Raising Children without a Parenting Manual
Deadbeat Dad
I never talk about him.
He has never been a part of my life, so quite naturally there has never been anything discuss. You can’t discuss something you don’t know, or to which you have had no exposure. That’s not a mask for hate or bitterness. It just is what it is.
So absent was he from my life that I have a high school friend who recently revealed she’d always assumed he died when I was a child.
But he didn’t die. And my parents didn’t divorce. There was no mourning, no loss.
I wondered of course, about the concept of father. About the individual who contributed to my birth. Other people at school had fathers. Where was mine?
I never did get a satisfactory answer, although I was promised that I would meet him when I was older. One day. When I was eighteen.
But “one day” came much sooner than expected. I suppose my family thought they were doing something good. They invited him to my fifth birthday party. My recollection of it – my excitement to see him turned suddenly to confusion and then fear. He tried to shove a crumpled up piece of paper ($100 bill) in my hand while instructing me not to tell my mother. Tangled up in the paper was a gold necklace with a pendant, with a pendant he insisted I read – “I’ll never STOP loving you”. I remember he had some terrible things to say about my mother, none of which I understood (or recall) but I’d had a tough enough childhood to be able to spot a liar. And here was one in front of me who wouldn’t let me go.
I screamed.
My mother came and reassured me quietly, releasing me and asking me to go upstairs to my room. She never raised her voice, but as I looked back over my shoulder relieved to get away, she looked very much like a tigress.
There were a handful of “second chances” which were similarly botched. Plans to collect me after school, except he forgot, and I sat there waiting as the school emptied and the nuns took me into the convent to give me a little dinner and try to reach my mother (pre-cell phone days). Or when he worked up a little underhanded plan where my grandmother would ask to keep me for the weekend, and hand me over to him when I got to her house. Little did she know he wouldn’t be at the house for the weekend, and instead I got to know his children and his new wife, who begged him to give up the partying for one weekend while “the child” was there.
I do not say this to vilify him.
He is not a bad man. In fact he is quite popular, and the life of the party.
But when 5 children via 4 different women choose not to have you in their life… chances are you’ve failed as a parent.
Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.
I am very much aware of the stereotype. And I am not the typical West Indian child abandoned by her father.
There’s no question I was denied.
He wanted the status of the white Canadian woman, and to claim his half-white baby. I was a complication to that plan. Not his child.
But it is no reflection on me.
That is his weakness, his failure, not mine.
I learned a long time ago not to feel sorry for myself. Oh sure there were times I cried my soul out trying to find answers that no-one could give. I cried along with Will in that episode of “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air” – do you know the one? I asked myself the same question he did (5:00). But even while I anguished over the question, I never said it out loud.
Some questions just have no good answer.
And besides what was I going to do with any answer? Carry it around on a billboard to prove to the world I was worth something despite that? I mean really, despite what? Despite him not choosing to be a man?
It is no reflection on me that my father chose not to be present in my life.
Let me say that again.
To the little girls out there who have never seen their father’s face. To those whose fathers have chosen to move on, leaving them behind. To those whose parents have lost sight of the precious lives to which they are beholden.
It is no reflection on you that your father is not a part of your life.
That is not who you are.
Those are the circumstances in which you find yourself.
And circumstance. Does not. Define you.
What you make of your circumstances does.
What you choose to make of your circumstances, is the substance of who you are.
I am blessed. I am surrounded by good friends, laughter and love.
It is what I choose to be.
Choose to be.
10 Responses to “Deadbeat Dad”
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About Me
A 30-ish mother of 3 and unintentional entrepreneur, I started my own IT Consultancy firm after layoffs at my old job. I balance the world of Corporate IT with my life as Manager of the education, health and well-being of my children.
Blogging from the Caribbean, I give tech advice to moms and write about raising 3 kids under 10, one of whom has been diagnosed with Aspergers.
i loved that episode of fresh prince. i remember watching it. just watching it now, i still think that is one of the best acting episodes that they did. will smith was amazing in it.
ok. this post was amazing. i am struggling right now with my youngest’s father. who calls when he has himself a pity party. gets everyone all riled up about coming to see her. me on the edge of sanity. everyone all discombobulated and then does. not. show. up. it is horrible. i feel so bad for her. but i am trying to be the bigger person here and not remind her that he is an ass. i do not tell her. so that she is not looking and waiting.
it just pisses me off. so bad. this post gave me some insight into how she must feel. and i am very happy to know that you are (as an adult) ok. i worry so much about her.
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