I grew up with only small memories of the man who is my father. A memory of being in a car seat and eating a whole roll of bubble tape; or being playing in the backyard of the house of a grandmother I didn’t remember. For more than 5 years this was the only proof that I had a dad. Being young at the time I use to pretend that he was dead, he might as well have been considering I couldn’t prove he even existed. For all I knew I had just appeared one windy night like fog in the morning.

I remember the day clearly when He finally got in touch with us. I was packing for a girl scout trip while my family was visiting. My aunt had come upstairs where my mom and I were packing shirts and shorts for my trip, handed my mom the phone, and led me downstairs. I’d be lying if it said it felt like hours that I was sitting downstairs wondering what was going on, but honestly I don’t even remember that part. What I do remember is getting to go back upstairs and talk on the phone for what felt like the first time with my dad.

“Hello, Princess.” This is all I remember him saying to me. That’s all I can recount for a while actually until maybe a few months later when this strange man, along with my aunt, came to visit. I got to spend the whole day with my dad, my aunt, and my brother. Although it was strange it was wonderful. On our way home we even stopped at Wal-Mart to pick out one toy that we wanted, and of course I got a Brat Doll because they were the BEST!

The first visit to his house was… weird. Here I was spending time with a guy that I didn’t even know. For my brother it was easier. He had more memories of times spent with him, while I didn’t. But still I made the most of it, and I had a dad.

But slowly this re-formed family started to fall apart again. As quickly as he had started calling he stopped. Visits became less frequent, and soon it became years at a time that we would get to see him. When we did get to visit, they were filled with what I now know to be lies about what would soon be. About the changes that were going to happen and about the family we would soon be. But he was never there for the moments that really mattered. For my first homecoming, when I made it to state for Cross Country, when I got my license, when I was sad about getting bullied, or when I got an A+ on my math test.

Now that I am 16 and able to understand everything that has happened and I don’t know how to feel. When I finally do talk to him we quickly start fighting about how he doesn’t call and how he doesn’t care. The cherry on my crap cake is that our conversations consist mainly of him. I can’t even tell you the last time he asked me how I was, or what was going on with my life. It’s always just; I couldn’t call because I’m trying to get a job, I’ve been struggling trying to get a new car, my phone broke so I lost your number, you don’t even know what I’ve been through. I. I. I. Me. Me. Me.

Since the fighting between the two of us began, talking has ceased altogether. It’s been almost half a year since we’ve been in contact. I don’t think he cares. I don’t think he ever did. Why did he even have kids if he wasn’t prepared to care and love them unconditionally?
If it weren’t for my grandfather I don’t think I would’ve grown up as I did. Because it was him who did love me unconditionally. He was my father and he always asked me how I was, gave me hugs on my birthday, fixed me when I was hurt, gave me time-outs when I was bad, and created memories that will last me a 3 lifetimes.

I don’t need a dad, because I already have one. A father by his own choice and I think that’s going to be enough. Besides why should I have to be miserable hoping and wishing for someone who never cared from the beginning?