My Two Dads

"And it's true we named our children after towns that we've never been to." - Modest Mouse, Black Cadillacs

After nearly 30 years, I have my biological father's name. A week ago my mother spoke it to me over the phone. She was somewhere in the Mall of Americas in Minneapolis. I sat on my couch, X-Men Legends in still motion on the television screen. We'd only discussed him once before. On this day, we spoke freely. Well, she did. I sat in silence as questions rose to the surface. I said, "interesting" a lot and then let the quiet re-enter the conversation so that she would continue. He played football. He is older than my mother, though not by much. He has been in and out of jail most of his adult life as far as she knows but she doesn't know much. When my dad adopted me officially in 1989 they had to satisfy a court requirement and attempt to inform him of what was happening. At that time, the information they had for him suggested he was in California but no one was really sure. In any event, he never responded, never stood for me as his own, and thus, in the eyes of the law as it had been in my heart, my dad, Kevin, became my dad. This other man, the one I share genetic history with, has spread his seed freely through his life. I know I have at least 3 half-siblings (but not their names) and, most likely, several more.

After that conversation, my sister and I left for New York. The original purpose of the trip was to be with my dad's mother, Modear, for her 75th birthday. My dad's entire immediate family would be there. My uncles and aunts, their children, and us. My mother and I spent a lot of time together when she and my dad arrived, 4 days after my sister and I had been in the city, and talked about my dad. I said some things about him that I had never said before. Things that maybe I've taken for granted throughout my life with him as my father.

"He's a good man. Honorable," I said. Honorable? I'd never said that about anyone before in my life. It feels archaic. It's a statement made about the men of Camelot or in Roland's world on his quest for The Dark Tower. Roland and his ka-tet say I have forgotten the face of my father when their actions cause offense. But, as I watched my dad this week and the love he has for his family, all of us, I felt it. He is an honorable man. He wants to do good things. To do what is right.

We all gathered in a Chinese restaurant for Modear's party. She sat in the center of our private room as her family shared their feelings about her. My dad was second to speak. He talked of her commitment to him and his craft, her struggles with alcohol after she left his father and how she continued to care for them. How she kept him at the piano when he hated it til there was a point when he loved it more than just about anything in the world. He paused. His voice cracked. He teared up. We all did.

"I am so happy that we are all here to share this with you and that you are here to share this with us. The life you've had, you shouldn't be here but your will, your spirit, has kept you here with us. God has greater plans than even we know. I hope that I have shown you and can continue to show you how much I love you," my dad said.

He remembered the face of his mother.

And I remember the face of my father.

Comments

[a.]

I think this piece is truly beautiful.

[ej]

That, my man, is absolutely awesome.

[darren]

that was a great post...thank you.

[courtney]

awesome.

[Emily]

Okay - please don't be offended at me not commenting on the nature of your post or the other stuff - for lack of a better word - within it...because I just wanted to mention how much it rocks that you can make reference to The Dark Tower series. It really annoys me when people dismiss King as some horror author. They are my favorite books by King. In fact, I sometimes wonder if I'm not holding out for some Roland-type man to swagger into my life.

I can honestly say that one of the most time-stopping moments in my reading career happened while reading the Dark Tower series. (i'm really sound like a geek now, but i don't mind) Roland walked into a saloon...and you have these images of the gunslingers and the big wooden bar and the gas lamps on the walls..and the man at the piano. But he was playing Hey Jude. How crazy is that? Okay. Anyhow. Thanks for posting...it makes my day a little brighter.

[Liz]

It's Liz here, the middle-aged white lady from California. Dear heart, that was a lovely and touching tribute to your father. I've bookmarked it and next time I hear some adoption ignoramous talk about how hurtful adoption is to the child I'l send them to read you.

Peace and joy to you.

[George]

This is a rewarding path you've taken; may you pursue it mo' further.

[James]

Thank you Jason. This reminds me just how special my adoptive father was in my life. When I was home recently, my stepmother gave me a box of his old recipes that she was going throw out. He inspired so many great things in my life like music and cooking. I pursued finding my birth mother years ago but stopped because it offended my stepmother. Now, 20 years laters, I may pursue this task again since there are more resources available now for finding birth parents.

Now that you know your father's name, will you attempt to find him or is just knowing his name enough to satisfy your curiousity?

[Shell]

I agree with everyone else. That was beautiful.

[JJH]

This is a truly amazing experience. Thank you for sharing it with us.