My dad walked away before I was born. So I was told. He wasn’t a deadbeat or irresponsible father. He was there for his other children. His “recognised or “legitimate” ones. For a long time I took the blame on myself without even realising it. I thought something was wrong with me. The rejection was personal. My mother loved me and was there in every way she could, but there was always that empty space she couldn’t fill. Where is my father? Why didn’t come for me? Will he ever come? Why doesn’t he love me?
Dear Father, this will probably surprise you (or maybe not) but I have always wondered what you looked like. I wonder why I was so obsessed with your looks. Maybe it’s because I grew up hearing from people who had met you, talk about how “I picked your nose, your complexion or whatever else pricked their fancy. Beyond all that however, I just wanted to be really sure you existed. I wish I could ask you so many questions. When I was a teenager and I heard about how you left my mum because she wouldn’t have an abortion, I was mad at you. Actually, I was livid.