A purple ice-cream cake topped with miniature ice-cream cones of my favorite flavors sits in front of me, with 18 pink candles flickering various shades of orange, yellow, red, and blue. I stare at the cake getting lost in the colors of the ice cream and candles as they melt into each other, and ponder what my birthday wish will be this year and whether I should make one at all, since they never come true anyhow. Whooo — with a powerful gust of air from my lungs the candles are out, and my birthday wish has left the realm of my universe and entered the real universe to be decided by fate. Reentering reality, I pick up the knife sitting on the right side of the cake and make the first slice into the semi-frozen cake, and symbolically into my adult life. I wonder if this birthday will be any different from the rest and if the same thing I have been wishing since I was a little girl will finally be realized. In my house the ritual is first the cake and then the presents, and as soon as we have our fill of cake we move on to the next thing.
 Presents lost their luster a long time ago. The moment I realized that the one thing I really wanted would never be found in a box, I ceased to be excited by the prospect of mountains of perfectly wrapped presents with bows atop them and meaningless items within. I did not want material things; I wanted to meet the man who made my shoulders broad, my arms long, my hair dark and me so short tempered. I know he would never be in a pile of birthday presents stacked to the ceiling or underneath a Christmas tree neatly wrapped like I had always hoped. If I wanted him, I had to find him. I did not have the luxury of being raised with both of my parents, but my mother did an excellent job of instilling in me a strong sense of self. She allowed me to grow up with the knowledge of where I came from and whom I descended from. She could not however show me everything. In order for me to really know myself as I entered the adult world I would have to know both halves.

My presents this year were the same old thing I always get: a few books, some clothes, CDs, and of course money. I thanked everyone for their presents, as is customary, and then without a word to anyone, I locked myself in my room, sat at my computer, and began looking for airline tickets to Amsterdam. I was going to see my father.

For the next few days I feverishly ran around the city with the intention of returning every gift I had received until I had enough money to buy a ticket out of the States. I made my rounds to Nordstroms, Macy’s, and a few boutiques in the area adding up my money as I went along. I had calculated that I needed six hundred dollars to make it there and back, since my family is notorious for buying overpriced and useless gifts I thought that earning the money by returning gifts would be simple. At the end of my second day of returning gifts, I had exceeded my goal by $73.01. Now it was time to tell my mother my plan. My mother always gets home from work at exactly 6:15, so I decided I would be ready to greet her at the door with ticket in hand and bags packed.

I sat anxiously in my living room waiting for her arrival, and then I heard her characteristic stomping up the stairs and the jingling of her keys as she went forward to unlock the door. I leaped up and bounded to the door like a puppy that has been alone all day in the house waiting for its owner to return. As the door opened and the outside light gently filtered into the entryway I suddenly got nervous. What would she think? Would she think that I was running away and abandoning her or that I did not love her? I forgot about these questions as she stood in front of me with a perplexed expression, politely asking me where I thought I was going. I told her firmly to see my father, and instantly she looked crushed. My heart sank when I began to realize how I had hurt my mother. Impulsively I promised that I would not go. Although she had tears in her eyes she embraced me and whispered in my ear, “Honey I understand, you need to go.” In that moment I saw that my mother was not invincible and that she was not immune to hurt, and I finally understood the many sacrifices she had made for my brother and I. In that moment my mother became almost saintly, and I began to see her as not just my mother but as a person. She proceeded to ask me when I was leaving and I wrinkled up my nose, bowed my head, and softly said, “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came and we loaded up my stuff and headed to the airport. The short 15- minute drive seemed like an eternity because my mother and I traveled the winding road in complete silence. We arrived at the airport; I hugged my mother, and then it hit me that I was making the first journey of my adult life and that I was also about to meet my dad. Once on the plane, I became mesmerized as my country suddenly disappeared, as I began to cross the Atlantic. I left childhood as I crossed that ocean, and began to become an adult.

After twelve hours, I arrived in Amsterdam, tired, hungry, and eager to find the other part of myself. At the airport I was not greeted by an overjoyed parent wanting to see his child, instead I was met by loneliness, unfamiliar faces, and confusion. My father did not show up and I began to worry that I had made this trip in vain.

As I wandered the airport trying to find someone to help me find the baggage claim I began to question whether or not I had made the right decision. Even now, though it was too late to back out, I had second thoughts, wishing I could turn around and be in my mother’s arms, her house, safe from the world; secure in knowing I was loved and cared for. 
 Now that I was here I had to figure out where I was going to stay and how I was going to get around without anyone to help me. I was unsure of how to navigate a country other than my own, and my father was not here to ease the transition. I decided to take a trek around Amsterdam and try to figure out why he decided to make this foreign land his home. The streets were quiet, and I could feel the history of a place known as Venice of the North. The canals of the city take the form of a crescent and seem a bit outdated, but they add to the charm of a city also known for its red-light district and numerous coffee houses. Although the buildings were a bit gray with age, the architecture of Amsterdam was unlike anything I have ever seen in the States. I see why my father was seduced by the abundance of its history and opportunities to indulge every hedonistic pleasure.

There was a cute coffee house located near one of the many canals. It was full of people about my age enjoying their evening, so I stopped in and took a seat while I decided what to do next. Just when I got settled a beautiful caramel colored guy wearing all black caught my eye. Then my eyes caught his and we became lost in each other’s gaze. With my eyes I motioned for him to come over to where I was sitting which he obediently did. He sat down, kissed my hand, and made me feel like a princess, making me forget that my father stood me up. Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I whipped my head around only to see the face of a familiar photograph of my parents standing before me. It was my father.

He looked at me and asked, “Why are you talking to a stranger?”
 “Who you?”
 “No that young man you’re talking to.”
 “Why didn’t you come get me?”
 “My mistake, I thought you were getting in tomorrow, sorry.”
 “Sure.”
 “No really. I had written the time date incorrectly.”
 “Oh.”
 “Well, this is William. William, this is my father.”
 William looked confused and said, “Should I leave?”
 Quickly I responded with an emphatic, “No, stay!”
I did not want to make it seem like I was picking a stranger over my father, but in all actuality the man standing before me was more of stranger than the one sitting across from me, even if we did share DNA. I found out that my father came to this cafe nightly, and that he was just as surprised to find me there, as I was to find him. William seemed to be a brilliant guy, who I discovered was working on his Law Degree. His presence helped to make me comfortable in that once foreign place. He made me feel that I belonged here, something that my father had not done. I wanted to stay with William and make sure he understood my gratitude for everything he had done. Since I went to Amsterdam to meet my father I made the decision to leave William and spend some time with my father. I exchanged information with “Prince Charming,” gathered my things, and left with my father.

The car ride to my father’s house was almost as tense as trip to the airport the day before with my mother. I felt like I was with someone that I should know but I really did not. He made small talk, awkwardly asking about my flight. I was relieved to finally get to his house to get myself settled. I did not stay up that night because I was tired and upset, but the next morning I woke up to the smell of pancakes and bacon in the air. Groggy, I walked downstairs, and before me was an impressive table full of food with fresh flowers placed perfectly in the center. I sat before the table before the abundant table and began thinking about what I missed out on as a child. This could have been a weekend ritual. My father interrupted my thoughts by asking me what I wanted to drink, and then he sat down. That morning I asked him all of the burning questions, about why he left and why he had never made an effort to see me. His answers were not perfect, but he made me understand that he just did not know how to be a father, especially after being away for so long. I accepted his apologies for not being around for all of my milestones, but I still regret that he did not see me take my first steps, or walk across the stage at my high school graduation.

The rest of the trip was great. I spent time learning about my father and some interesting things about my parent’s relationship I never knew. My father is a really great guy, even though he was not the best father. He works as an engineer in Amsterdam and is really bright and charismatic (I see where I get my charm.). Also while I was there I spent more time with William, and I only have one word to describe that kid, simply put, “Wow!” He’s got plans to visit me in the states in a few weeks. Who knows, maybe I will get a husband out of my father’s failure to retrieve me from the airport. If nothing else I know that I matured a lot in Amsterdam. I learned a lot about who I am, what I want, and where I come from. When I returned home I felt a sense of calm and contentment I had never before experienced. My fantasies about my father were gone, but now I had reality to replace my dreams, and these days my reality is looking pretty good.