Daddy's little girl?

My sister contacted me this week to let me know that they were going to be coming upstate (i.e. Ithaca) the second week in April and that she wanted to see me. I'd love nothing more. I miss her like crazy and feel like I'm missing huge portions of my three nephew's lives. The only potential issue? My father will be there too and she was concerned for me that it will be uncomfortable.

Why you ask? See, my mother and father dated when my mom was around 21-22, and although she wouldn't say it today, I think he was the great love of her life. She adored him, and you can almost see flickers of it when she speaks of him now. My mother never hid anything about him from me, but she was always sparse with details and only provided them when I asked. I honestly didn't ask a lot of questions about him. I just assumed he wasn't there and that was just the way it was. When I hit 15 and started dealing with all the typical teenage angst however, more questions came up in my head.

Caren, the aforementioned sister, was about 5 at the time of my conception. Our father and her mother had met in High School and were, from what I can gather, pushed into marriage when she became pregnant. It was the late 60's. It's what you were supposed to do. It didn't last long however, and it was the first of several relationships he's been in and messed up.

With my mom, I don't doubt he loved her, but when he found out she was pregnant, he apparently thought it was too much and he took off. After getting to know my sister's in my 20's, I get now why this was perhaps an excellent thing for me. He was never a part of my life and although I did find out later he occasionally attended functions, like concerts and my graduation, I never knew he was there. I just assumed that having another child was too overwhelming for him. I found out later that 6 years after I was born, he was again married and had fathered another daughter, Megan. Could you see why this would lead to years of me feeling abandoned and unworthy of proper male attention?

When I was 21, after doing some research and psyching myself up A LOT, I showed up on his doorstep with my boyfriend at the time, Aaron. He was not home, but my little sister, then 15, answered the door. There was no denying we were related. I didn't know she existed. I am not even sure exactly what I said, but I asked for him and her mother came to the door. I think everyone was a little... um, flustered isn't a good enough word. I don't really remember what happened but I was told that he wasn't home and she'd let him know I had stopped by.

They lived in Ithaca. I was not aware of this when, at the age of 10, I decided that when I was of college age that this was where I would go. Not neighboring Cornell, but Ithaca College. I just knew. At 10. My grandparent's remember the day as distinctly as I do. It's like it was destiny or something. We were driving through taking the scenic route back from a trip to Long Island to see my uncle. My grandparent's joked about taking an early college tour and we drove through the campus. I was mesmerized. Something in my little head just made it fit.

So, while still attending Ithaca College and within a week of my stopping at my father's house, I got an e-mail from my older sister, Caren. She as trying to be as delicate as possible, but I could instantly tell she was sincere in wanting to know me. She felt a piece of her was missing as much as I did. We agreed to meet at a Dunkin' Donuts in downtown Ithaca and take a trip together to Boston, where she was living at the time. I'm not exactly sure why I agreed to go, with a complete stranger, to a strange city, with no connection to the home and family I knew, but I took the chance. I'm so glad I did.

I remember very little of that drive other than that there was not one moment of silence. I remember very little of that trip, other than meeting my future brother-in-law, and her asking me to be in her wedding the following January. I don't even remember too much of that summer and fall spent living in Boston in poverty, working a dangerous job that (did I mention?) paid CRAAAAP, and being able to enjoy very little that the city had to offer. It was not a great time in my life.

After several months living in Boston, I returned to Ithaca. I lived in a tiny studio apartment and had several part-time jobs, hanging out on campus with my boyfriend, who was now a senior at Ithaca. It was about two months before the wedding that my father finally contacted me and suggested we meet prior to the wedding, just to make it more "comfortable" for both of us.

Aaron drove me to this little Chinese place in town and I went in on my own. We talked about a lot, but very little of consequence. I drank so much tea, I am not sure how my bladder did not explode and how I am still not living off the caffeine high. I remember thinking he was very charming and likable, but I could not connect him as being a part of me. The physical resemblance was undeniable, but emotionally I just could not see him as "my father." I still can't.

The first meeting happened. It was awkward. I knew I could get through my sister's wedding though because I adored her instantly. My momentary discomfort in confronting a family I did not know was worth it to be there for such a monumental moment in her life since I had been forced to miss every other one.

The wedding itself was hilarious for me. My paternal grandparents did not know I existed. Most of my aunts and uncles did not know I did either. I don't recall how many of them there were, but it seemed like a lot. My brother-in-law's family did know who I was, and since most of them speak Spanish, I overheard several conversations during the day where people were pointing out who I was and basically what a clusterfuck Al was marrying into. Yeah, I spoke Spanish then folks. I understood almost everything. Fun fun. When we were doing the receiving line, almost everyone commented on how familiar I looked and had we met before? I was standing between both of my sisters. Nope, you've never seen me before. Never.

I wish I had pictures to post to show how alike we look. For any of the ways we look different, the ways we are similar is completely striking. Any straight man with eyes would be able to tell we were related within seconds of meeting us. This was weird for me because my two youngest sisters, my mother's with her first and only husband, my former step-dad, look absolutely nothing like me. I really do know who I look like now, and it's not my mom.

My one aunt, I can't remember her name but my mom said that my father always said she was his favorite, cornered me in the bathroom. She said she did know who I was and she was so pleased to meet me and sad it had taken so long. She also said some things about my dad and her own anger that the entire family was deprived of the opportunity to get to know me. She said all of this without knowing my grandmother was in the bathroom stall. She exited the stall and never said a word to me. And to this day never has. I felt like the family secret and it wasn't even my family. I didn't know any of these people and I still felt like I wasn't good enough to be a part of it.

So the years have gone on with very few and far between occasions where I have seen my father. They are always tense events where we never quite know what to say to one another. It got slightly easier after Ryan was born. I'm not sure exactly why. Maybe it was that I relaxed a little after having him. Maybe he realized he was getting older and that missing out on his grandchild's life was unacceptable (but his daughter's life was?). Maybe he woke up and realized how badly he had screwed up. I don't really know.

When Ry was 6 months old, my sister and Al rented a cabin on Cayuga Lake and invited all of us down to spend a few days with them. It was a great trip. The unencumbered access to my sisters was awesome. The quiet time for reflection on our parallel lives was life altering. But what I remember most about the trip was the last 2 minutes. I had gotten the car packed up, got Ryan calmed in his car seat, and was ready to head on my way out. My father had spent the last night with us with his new wife (his third, if you're keeping track, and I honestly can't even remember her name). He asked if he could walk Ryan and I to the car. I agreed. He carried Ryan.

This is my paraphrasing but this is sort of how the conversation went:
Him: There's something I wanted to say to you for a long time.
Me: Ok.
Him: (with several stopped attempts) I want you to know I'm sorry and explain why.
Me: Ok.
Him: I really am sorry and there is no real explanation.
Me: I know.
Him: Can you ever forgive me?
Me: I already have.
Cue sappy music and teary hug goodbye.

That was the last time I saw him, almost 4 years ago. When my sister told me he would be there in two weeks, it was the first time I was not instantly filled with internal conflict and grief for the father I never knew. He still seems like someone I will never really know or connect with. He no longer makes me completely uncomfortable, but he'll never be my dad. I think I have forgiven him and can be thankful that I wasn't exposed to his dysfunction for my entire life. One barely functioning parent was bad enough, two would have possible broken me with no opportunity to begin to repair the pieces.

My sister and I have several times questioned whether the propensity to screw up our relationships and our general sense of discontent with the world is hereitary. Can we really blame it all on him? It would sure make me feel better. Have I really forgiven him? Am I really past all of the issues I have that possibly began from having no real father in my life? Sadly, I am fairly certain I'm not. I also know I will be having to work through this in order to appreciate all the blessings I do have in my life. I do not want to repeat my father's mistakes.