Why I had to "find" my birth father
My story starts out when my parents were in high school. They were probably what you'd call "high-school sweethearts" but it seems that after a year of college, that kind of soured. About a month after they broke up, my mother's father died and she found out she was pregnant. It was a devastating time, but it was also 1962, and so my parents did what they were "supposed" to and were married despite the fact that they were no longer in love.
The marriage was rocky to say the least. They moved in with my grandmother since her husband had just died at a very young age, and she needed the help around the house. There had always been a rivalry between the two families and the marriage just exacerbated it. His family were screaming that my mother had gotten pregnant to "trap" their son and my mother's family were screaming that my father had taken advantage of my mother. Needless to say, there was no support or encouragement for the marriage to work and so it didn't.
When I was three months old, my father waited until my grandmother, mother and I were out of the house and he left a simple note saying "I can't take it anymore" on the kitchen table and disappeared.
He made little effort to see me after that, paid his child support grudgingly and eventually terminated his parental rights.
When I was three, my mother remarried. This man was extremely abusive to both of us but she felt that in 1966, the need for me to have a father and for her to be married far outweighed the abuse she took in order to accomplish it. My uncle was led to believe I was to be adopted concurrently with the marriage ceremony but my stepfather refused to do it. It was the first of many dark secrets my mother kept from her family.
I was raised to believe my stepfather WAS indeed my natural father. I didn't remember my real father and so it really wasn't even an issue. I was taught that my name was my stepfather's name and I was completely oblivious to my history and who I really was.
In first grade, my teacher informed me that my REAL name was different than that which I was writing and asked me to please write my REAL name. I was mortified as well as horribly embarrassed and ran home to find out what she had meant. My mother explained that I had another daddy but that he never wanted me. She said that my stepfather DID want me and I should appreciate that someone did. She said we could never speak of it in front of him or anyone else.
Thus began the dirty, little secret.
For the rest of my childhood, I guarded that secret and at night when my stepfather would be beating my mother and screaming out my real father's name, I would just die of embarrassment that my secret was known. I also felt that if my real father knew what was happening to me, that he would come and save me. It was a very romantic idea and one which, I am sure, got me through all of the horror in which I lived.
When I was sixteen, I became an exchange student and my stepfather was forced to adopt me in order for me to get a passport. He did so unwillingly but my school records had to match my legal name and I needed a birth certificate to get a passport. It would have been embarrassing for our small community to learn our dirty little secret.
My mother died in 1983, two days into my junior year. The next day, my stepfather took me outside in the pouring rain and told me I was free to find my natural father. He basically threw me out.
Out of respect for my mother who had always strongly told me NEVER to find the man, I refrained and tried to remain true to her wishes. But eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I began my search in earnest.
I knew that once I found my daddy and he knew what had happened to me he would be really sorry he had abandoned me and would make it all up to me. I still had the rose colored glasses on.
Unfortunately, while I DID find him, all of romantic ideas and hopes went straight down the toilet.
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