no matter how great the lengths I go to, in the end, it's ultimately out of my control and, no matter what, I will never get those years of my childhood replaced by one where I had a father. I've imagined so many scenarios, so many potential routes, and all of them come up lacking for one very important reason:
I can't make him love me.
No matter how badly I wish I had a dad.
I think this is the first time I have felt sufficiently melodramatic enough to want to actually get blitzed out of my mind for an evening. With nothing even remotely alcoholic in the house, I will settle for cola and pouring my heart out into the internet, if only because nobody else is conscious. As stated by my prior entry, I found my father on Facebook, in the wee hours of the morning. I feel like this should have made me... ecstatic. Twenty two years, not a whisper of communication; no father's day cards; no birthdays or Christmases(sp?). No phone numbers. No addresses. No social security number. No friends, no family, no grandparents I knew who could guide me to him. And then, thanks to the wonder of social networking, suddenly I have a picture of him set directly in front of me.
No, not just a picture; dozens of pictures. So many smiles. I could pull out my sketchbook and draw him right now.
I can see three kids. The eldest daughter is older than me; I think she was from his wife's prior marriage. She's already got a husband and a child of her own. Then there's the eldest son, who is maybe two or three years younger. My half-brother, then. And a little girl, only three -- a half sister. My grandmother looks good for her age. I was named after her.
They travel frequently. Hawaii. New York. Jamaica. Croatia. I can't help but wonder if I was ever in the same city as them without knowing it.
I have his smile, hair, eyes, and dimples. I wonder how tall he is. He's a little fat. I don't mind.
I don't know if the address I found is legit, so a six hour road trip to show up on his doorstep is probably out of the question. No phone number either; it has to be through Facebook. I hate that. It makes it seem so inconsequential, so easily ignored. I don't want him to ignore me.
I notice that he likes Law & Order and Pillars of the Earth, and feel myself desperately scrabbling to grasp this straw of connection. I like them too! I want to shout at his profile picture. We have those two shows and blood in common; surely that's enough! He also likes boats. I can support boats -- wait, what do I know about boats? They can go fast, or not. Both are nice. Maybe I shouldn't talk about boats. Ah, but wait, he's wearing blue; does that mean he likes that color? It has to, right? It's my favorite color, most days, maybe that's another point in my favor. No, he's wearing other colors too... something else then.
The littlest girl looks kind of adorable. I'm sure that's something we can all agree on. Maybe if I tell him his other children are lovely, he and his wife won't hate me.
I keep riffling through his wife's photo albums in hopes of finding something, anything, to give me any scrap of insight as to who he is. There is nothing. I keep looking at the crow's feet around his eyes and trying to deceive myself into believing that he's a kind man who would be overjoyed to have a long lost daughter sending him greetings.
I can manage it for a moment. I can imagine a hug after knocking on the door, being introduced to my half-siblings and his wife. But then I imagine him yelling at me for standing on his door step as his wife crosses her arms and waits for me to leave, wondering if she'll have to have the police remove the arrogant intruder at her threshold.
So I try to come up with ways to introduce myself so that I seem like the best person in the world to turn out to be a missing daughter. No criminal record; good grades; studying to be a therapist-- but what if he hates psychology? What if I'm unpatriotic for moving to Canada? Will he hate me for being more left than right? And sure, brag about what a goody two shoes I was as a child. I'm sure the gold stars I got in first grade will work wonders in my favor. And what about the arm? Let's face it, having random kids show up is bad enough without being... different. I've grown used to it, but how will he see it?
I'm... kind of a freak.
I do a quick skimming of my own pictures. None of them are too crazy -- they'll pass muster. Should I hide my artwork, maybe? Those could be construed as weird, since I don't have more normal sketches up for viewing on FB. Or maybe I should replace them with the best, least intimidating things I've made? Hm. Food for thought.
I've been so tense all day that my biceps ache. (Aren't I fun when I'm whiny?)
I briefly considered making a series of videos to attempt to introduce myself in a way that makes me more real. Like -- it's easy to delete a personal message, but what if he saw my face and heard my voice? Would it make him more likely to write me back? I imagined walking a camera around my home here, and then again in my apartment in Canada, introducing him to my sister and Dan and re-introducing him to my mom. I imagined talking at it for ages, pouring out my soul into how much I missed having a dad all of these years, who I've become, and how much I hope I can at least meet him once.
But then I realized it was probably not such a great idea. Besides, how would I like it if I did all that and still never heard back? It'd make the rejection more real, somehow. No matter what I do, no matter how golden I try to portray myself, no matter how great the lengths I go to, in the end, it's ultimately out of my control and, no matter what, I will never get those years of my childhood replaced by one where I had a father. I've imagined so many scenarios, so many potential routes, and all of them come up lacking for one very important reason:
I can't make him love me.
No matter how badly I wish I had a dad.