My mom was a single Irish party-girl, and my father was a Filipino immigrant with a wife and two and a half (one on the way) children back home in the islands.
Their one-night tryst resulted in my existence. My mother discovered she was pregnant, told my father, and he hotfooted it back to the Phillipines without a backward glance.
20 years later, here I am. A disgustingly insecure mess of a female, with all sorts of self esteem issues and prior traumas, which I attribute entirely to the absent father syndrome. Daddy didn't love me, why would anyone else?
...Total exagerration. I'm pretty fucked up, but not quite THAT bad, and there are plenty of contributing factors to my insanity. But in all honesty, the deadbeat Dad thing does have a lot to do with it, and I struggled for years to get past it.
In 2001 I paid an astronomical amount of money for one of those internet people search things to find it. It returned to me several addresses and a phone number. The phone number was disconnected, so I wrote a letter to the last known address. It went unreturned, and unresponded to.
I put him as far out of mind as I could. And by that I mean I only thought about him twice a day instead of four times.
This past summer, in the middle of my work day, I bought a similar background report. Same addresses. Different phone number. I called. On a whim. A woman answered. I asked for him. She told me he was still sleeping. I hung up on her and cried at my desk for twenty minutes.
I called my house about 7 times trying to get a hold of Martyr Mom. I spend most of my waking hours avoiding her, but that day, she was the only person I wanted to talk to. The little girl inside me was screaming I WANT MY MOMMY! To her credit, Martyr Mom was uncharacteristically sane and supportive that day. She told me to call back. Boyfriend told me to call back. Friends told me to call back. I called back.
"Is ___ there?"
"Hang on."
"Ok."
Dad comes on the line.
"Hello?"
"Is this ___? ___? that used to work with ____ _____ (my mom)?"
"Yes, who is this?"
His accent is almost indistinguishable, but his english is perfect.
"I'm her daughter. I'm your daughter."
-click-
...No, he didn't hang up on me. MY STUPID CELL PHONE DIED. DIED RIGHT THEN AND THERE DURING THE MOST IMPORTANT CONVERSATION OF MY ENTIRE FREAKING LIFE!
Sobbing, I borrowed the phone of a Russian girl I'm friendly with at work. I dialed back, and he answered again. I again explained who I was, and how I came to exist.
The thickest, most painful, anxiety-ridden silence I've ever suffered in my life ensued. A thoughtful hmming buzzed through the phone. And then, a deep breath, as if a scathing, hateful dialogue was about to be unleashed.
"Really. Well...How are you? How old are you? When's your birthday? You have a baby? How old is he? What's his name? How are you? Are you married? How was your life?"
Through hysterical tears I answered all his questions, and then agreed to hang up and email him pictures of myself and my son.
Over the weekend it was agreed that a DNA test was in order. He suggested that since my birthday was coming, I come out to L.A. to meet, visit, and do the test. I told him I couldn't come for my birthday, no way could I get the money together in time. He offered to split the expenses. I said fine. We made plans. A week later, he bought the ticket outright, and told me not to worry about it.
My mother's family (Martyr Mom and cousin aside) told me not to go. That it's not fair that I had to go all the way out there. I shut them up with a "Uh, HELLO? Free trip to Los Angeles? I'd do that for a freaking poptart, let alone a whole new family."
So I went.
I got off the plane at LAX and right then and there decided that no, no no this trip was NOT a good idea and I WANNA GO HOME. But alas, a trip across the country is not quite a trip to McDonald's, where you can change your mind at the last second with a simple "Hmm. No, don't feel like cheeseburgers today." I couldn't exactly say "You know what? I don't really feel like getting a dad right now. Maybe tomorrow."
So I ventured to baggage claim, our designated meeting spot.
He was there, with a trolley for my bags, and a sign bearing my name. He hugged me. Asked about my flight. Yadda yadda. He was nice, polite, friendly. He likes people and he likes asking questions. We chatted as we went sightseeing.
I liked him and felt comfortable with him. Overall though, I was entirely impressed. Not that he wasn't nice or perfectly polite or warm or anything...just. I don't know. It wasn't as excited as I thought. That night, I met several of my cousins, their husbands and wives, and their children. I melted right in. They were warm, and loud, and welcoming. They talked with me and around me and over me as if I'd been there the last twenty years. I looked like them. They yelled at me for being too skinny. I loved them. They already loved me.
The next day My father took me and two of my male cousins to Six Flags. We had an amazingly fun time, and I got really close with both of my cousins. That night I went to see some of my Irish family that's out in California. I got drunk, had fun, but was anxious to return to my father's family. We spent the day at my aunt's house. I met so many people I'm still having trouble keeping names and faces straight. I sang karaoke for two hours with my youngest aunt, who has Down's Syndrome. My cousin's bought me birthday presents and took me bowling. By the time I left on Saturday night, I felt the need to have a good long cry.
My father intimated that he knew the DNA test would come back positive. He told me a little about how he was raised without HIS parents, and how he left his other 3 daughters in the Phillipines with their mother. He seemed sad and remorseful. I was sad and introspective. I was happy. I was angry. I felt more emotions than I knew I was capable of, and let's face it, I'm a hyperemotional person, so that's saying a lot.
On the flight home, ascending over Los Angeles, I felt a vague sense of loss. I felt more at home in California than I ever have in my city. I would miss it, and the wheels were turning in my head with plans to return.
A week passed. The DNA test came back positive.
I spoke to two of my sisters. I love them. I want them here, and we're looking into VISA sponsorship to get them here. I keep missing my middle sister, the time difference makes it rough.
I email my Dad. He emails me back when he has time. I call him on occassion. He makes time to talk to me. I miss my aunts and uncles. I make fun of my cousins about the Raiders sucking. Big time.
I don't feel that much different. I sort of hoped it would be this automatic thing where suddenly I'm normal and healthy and don't have crazy absent parent issues. Hah, didn't exactly go down like that. But it's sort of like I was a puzzle with a bunch of pieces missing. Now I found the pieces, and I'm working on the glue to stick 'em all back together. It sounds cliched, but it's true.
posted by China Doll @ 9:00 AM
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