Father Day was my way of going to thank the man who came into my life when my real father left. I brought a sentimental card, my mother lemon bar recipe and a decade of thanks. What I didn t anticipate was crying my eyes out and being devastated by the reality that I did not anticipate.
I was 15 when my mother got married to Gary. My dad was gone when I was an infant, and up until my adulthood, I had only had Mom and I. When she brought Gary home, and I did not know what to think. But he was forgiving, tolerant, one who always repaired broken lamps and chairs and toys about the house, one who came to school plays and Sunday morning pancake breakfasts. I never addressed him as Dad, yet deep down inside of me I wondered whether it would ever happen.
He did not impose a connection. He was around in an unobtrusive, steadfast, considerate sort of way. Two years ago when Mom died of cancer, we supported one another. Not too close, but sufficiently. That would be sufficient to keep in touch.
At 25, now residing in another state, the Father is a graphic designer) I have decided that it was time to make this emotional circle complete on Father Day. Just to say thank you. I made lemon bars, got a book about WWII that he had previously recommended and sent him a card with all the things I had never told him. I wrote, You were not my biological father but you appeared. You stayed. You mattered.”
Nervous yet hopeful, that is what I felt when I came to the house I grew up in. At the porch I stopped and heard through the open window, Gary talking on the phone-laughing.
He never loved her, said he. Remained on account of the house. No mortgage, free rent. That is it in a nutshell.”
I froze. I was chilled to the heart. And he laughed another time. And the child? It is just part of the bargain. Baked pancakes, visited school plays- why none of it was serious.”
I could not move. I was not able to breathe. Then came the strike which felled me.
Her biological father? Years during which he written letters. Was eager to go back, reunion. I threw all of them out.
I knocked the door, trembling hands. As Gary opened the door, his face dropped with the sight of me.
You said so? You meant it? I asked.
He stammered. It was mere talk. You understand fellows…”
No, I interruption. Dare you not. You led me to believe that you cared. You burnt the letters of my father. You robbed me of an opportunity that I cannot have again.”
The card I had written with love and hope went into my bag. I laid it on the floor.
I said, putting it in with your other tall stories, and left.
I still felt numb with the betrayal weeks down the line and I requested a copy of my mothers will. It was a shocking statement of the lawyer; she left the house to me, Jenna. Sole beneficiary.”
Gary had not been mentioned.
So I came back,–with an eviction notice. His door opened, and without speaking he was pale. I was gazing full at him.
It is not your house. It never was.”
He did not dispute. He up and away. And when he was going, the burden of years was taken away off of my shoulders.
I understand that Mom would have been devastated by the reality. But I know she would be proud too. I was proud because I had my voice, I was proud because I got what was mine, not just the house, but my sense of value, who I was, what I had to tell.
