Tag Archives: biological father

Root-y Toot Toot

13 Mar

I like to think I’m a lot calmer than I used to be.   Or that one day it would be possible to feel like I was less intense, emotional, or what have you.  In my mind, that is when I’ll finally feel real.  You know, like the Velveteen Rabbit or something.  But I guess he was first real because somebody loved him, so maybe I’m real now anyway?

And what exactly do I think I am now?  I think sometimes things are hard for me.  I think sometimes I get lost in the forest and can’t see the trees.  I think I am bombarded with touch that I don’t really want but am forced to accept and indulge because the little baby hands don’t understand that mommy wants to take a break from all the babies.  I think I’m just a person and sometimes stuff that’s seemingly easy for most is trying for me but that’s okay ‘cuz people are different.

Part of why I don’t feel real is that I don’t totally understand where I come from.  Like the whole “I don’t know my biological father” thing.  That comes out a lot more the older I get for some reason.  It is a wiggling worm inside of me that I try to squash with distractions and don’t cares and whatever else I can scrounge up.  But it never goes away.  Ethnicity and race are still two huge questions in my mind.  If I look white, am culturally white, and feel white– what do I do with the alleged fact that my bio dad is Hispanic (via Mexico, to be super specific)?  Does that hold any meaning in my life?  Does it do anything for my kids or, hell, their kids or their kids’ kids?

I feel rootless.  Or, more accurately, only about half-rooted.  In my mind’s eye I see a tree clinging to a cliff’s gravelly edge, teetering and swaying in the wind.  That’s me.  I don’t really know what my cliff is… but I’m probably a Weeping Willow, just FYI.  But, to mix my metaphor some, now I have this fruit, and it’s dangerous for it to be attached to me but it is.  Now I’m not the only one trying to hang on to loose ground, but my apples and pears (which are obviously the fruit of a Weeping Willows) are too.

Maybe it’s just hard to feel real when you only feel half-attached to your life or who you are in this really existential, weird sense.  But I feel this need to figure it out; for myself, but now ever more so for my kids.  What kind of confusing legacy to I have to pass down to them?

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Day 55

24 Feb

Dear Dad,

Do you think there’s ever been someone who didn’t know about a child but just knew they were missing one?  What?

Bye.

Day 53

22 Feb

Dear Dad,

Upon further time and thought, I’ve decided to keep my prayers unwritten. I am going to try to pray each day of Lent
for family related things, but I have the distinct feeling that those prayers need to be private for now.

I realize now that I have some things to deal with before I can deal with you.

Bye,
AM

Day 52

21 Feb

Hey Dad,

I was thinking today, “Hey, why not do a Lent-type thing in addition to my irrevocable vow to blog everyday?”  So I think I will.  And I think it’s going to be something lame, like a prayer every day.  Although I did toy with the idea of giving up blogging for 40 days…

Yeah, I know:  not super creative or new, but whatever.  Why fix what ain’t broke?

So, what will I write a prayer about every day?  Probably different junk; but I want to try to focus on my familial relationships– you, my mom, my family, perhaps even my in-laws; my relationship with God.  I don’t know what I hope to gain out of this, but I’ve probably never intentionally prayed every day for more than a few days in a row.  I hate praying sometimes and think I suck at it.

Here’s hoping it doesn’t suck too bad!

AM

Day 36

5 Feb

Dear Dad,

Meet Zoe Feodora.  This is her a month or two ago, wearing a crazy outfit, with her eyes closed, paci inserted, mid-twirl and dance.

She is almost 2.5 and very full of life (which is what “Zoe” means).  She is incredibly passionate, caring, sweet and funny.

She likes to just sit and read, to dance and run, to give kisses, and ask a lot of questions.

She loves cookies, french fries, grapes, and apple juice.  She eats oatmeal almost every morning for breakfast and has since she was just 6 or so months old.

She loves baths, kitties, walking and running.

She likes to help around the house:  doing dishes, sweeping, cleaning up spills.

I wonder if I was like her when I was little?  I wonder if I really had a chance to be.

Maybe you’ll get to meet her one day,

AM

Day 28

28 Jan

Dear Dad,

Today, I went to Whole Foods. I’ve only been one other time.  I started to panic as soon as I started looking up the directions to get there.  It was like a whole new world to me.

I don’t know what it is about doing new things that I hate so much, but I really do not care for it.  Right now in my life, at the tender age of 24, I’ve gotten my anxiety pretty well under control (after 1-2 years of counseling and prayers of release).  But sometimes it really just rears up.

Like what is scary about going to a grocery store?  That sells things that I like?  Yeah, it’s a bit of a drive from this side of town, but it’s not like I’ve never driven to 86th Street before.  Something about not knowing exactly where everything was, or the prices, or what to expect when I got there just made me feel like I couldn’t do it.  I almost didn’t go.

There are so many things I don’t do out of fear still:  be creative– poetry, music, drawing; try to learn new skills; grad school.  I’m still scared I’m not good enough, that people will laugh at me if I try.

I think I’ve been hurt a lot, but I also think I have to keep pushing myself to do hard things.  Even if I fail, at least I’ll have tried.  Ah, how the trite and cliche rings so true…   But really, I’m scared to meet you.  I don’t know if I want to do it.  I’m still trying to figure it out.  You are slightly more intimidating than a new grocery store.

See ya,

AM

Day 27

27 Jan

Dear Dad,

I’m feeling a lot better but still not quite at full force.  It was really hard being sick and having the kids to take care of; they really don’t get it when mommy is not feeling well.  And, unfortunately, if you try to stick them in bed all day, they get pretty pissed about that kinda thing too.

But I made it.  Probably by the grace of God.  I prayed a lot when I was sick.  For healing.  For strength.  To say that I felt like Job (which of course is always an exaggeration… but I really connect to Job’s story in the Bible) and hated God for letting me get sick.  I also kept thinking of times when I would get sick, and not even as sick I was this past week, and all I had to worry about was school and work.  Ah, those were the days.  Those were still stressful times.  And now these are also stressful times.  Go figure.

Luckily, Lazarus is really cute, and Zoe’s quite helpful.  She would often give me things that I “needed” with a “Oh, here you go, Sweetheart.”  That sweetness probably melted the infection right out of me.

But, right now, everything is chaos and feels like I’ve lost the past 2 weeks to illness (first L’s and then my own).  And we’re hoping that no one else gets sick.  Because if Joe gets sick, well, that becomes a financial issue.  Which always causes stress.

Oh, my kidney is hurting I am so stressed out just thinking of Joe getting sick.  Or maybe it’s the massive amounts of Tylenol and cough syrup I’ve taken in the last 4 days?  I’ll never know for sure…

 

Maybe something that makes sense awaits you tomorrow?  (But I wouldn’t hold my breath.)

AM