I, Evan Arkman, Have a 25-Year-Old Son I Never Met
I still love his mother
Twenty-five years later, Sheila is still the most fabulous woman I ever had sex with, and the only one that got pregnant.
Her son has always been a wunderkind and will be graduating from med school next year. I’m so proud of him, but it has nothing to do with me, except for the genetics, maybe.
I wish I could call him our son, but I had been scared at the time. I knew Sheila was pregnant, and I understood she didn’t want to tell me.
I could have come forward.
I should have.
It would have changed the dynamics of our relationship. It would have given us a chance at being a real couple, a real family, instead of Sheila’s private sperm donor program. But I didn’t have the balls back then; I was sickly self-absorbed. I couldn’t talk about anything but myself. And Sheila was the only one willing to listen.
I guess she was already thinking of her future child. Like my therapist counting the dollars he makes for each minute of listening. Coming to this twenty-fifth reunion was his idea. He’s all about living in the present moment, letting go of the past, and choosing our future.
Maybe it’s not too late for me? I know I still look like a hawk, beady-eyed and sour. That will never change. But I also know I made tremendous progress; I’m a much better person now. I hope Sheila will see that.
“Sheila, long time, huh?”
With thanks to Betsy Denson and her piece for the inspiration.
