Beware... long post ahead
I was talking to someone about this today and had to make this post more accessible. I posted it previously (December 1, 2004) so many of you have read it. If you have read it, or if you don't want to read it, you can move along. I know how oh-so-fun it is to read long posts.
On to the "man who fathered me" post... It's long and could get boring. Don't feel like you have to comment... it's a touchy subject, I know. If you want to comment, by all means, go ahead.
My mom got married at eighteen to her best friend. They had never had more than a platonic friendship until they graduated from high school ('82). They dated for a few months and got married in December of '82. It wasn't long until I was conceived. She didn't know she was pregnant, or even that there was the slightest possibility that she could be. They had been careful. They didn't want to have a baby so early in their lives... and their marriage. The following February, my mom told my grandmother she had been having horrible heart burn and thought it was from a stomach flu. She had been sick almost every day for the last month. My grandmother knew right away that she was pregnant.
It wasn't a happy time for them. My mom was 19. She was a baby. She was naive. Her husband was no better. He hadn't given up partying, drinking, fishing, and hunting. He was rarely at home. He wasn't very dependable or trustworthy.
My grandmother reminded my mom of this and offered to pay for an abortion. "It will be better that way. You don't need this baby." My grandmother's exact words, as told by my mom. The thought never crossed my mom's mind. Luckily for me, she was adamantly against abortion. She had studied it for years and knew that she couldn't do that. "I loved you too much. I could never end your life." Again, direct quote from my mom. My mom went against strong adversity. My grandparents didn't support her in her decision to keep me. It was going to be hard on her. She was going to be raising a baby by herself. My alcoholic father wasn't going to help. He didn't care to.
My mom clearly voiced her opinion and told everyone if they didn't support her, that she didn't care. She was going to have her baby, with or without them. Thankfully, they didn't give up on her.
Her due date was September 26. She was so excited about it, but was still very nervous. She was still considering adoption, but was having a hard time accepting it.
On July 4, 1983, she went into labor for the first time. She wasn't ready! Her OB-GYN had her flown to Birmingham just in case she did deliver. My lungs weren't fully developed and I would not have survived had I been born then. When they got on the helicopter, they stopped her contractions.
Later that day, they found out that she had endometriosis, which means that the tissue that normally lines the uterus grows in other areas of the body, causing pain, irregular bleeding, and frequently infertility. Women with endometriosis have a hard time delivering a healthy, normal baby. It is hard on them and the baby.
She was in the hospital for a week. My dad never visited... or even called. In fact, he didn't even know that she was in the hospital. He hadn't been home.
She went into labor four more times after that. The last time was on August 19, 1983. She slept through the entire thing... and it wasn't a C-section!
After I was born, I had to be taken back to Birmingham. My paternal grandmother finally found my dad and told him what was going on. He arrived at the hospital in Cullman and Dr. Williamson, my mom's OB-GYN wouldn't let him on the ambulance. He was sloppy drunk. Dr. Williamson told him that he wasn't going to allow him to upset my mom anymore and that he was a sorry excuse for a man! He found his way to Birmingham. He stayed for a total of an hour and my mom didn't see him for two weeks after that.
She had severe postpartum complications due to the endometriosis. Every few minutes, a blood clot the size of a baseball would run down her legs. She was losing blood profusely. One day, while he was gone, she fainted due to the blood loss. She had been out for two hours when my grandmother found her.
A few years later...
I was three. I had discovered excuses. If I didn't want to do something, I'd tell my mom there was a man... "Andi, clean your room." "I can't, Mama. There's a man in there." One day, she told me to take some scraps out to the dogs (We had two German Shepherds, both offspring of former police dogs). I went out there to do it and came back. I said, "Mama, there's a man out there." She had learned my antics and told me to say hi to him and go feed the dogs. I went to do it and came back and said, "I can't, Mama, there's a man out there." I had never said it twice before, so she went to look. There WAS a man out there. He was stoned out of his mind. He was trying to break in. My mom told him that if he took a step closer, she would shoot him, but he didn't stop. (Of course, I don't remember any of this) We went out the back door. As we closed the door, he stepped around the corner. My mom tried to get away from him, but he grabbed her shirt. She put me down and told me to run to Grandmama's. (We lived on the same land as my uncle and grandparents) My mom yelled for Misty, our German Shepherd. She ran back there, saw the guy, and jumped up, grabbed him by the neck and held him there 'til my mom got to my grandparents house. The cops found him a few minutes later. He was wandering around in a daze, talking to himself, and bleeding.
A few years later, I got my kindergarten yearbook. The school I went to was for grades K-12. In the back of the book, there was a page about a boy who had died that school year. I didn't look at my yearbook until years later. I was probably 8. I asked my mom how I knew that guy. I told her that his eyes scared me. That's when I heard the story about him breaking in on us.
My dad wasn't around that whole time. Actually, the guy told my mom that he had been watching her and realized that she had no man at home. Bastard... he should have been there to protect us.
Actually, one time when I was three, my dad came up to me in the yard and told me to do something. I didn't do it because my mom always told me not to talk to strangers. At three, you should know your father. When I didn't do what he told me to, he grabbed a metal leash and whipped me with it. My mom saw him doing it through the kitchen window and ran out there. She pushed him off the porch, then beat him with it. Haha... no, I'm not kidding.
Years later...
When I was six, we moved to North Carolina. My mom had a great job and was being transferred. My mom let me stay out of school for awhile. I was excruciatingly shy and was terrified of going to this new school. I was nine hours and 500 miles from my friends.
One day, she called me at 9:00 and asked what I was doing. I said that I was playing with Tiffany (my dog) and watching tv. I said that I was hungry. She told me to go get Daddy and put him on the phone. I went in his room and he told me to get out. I told her that and she got mad! She called back an hour later and he was still asleep. She asked what I was doing. I said I was cleaning up the mess Tiffany had made. "She threw up," I said. That made her even madder. She asked if I had eaten. I told her that I was eating Cap'n Crunch dry. I have always loved dry cereal. She came home for lunch and I was standing on the counter to put the cereal up. My dad was still asleep. She took Tiffany out (obviously, I wasn't allowed to by myself), then she went into the bedroom, pulled my dad off the bed and yelled at him for atleast 15 minutes. He got up and sat on the couch. When she left, he went back to sleep. Skip forward a few hours... when she stepped out of her car, she smelled something terrible. She knew right then it was coming from our apartment. She ran up the steps and saw me sitting the floor crying because Tiffany was so sick and I couldn't clean it up. I was trying, but she had horrible diarrhea and kept throwing up. It scared me because she wouldn't stop and I couldn't get my daddy up. My mom was livid!
The next week, I had my first day at Mocksville Middle School. I enjoyed it! I made friends fast! I was happy! The week after that, I came home and my dad wasn't there. He hadn't left the apartment since we moved. Where was he? My mom sat me down and told me that he had gone back to Alabama. He didn't say bye to me! I was devastated. I always thought that he didn't love me because I was girl. Actually, I still think that. I think that things would have been different had I been given a Y chromosome.
I lived in North Carolina for five years. I didn't talk to my dad one time. I never got a birthday card, or anything. My mom remarried a year after my dad left. I had a hard time adjusting to having a man in my life. He understood that and was very patient.
Before they got married, I got to know him very well. My cousin, Jayme, was run over and my mom had to go to Alabama, so Greg stayed with me. I had him wrapped around my finger. I convinced him that I ate McDonald's every night and got to play on the playground before I did my homework. I told him that I got to dress myself and could wear anything I wanted. When my mom came home, she picked me up from school, and was horrified. I was wearing my life-sized Barbie's shoes, my hair was in a greasy lopsided ponytail (I had put baby oil in the bathtub and then proceeded to wash my hair ha), and I was wearing a green shirt with pink polka-dotted shorts. Oh wait- don't forget the purple socks. lol
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
I have always had issues with trusting people because of my father. I have gotten a bit better. Greg (my stepdad) restored my faith in the opposite sex. He proved to me that there are good men in the world. To this day, you can't convince him that I am not his daughter. It will be him that walks me down the aisle. It will be him that my children will call their grandfather.
I still don't talk to my biological father (a.k.a. the man who fathered me) very often. In 2002, my paternal grandfather died and my dad's bitch of a wife called to tell me. I can't stand her. I let my voicemail get it. She left a message that he had died, not that I should call her. That pissed me off. At the viewing, my dad showed me off, telling everyone that I was going to be a doctor. When someone said, "Mike, she's beautiful- she looks just like you," I wanted to vomit. I hate being told I look like him. I don't want to be like him. I want to be dependable. I want to know my children. I want them to know that I will always be there, that I will never give up on them.
When I was eleven, I told my mom that I wasn't sure that I could ever love my dad. I have forgotten how to. I thank him for giving me life, but it is my mom who has made it worthwhile. It is my mom who has taught me right from wrong, who has been there for me when I was hurt, upset, and happy. It wasn't him and it never will be. The only thing that he has ever done for me is donate a sperm. That sounds bitter. I'm not bitter.
I have tried to forgive him. For the most part, I have. I haven't suffered because he left. I would have suffered if he would have stayed. I have a man who loves me enough to call me his daughter even though we are not gentically similar. I have a man that cared enough about me to play basketball with me for hours upon end and improved my jumpshot tremendously. :) He was the one who comforted me when I was upset, who took care of me when I was sick. He's the one who dealt with my first bout of PMS. :) He's the one who helped me move into my first apartment. Where has my biological father been?
If you're still reading, I'm sorry this was so long! I didn't realize I was going to write a novel. :) By writing this, I'm not asking for sympathy. I mentioned "TMWFM" today, and had to explain. Just a little insight into Andrea
On to the "man who fathered me" post... It's long and could get boring. Don't feel like you have to comment... it's a touchy subject, I know. If you want to comment, by all means, go ahead.
My mom got married at eighteen to her best friend. They had never had more than a platonic friendship until they graduated from high school ('82). They dated for a few months and got married in December of '82. It wasn't long until I was conceived. She didn't know she was pregnant, or even that there was the slightest possibility that she could be. They had been careful. They didn't want to have a baby so early in their lives... and their marriage. The following February, my mom told my grandmother she had been having horrible heart burn and thought it was from a stomach flu. She had been sick almost every day for the last month. My grandmother knew right away that she was pregnant.
It wasn't a happy time for them. My mom was 19. She was a baby. She was naive. Her husband was no better. He hadn't given up partying, drinking, fishing, and hunting. He was rarely at home. He wasn't very dependable or trustworthy.
My grandmother reminded my mom of this and offered to pay for an abortion. "It will be better that way. You don't need this baby." My grandmother's exact words, as told by my mom. The thought never crossed my mom's mind. Luckily for me, she was adamantly against abortion. She had studied it for years and knew that she couldn't do that. "I loved you too much. I could never end your life." Again, direct quote from my mom. My mom went against strong adversity. My grandparents didn't support her in her decision to keep me. It was going to be hard on her. She was going to be raising a baby by herself. My alcoholic father wasn't going to help. He didn't care to.
My mom clearly voiced her opinion and told everyone if they didn't support her, that she didn't care. She was going to have her baby, with or without them. Thankfully, they didn't give up on her.
Her due date was September 26. She was so excited about it, but was still very nervous. She was still considering adoption, but was having a hard time accepting it.
On July 4, 1983, she went into labor for the first time. She wasn't ready! Her OB-GYN had her flown to Birmingham just in case she did deliver. My lungs weren't fully developed and I would not have survived had I been born then. When they got on the helicopter, they stopped her contractions.
Later that day, they found out that she had endometriosis, which means that the tissue that normally lines the uterus grows in other areas of the body, causing pain, irregular bleeding, and frequently infertility. Women with endometriosis have a hard time delivering a healthy, normal baby. It is hard on them and the baby.
She was in the hospital for a week. My dad never visited... or even called. In fact, he didn't even know that she was in the hospital. He hadn't been home.
She went into labor four more times after that. The last time was on August 19, 1983. She slept through the entire thing... and it wasn't a C-section!
After I was born, I had to be taken back to Birmingham. My paternal grandmother finally found my dad and told him what was going on. He arrived at the hospital in Cullman and Dr. Williamson, my mom's OB-GYN wouldn't let him on the ambulance. He was sloppy drunk. Dr. Williamson told him that he wasn't going to allow him to upset my mom anymore and that he was a sorry excuse for a man! He found his way to Birmingham. He stayed for a total of an hour and my mom didn't see him for two weeks after that.
She had severe postpartum complications due to the endometriosis. Every few minutes, a blood clot the size of a baseball would run down her legs. She was losing blood profusely. One day, while he was gone, she fainted due to the blood loss. She had been out for two hours when my grandmother found her.
A few years later...
I was three. I had discovered excuses. If I didn't want to do something, I'd tell my mom there was a man... "Andi, clean your room." "I can't, Mama. There's a man in there." One day, she told me to take some scraps out to the dogs (We had two German Shepherds, both offspring of former police dogs). I went out there to do it and came back. I said, "Mama, there's a man out there." She had learned my antics and told me to say hi to him and go feed the dogs. I went to do it and came back and said, "I can't, Mama, there's a man out there." I had never said it twice before, so she went to look. There WAS a man out there. He was stoned out of his mind. He was trying to break in. My mom told him that if he took a step closer, she would shoot him, but he didn't stop. (Of course, I don't remember any of this) We went out the back door. As we closed the door, he stepped around the corner. My mom tried to get away from him, but he grabbed her shirt. She put me down and told me to run to Grandmama's. (We lived on the same land as my uncle and grandparents) My mom yelled for Misty, our German Shepherd. She ran back there, saw the guy, and jumped up, grabbed him by the neck and held him there 'til my mom got to my grandparents house. The cops found him a few minutes later. He was wandering around in a daze, talking to himself, and bleeding.
A few years later, I got my kindergarten yearbook. The school I went to was for grades K-12. In the back of the book, there was a page about a boy who had died that school year. I didn't look at my yearbook until years later. I was probably 8. I asked my mom how I knew that guy. I told her that his eyes scared me. That's when I heard the story about him breaking in on us.
My dad wasn't around that whole time. Actually, the guy told my mom that he had been watching her and realized that she had no man at home. Bastard... he should have been there to protect us.
Actually, one time when I was three, my dad came up to me in the yard and told me to do something. I didn't do it because my mom always told me not to talk to strangers. At three, you should know your father. When I didn't do what he told me to, he grabbed a metal leash and whipped me with it. My mom saw him doing it through the kitchen window and ran out there. She pushed him off the porch, then beat him with it. Haha... no, I'm not kidding.
Years later...
When I was six, we moved to North Carolina. My mom had a great job and was being transferred. My mom let me stay out of school for awhile. I was excruciatingly shy and was terrified of going to this new school. I was nine hours and 500 miles from my friends.
One day, she called me at 9:00 and asked what I was doing. I said that I was playing with Tiffany (my dog) and watching tv. I said that I was hungry. She told me to go get Daddy and put him on the phone. I went in his room and he told me to get out. I told her that and she got mad! She called back an hour later and he was still asleep. She asked what I was doing. I said I was cleaning up the mess Tiffany had made. "She threw up," I said. That made her even madder. She asked if I had eaten. I told her that I was eating Cap'n Crunch dry. I have always loved dry cereal. She came home for lunch and I was standing on the counter to put the cereal up. My dad was still asleep. She took Tiffany out (obviously, I wasn't allowed to by myself), then she went into the bedroom, pulled my dad off the bed and yelled at him for atleast 15 minutes. He got up and sat on the couch. When she left, he went back to sleep. Skip forward a few hours... when she stepped out of her car, she smelled something terrible. She knew right then it was coming from our apartment. She ran up the steps and saw me sitting the floor crying because Tiffany was so sick and I couldn't clean it up. I was trying, but she had horrible diarrhea and kept throwing up. It scared me because she wouldn't stop and I couldn't get my daddy up. My mom was livid!
The next week, I had my first day at Mocksville Middle School. I enjoyed it! I made friends fast! I was happy! The week after that, I came home and my dad wasn't there. He hadn't left the apartment since we moved. Where was he? My mom sat me down and told me that he had gone back to Alabama. He didn't say bye to me! I was devastated. I always thought that he didn't love me because I was girl. Actually, I still think that. I think that things would have been different had I been given a Y chromosome.
I lived in North Carolina for five years. I didn't talk to my dad one time. I never got a birthday card, or anything. My mom remarried a year after my dad left. I had a hard time adjusting to having a man in my life. He understood that and was very patient.
Before they got married, I got to know him very well. My cousin, Jayme, was run over and my mom had to go to Alabama, so Greg stayed with me. I had him wrapped around my finger. I convinced him that I ate McDonald's every night and got to play on the playground before I did my homework. I told him that I got to dress myself and could wear anything I wanted. When my mom came home, she picked me up from school, and was horrified. I was wearing my life-sized Barbie's shoes, my hair was in a greasy lopsided ponytail (I had put baby oil in the bathtub and then proceeded to wash my hair ha), and I was wearing a green shirt with pink polka-dotted shorts. Oh wait- don't forget the purple socks. lol
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
I have always had issues with trusting people because of my father. I have gotten a bit better. Greg (my stepdad) restored my faith in the opposite sex. He proved to me that there are good men in the world. To this day, you can't convince him that I am not his daughter. It will be him that walks me down the aisle. It will be him that my children will call their grandfather.
I still don't talk to my biological father (a.k.a. the man who fathered me) very often. In 2002, my paternal grandfather died and my dad's bitch of a wife called to tell me. I can't stand her. I let my voicemail get it. She left a message that he had died, not that I should call her. That pissed me off. At the viewing, my dad showed me off, telling everyone that I was going to be a doctor. When someone said, "Mike, she's beautiful- she looks just like you," I wanted to vomit. I hate being told I look like him. I don't want to be like him. I want to be dependable. I want to know my children. I want them to know that I will always be there, that I will never give up on them.
When I was eleven, I told my mom that I wasn't sure that I could ever love my dad. I have forgotten how to. I thank him for giving me life, but it is my mom who has made it worthwhile. It is my mom who has taught me right from wrong, who has been there for me when I was hurt, upset, and happy. It wasn't him and it never will be. The only thing that he has ever done for me is donate a sperm. That sounds bitter. I'm not bitter.
I have tried to forgive him. For the most part, I have. I haven't suffered because he left. I would have suffered if he would have stayed. I have a man who loves me enough to call me his daughter even though we are not gentically similar. I have a man that cared enough about me to play basketball with me for hours upon end and improved my jumpshot tremendously. :) He was the one who comforted me when I was upset, who took care of me when I was sick. He's the one who dealt with my first bout of PMS. :) He's the one who helped me move into my first apartment. Where has my biological father been?
If you're still reading, I'm sorry this was so long! I didn't realize I was going to write a novel. :) By writing this, I'm not asking for sympathy. I mentioned "TMWFM" today, and had to explain. Just a little insight into Andrea