Letters from an Accidental Dad Pt 2

A is for Abortion

December 29th

The Charlestown Walk-In Clinic inhabited the bones of an old forgotten church. So it was no mistake that the waiting room had been left with stained glass windows of judgmental saints who looked down on you. I hadn’t slept much last night. I don’t think your mother did either. We both just laid there until the sun came up, listening to one another’s breathing, wondering what the hell we were gonna do if you were actually real.

In the morning she called to make an appointment and I went out to get coffee at Dunkin’ Donuts. I figured we would need the jolt to get our heads in the game, and I at least needed a moment alone to collect my thoughts. On the way I passed a pet shop. There was a sign in the window announcing that they were giving away rescue dogs. I love dogs, but I’d never gotten one because I thought it’d be too much responsibility. Plus I traveled too much with my job, and paying to kennel a dog meant there would be that much less for the bars. But holy shit a baby is so much more responsibility. And so much more expensive. What the fuck.

“Here I got you coffee,” I announced when I returned. Suzanne was sitting at the kitchen table with her head bleached into her hands. Staring blankly at the wall. Eyes ringed with sleeplessness. She looked terrible. I tried to ignore all of this.

“I didn’t know what you like so I got one with cream and sugar and one black. I’ll take either.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” she said in a daze.

Oh. Right.

“And caffeine is bad for the baby. I looked it up.”

The nurses made me stay with the saints in the waiting room while your mother went back for the exam. All manner of people had come to the congregation that morning. We sat shoulder to shoulder, Looney Tunes sweatshirts next to Sperrys, and prayed that whatever brought us here wouldn’t follow us out. I know admitting that doesn’t do much to improve my case for being your dad, but like I said before, I’m not going to shield my truth.

While two leathery cougars gabbed on the TV about nothing, I tried to recount every moment I had spent with Suzanne. I wanted to find a way out of this, I needed to find a way out of this. My heart was in no position to get into a long-term relationship, let alone one with a baby. But I stood no chance of thinking clearly. I couldn’t stop my head from spinning with all the thoughts rushing through it.

But she said she was on the pill. How much does a kid cost? Hadn’t I always worn a condom? It had only been six weeks. What will her mom say? What will my mom say? That’s not even enough time to learn someone’s middle name. Wasn’t there a time or two when you didn’t bother with the condom? What kind of idiot trusts a girl when she says she’s on the pill? This wasn’t my fault. I still wanted to be with Maggie. Why couldn’t she have been the one who got pregnant? Who am I kidding I brought this on myself. Why can’t I do anything right? Why am I such a screw up? And Christ what the fuck was her middle name?

After an eternity of waiting your mother emerged, holding a piece of paper and looking surprisingly calm. Maybe she wasn’t pregnant after all. False alarm! I can go back to dumping her like I’d originally planned! She started silently towards me with her chin pointed at the door.

“So what did they say?”

“I’m pregnant,” she said not breaking stride.

I don’t know why but I’ll always remember how beautiful the winter was that morning. Cold, but sunny from the reflection of ice that turned everything blue. The kind morning that could give you a suburn despite being 20 degrees. We got in the car and I looked over at Suzanne, my pale horse rider. She was so tired already- and it had only been 14 hours. My hand reached across the armrest and took hers. I didn’t know what else to do. We sat silent like that in the car for awhile, our breaths clouding the windshield in alternating huffs.

“I’m 6 weeks,” she finally announced.

“6 weeks?!” I exclaimed, instinctively pulling my arm back. “You’re saying…” I did some quick math in my head just to be sure, “You got pregnant the first time we had sex?”

Your mother just looked down and nodded. “I guess,” she whimpered.

I didn’t even have it in me to start the engine. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I just wanted to evaporate with the ice and be done with the world.

“I thought you said you were on the Pill,” I heard myself say.

“I am,” her voice was short. “I was.”

“And you took them regularly? You have to take it at the same time you know.”

“Yes. I know.”

I shook my head. “I just don’t understand how you could’ve gotten pregnant then. This doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sometimes it just happens. You know it’s not 100%.”

“That’s bullshit. I had sex with Maggie hundreds of times and we never had to worry about this.”

As soon as I said that I knew I shouldn’t have. But your mother didn’t say anything. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she reached over and castrated me.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just- it’s just— they only say those exceptions are because the girls are on antibiotics or something.”

“What do you mean?” she asked looking up.

“Because antibiotics cancel out birth control,” I explained.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah everyone knows that,” I said it so offhandedly that it didn’t occur to me what was happening. Then came the moment of dawning comprehension. “Are you on antibiotics?”

This time it was her turn to choose her words carefully.

“They put me on antibiotics for the lyme disease.”

“You never told me you had lyme disease.”

“I got it over the summer. But you have to keep taking the antibiotics for awhile after that.”

“Suzanne,” I spoke very slowly and softly. “Antibiotics cancel out birth control.”

“Are you sure?”

How the hell could she not know this? I thought every girl knew this. I looked at her face, she was so overwhelmed with shock it couldn’t tell if she was faking it.

“Do you think that could have caused it?” she asked innocently.

“Fuck yes that could have caused it!” I exploded. “Antibiotics cancel out birth control! How the hell do you not know that? How do you not know how birth control works?”

“I’m only 23!” she cried, “I don’t know these things!”

“You should! You’ve been having sex since you were 17!”

She started sobbing uncontrollably again.

I took a breath and tried to be calm, but then I slipped again, “Maggie was always on top of this kind of shit.”

That was it.

“Well I’m sorry I’m not Maggie!” she screamed.

The windshield had completely fogged over by now.

Your mother leapt out of the car as soon as we got near her place. I followed her up the steps like a dog that just peed on the carpet, but before opening the door she spun around without warning.

“I need to be alone,” she said in a way like she had just repeated the line a thousand times over in her head.

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to figure out what to do?”

She shook her head solemnly.

I need to think about my options here. For myself. Let’s not kid ourselves, we barely know each other. This is not a ‘we’ decision.

Introducing a whole new side to your mother.

Ten minutes ago she seemed about as helpless as you could get. But now suddenly there emerged this tiger mom. That’s one great thing I hope you’ll inherit from Suzanne; the ability to rise up when needed. She may not look like it, but that girl packs a ton of punch, and when her back’s against the wall she’s better than most of us. In a brilliant moment Suzanne flashed all the qualities needed for being a great mom. Integrity. Independence. Conviction. She was right. We were still strangers. We just now had this really huge thing in common.

“You need to think about everything too,” she continued.

“Okay.” And I realized she was right.

“I’ll call you later,” she promised hollowly. “And we can talk.”

She shut the door before I could even respond.

I don’t know what surprised me more, this newfound strength and maturity, or how much it infuriated me. I didn’t want a strong woman with resolve. I wanted a desperate girl, one with a terrified look in her eye. I wanted her to need me. To try so hard to be strong, and then fall so I could deliberately not pick her up. So I could say all the right things to make her feel secure in that hollow empty way. Twist around her emotions in heart like a wire, and then squeeze. I wanted to be cruel to her, because this was cruel to me. How strange the way we pass on abuse.

The worse thing for a miserable person is a happy person, so I went to the one place where I knew no one would be happy, Central Square. Central Square is the black eye of Cambridge. It’s Harvard’s cousin, the one who’s always been a little slow. Lined with crappy bars that only take cash. Flushed with cheap housing. The combination of two created this perfect storm for pasty hipsters and crack addicts (who really aren’t all that different) to flourish. The whole place perpetually reeked of cigarette smoke, stale coffee, and B.O. Every city should have a Central Square, a place where no matter how bad you feel, you can find someone doing worse.

Out of the dives I choose The Bottom Line, because the name seemed appropriate given the circumstances. The place was nearly empty, save for a few dedicated alcoholics who didn’t care to let the world know they were drinking at 10am. I ordered a Jack Daniels and a Coors Light and inhaled the shot as quickly as the bartender could pour it. In college ordering two drinks at a time had been a point of pride for me, but now it felt like something I needed. The first glimpse of my budding alcoholism. Your grandfather was a bit of a drunk, and it’s something that I think is carried in our genes, so be warned.

I sat there and waited for the whiskey to stream into my blood to ease the weight of everything that was happening, but no relief came. This was too great to be dulled by alcohol. I either need to figure out what the hell to do, or find a stronger drug.

At some point in your life there will be something that is not going to go as you planned. In fact there will probably be a couple of things. It doesn’t matter what it is, could be not getting into the college you want, or getting dumped by someone you love, or maybe something as ultimately as trivial as not getting the lead in the school play. I don’t know where you’ll be or what you’ll be going through when it happens, but I know that when it does it’s going to feel like the compass of your life has lost its pole.

Trust me, no matter how bad it may seem, the weight will pass. You can’t have perspective in the moment, but I promise you that some day you’ll look back and see how it was all meant to be woven so neatly into the fabric of your life. Of course it won’t feel like that while it’s happening, but it’s the truth. Don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself because if you do, one day you’ll wake up and realize that the world has passed you by.

Don’t believe me? Go out there and look around, I mean really look. You’ll see them. The people who never recover.

They’re the ones who are tethered so close to the ground they can’t see the road at their feet.

And people will wonder. How can they have so much going for them, but they still haven’t gotten it in gear? How are they still single? Or living at home? Or don’t have a career? Something must be wrong with them.

No one wants to appear stuck like that. So we go to great lengths to hang a veil over the cracks in our mortar. Pair up with anyone after we get hurt, quit on our dreams for a job we hate, move into a crappy apartment instead of living in our parents’ basement. At a passing glance it may appear as though we’re okay, but if it’s not hard to see the cracks.

Be better than that. Be one of the ones who comes back, who live in the moment, and let the course of life carry them where it will. Those are the ones who understand the scars of our past can become a point of pride, a moment that molds you into who you are, and doesn’t limit you. They keep their eyes turned ahead. They know that the world is still going to spin on, so they might as well spin with it. You can’t control everything in this life because you are just one piece of the puzzle, not the puzzle master. The world moves in its own way and its own time, and moving with it is the key to keeping your soul here.

I see all that as truth now, but in those first moments when I walked away from your mother, I wanted to walk away forever. Pretend like I never knew she existed. I wanted to slide off that barstool and slither among the hoards of dispossessed in Central Square. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want a kid with a girl I barely knew. I didn’t know her and I sure as hell didn’t know you. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t love you properly because someone else still had my heart.

And I knew your mother didn’t want this any more than I did. How could she? She had just graduated. Was fresh in the world, and there was so much more she probably wanted to experience before settling down. Cute work outfits that look professional but sexy. Happy hours and perching on barstools chirping for handsome boys in suits that don’t fit quite right. Smoking weed and rolling and having one night stands. Creating shameful stories laced with secret pride that you’d pry out of her someday when she feels the need to connect with you. Who would want to pass all that up for sleepless nights of diaper changings and 3am feedings?

For the first time since I heard the words “I’m pregnant,” I thought about alternatives to parenthood. That may seem like it would have been the obvious choice for someone like me, but my Catholic school upbringing initially brainwashed me from considering that as an option. Thankfully the whiskey made me realize that at this point, you were more theoretical than anything else. One quick trip to the clinic, a few awkward hours, and you’d be brushed back into the ether where we all come from. This could all just be a very bad dream. No one would have to know. It would be our deep, dark secret. Suzanne and I would drift our separate ways, which is what I wanted in the first place, and I’d do my best to bury this moment somewhere I could never find it again.

I mean it’s not like it’s uncommon. Every year there’s about one abortion for every 300 people in America. Check your Facebook profile, or Snapchat, or whatever social media site you kids are on these days. Odds are you have more than 300 friends. That means statistically you’re probably directly connected to someone who’s been involved in an abortion, but I’m willing to bet you have no idea who that person is.

No one posts a status update when they get an abortion, they just do it.

And then there’s the other side of this coin. What if we gave it a shot? Roll the dice and let the chips fall where they may. Start our family now, have faith, and hope. Hope that my feelings for your mother grow into something that can nurture a child. Hope that we don’t collapse on ourselves like a dying star after 3 years. It was a risky wager because despite our best intentions we could still fail. Abandon you or become the kind of parents who pretend they don’t have kids. Not care how many rungs you fall through, and by the time you matter, you’d be someone else’s problem.

I didn’t know how your mother was feeling about all of this but I suspected that I could sway her one way or another. Everyone has their gifts, and persuasion is mine. If you end up inheriting it from me, proceed with caution. It’s one of those double-edged swords. When you use it for good they call it charming. But when you use it selfishly they call it sleazy.

Our family has a track record for trending on the sleazy side.

My father was an aspiring model citizen who perpetually failed to get out of his own way. One step forward and three back. He may have thought he wanted a family but he didn’t, and although he played the part for awhile, ultimately his heart betrayed the ruse. You can try to bury it, but given enough time the truth always comes to the surface.

In the beginning everything was great. Mom made dinners and taught me how to draw. Dad came home at the same time every day. We’d go on explores in the woods searching for Winnie the Pooh. I loved being in the woods. I loved the way the light streamed through the leaves and how the ground was always wet and slimey even if it hadn’t been raining. I was happiest then. Most kids are in such a rush to grow up, but not me. If I could have stopped time at 6 I would have. One evening I was walking home with my father when I said to him, “Dad, I don’t want anything to change. I want you to stay like you are and me to stay like I am forever.”

It all came undone so fast. One afternoon we were exploring the woods, the next they were screaming in the living room. At first I didn’t even recognize who they were. Neither of them looked like my parents. I stood in the doorway and watched as my mother paced back and forth like an animal. Her voice hit pitches I’d never heard before. And my father shouting too. God his voice was so loud. I couldn’t really understand what they were saying. It was all just angry confused vibrations, like someone speaking too closely into a microphone. The only thing I really remember is that at some point my father stopped yelling and walked over to me. He scooped me up in this massive bear hug and held me tight. I could feel the warm tears on his face and that rough moustache I always hated bristle against my cheek. He kissed me on my forehead. Told me he loved me. Then he put me down and walked out the door. Her name was Rita, and she wasn’t the only one.

Childhood ends the moment when you realize you’re parents aren’t perfect.

I never saw much of my father after that. He’d send cards my way on birthdays and every once in awhile we’d go out to dinner, but that was mostly it. When I was ten he got married again and moved to Florida. Soon after that even the birthday cards dried up. I guess some fathers just aren’t meant to be dads.

I can see now why he’d do it. It’s a lot easier to start fresh than go back on a damaged past, but it’s never good to be the one who gets left. I always wondered what my life would be like if he had stuck around. Maybe things would be different. Maybe I wouldn’t have lost Maggie. Maybe I wouldn’t even be in this situation. Maybe, but maybe not. There were a million reasons why my father should have gone, and not many why he should have stayed, but I was one of those reasons. I wish he had tried harder. I wish he hadn’t given up on me.

I can try harder.

Family is what you make of it. Blood only binds so much, and the rest is love. As the fog of whiskey lifted I realized that you were much more than just theoretical. You were mine, as true to me as my fingerprints, and I already loved you so much. Ultimately a man is accountable for his actions. I didn’t want to end up like my father. I wanted to be one of the ones who comes back. To let life carry me where it will, even if that’s not how I’ve always been. Who knows, maybe you could be the pole I set my compass to.

2 days went by before I got the nerve to call your mother.

“Look I’m not doing too good at being an adult,” I began. “I drink way too much. I eat like shit. I put clothes in the washer and forget about them for days. I can’t even imagine what I’d do with a kid. There’s nothing I’m less prepared for.”

Deep breath here.

“But I think there are far worse things in this world than bringing a baby into it.”

Another breath. Then I recited the standard party line every guy who accidentally knocks up a girl should say:

You need to make whatever choice you want, and no matter what I’ll stand by you a 100% percent.

“I already made up my mind,” she declared with that conviction I was quickly growing to love.

“Okay. But I just got to tell you that for whatever it’s worth I think we should give it a shot.”

“So do I.”

And just like that it was settled. We wanted you. Yes, at the end of the day, as terrifying as everything was, we wanted you. We couldn’t deny you the chance to live in this world. As fucked up and dangerous and cruel as it is, it can also be awesome. With sunsets that throws stars in your eyes. Music to rattle you to your core. And people who you will love so much you’ll want to explode. You deserve the chance to experience all of that.

You can do better than me. You can do better than all of us. You’re bound by nothing. Who am I to take that away from you? And who is she?

Read more Letters from an Accidental Dad: December 28th “To Amelia, my almost accidental Daughter”