THE NARRATIVE ARC

I Went On a Senior Dating Site to Find a New Dad

It’s George Michael’s fault

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I have a complicated relationship with George Michael’s song, Father Figure. I love it because I love him. Long before most people even heard of him, when I used to belt out the Wham Rap on my way to every kegger in my green Demon — I loved him. I don’t want to brag, but I knew every song on every Wham! album. Then when George went off on his own and left Andrew in the same forgotten pile as Oates and Garfunkel, I learned those songs as well.

But of all his music, Father Figure is the one I skip on my ‘80s playlist. All the reasons I used to love it back then are why I can’t listen to it now, the song stirring memories of my father, each painted in heartbreak.

I wish I had another name for him. I can’t call him Dad because it hints at a closeness I never felt since he wouldn’t let me get close to him. For a while, I referred to him as my biological father — bf for short. But I realized that made him look like my best friend and he wasn’t even close. He wasn’t even an f.

I spent my entire childhood, teenage years, and first two decades of my adult life trying to persuade my father to love me. I used every tool in my daughter’s toolbox to get a loving word, a warm embrace, a compliment…