To the father that stepped up
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(this is an old post that I’ve edited lightly with an update at the end)
Growing up, my mother’s second husband was the closest thing to a father I ever had. She married him when I was one and it was only because of him that I saw her what little bit I did as a young child. (I’ve now learned that my grandmother would only allow me to visit if he was going to be there to supervise.) I remember spending a night at their trailer once and my grandmother said he was the type to get on the floor to play with dolls together. I don’t remember much about the visit except my mother showing me how water sprayed when it hit the spoon while she did the dishes. Even though I didn’t live with them, and she didn’t stay married to him long, he stayed in my life until my mid-20s. My mother remarried when I was 6 and that husband actively did not like children.
But I still had my step-father. He worked at the grocery store, stocking shelves. When I was little and we’d go to the store, I’d take off looking for him. I’d talk to him while he loaded groceries and blocked the shelves. He was happy to talk about anything and everything and was a good listener.
He never remarried and he never had kids of his own. When I was in my teens, he and my mother tried to make a go of it again. I was thrilled! He was a good guy, had a job, wasn’t a criminal or drug addict, and didn’t hate kids. They didn’t work out, again, but he never abandoned me.
He wasn’t like most men though. I think most men would have had nothing to do with their ex-wife’s kid after the divorce. Then, after she burned him a second time, we only got closer.
He took me to the movies a lot when I was a teenager. He would pick me up from my grandmother’s house in his little grey Mazda truck. I’d usually be outside listening for the sound of him driving up the street. We’d have pizza at Pizza Hut, then go see a comedy. I think we saw all of the Ernest T movies from the ’90s. One time we sat in the wrong theatre, but stayed to watch the movie anyway. I think that one was Casper when we’d meant to see Major Payne. The next time we made sure we were in the right theatre and saw Major Payne. He was like that, open to whatever, going with the flow.
I’d call him when I needed someone to talk to. If he wasn’t home, I’d try his shop phone number. He liked to go out there and tinker around and I think that’s where he played acoustic guitar. He patiently tried to teach me how to play, but it never stuck. Sometimes we’d go a while without talking and when we did reconnect, he’d say we were like that. We could just pick back up where we left off.
He took me to see Independence Day with my friends. He drove all the way to the theater to drop me off, then came back to pick me up again, just so I could spend time with my high school friends.
He opened up new worlds for me. He took me to the book store, something I barely even knew existed. He bought me a VCR. He bought me my first laptop when I was 17. He took me to buy my first car when I was 19. He cosigned and helped me with the payments. My grandmother was angry at him for doing that, but he did it and as far as I know, he never apologized for helping me get a reliable car.
He came to my wedding and then my college graduation and he was so proud, just like if he were my actual father.
A year or so after I married, he remarried. I knew his new wife because we had all worked at the same grocery store when I was a teenager. I was a cashier and she worked on the health and beauty aisle.
My memory is faded now, but I don’t think I was invited to their wedding. It was a small affair, I guess. Afterwards, I got a card with a photo of them, which I still have. We still stayed in touch some, but not as much. She has sons and I guess they were busy with work. I was married, busy with graduate school, and we just didn’t talk as much.
We haven’t spoken in over 15 years now. I couldn’t tell you our last phone conversation, when or what it was about. I searched for him in my email and I see that I emailed him several times, but he didn’t respond. One was a birthday email to him in March, another was responding to a voicemail he left a week or so after I had my first baby a few months later. My last email to him was thanking him for a gift card he’d sent around that time. I’ve been on ancestry, building my family tree, and I found him. As far as I can tell, he’s still married and still living at the same house.
I’ve been pondering for weeks if I should write him a letter. Could we pick back up again where we left off, even 15 years later? Is that just a fantasy from someone who has no family? Would he ignore me because I’m not really his daughter? Would he be angry? Some part of me sees that neither of us is getting younger and that I should reach out.
I don’t know what to do. It’s tempting to do nothing and just hold on to the memories.
Update: I did send a letter and the first one came back as undeliverable. I tried again after the holidays and a few days later, he called me. I was too afraid to answer the call, in case he was mad at me for contacting him, and let it go to voicemail. We have been talking since then, nearly every day, usually by text. We’ve talked for hours on the phone and over facetime. He’s “met” my youngest kid and texted my husband on holidays and his birthday. He asks about everyone every day. One of us will say “good morning” and we text throughout the day until the evening. We talk a lot about life and discuss the past, trying to make sense of everything. He even mailed me all the photos he had from my childhood and I’ve been working on labeling those to pass on to my kids.
