For all my growth and new maturity (I say with a modicum of sarcasm) I thought I had let go of a certain resentment. It became very apparent that I have not relieved myself of it – after a couple of small kicks to the teeth last night.
So I’m breaking one rule of confidentiality and I’m going to talk about someone. Oh yeah, I’m gonna. Gird your loins.
I’m even putting a photo up … so other women can take heed. I did blur out the other person in the pic (see, I do still have an edit button.)
Nic and I were chatting about his ‘donor’ I won’t give him the noble title of ‘Father’ or ‘dad’ he earned neither.
There is a catchy song on the radio by an entertainer named Mackelmore. When I looked this song up, I was surprised to find he resembled said ‘donor’ when I knew him in the clubs. Only, donor had darker blonde hair and a leather jacket. But, similar looking. See below. That is Mackelmore.
Damien Lewis also reminds me of a young version of donor
I wanted to compare to be sure – as it’s been over 18 years since I saw ‘donor’ young.
I went onto Facebook where I am friends with ‘donors’ mother. I use the term ‘friend’ loosely. I think we only chatted twice. Once she actually asked me to send pictures of Nic? Um …. It’s Facebook – I have a WHOLE BUNCH of photo albums chock-a-block full of pictures of Nic. Click on them woman!
There were 3 pictures of donor in her album. So I typed her name and … nothing. She had unfriended me!!!
Now, the last message I sent to her was just before Nic turned 18. basically saying that it would be the last time I reached out and made an effort. I’ve had this notion from the get go that just because donor didn’t want to be in his son’s life, didn’t mean I should punish Nic’s paternal grandparents. I took him to meet his paternal grandmother as a newborn. She didn’t want to hold him. I took him to say good-bye when I was about to move to Nevada when Nic was in 2nd grade. They took a few Polaroids. The second visit before we left town was met with donor on the couch. (Gee, thanks for giving me the heads up that my son is about to meet his donor with no preparation.)
That was the first and only time that donor and son ever met.
I recall he took Nic out onto the playground as I waited nervously – he introduced him to everyone as his son and then showed him his DJ equipment at his apartment (same complex).
That was it.
I left town and never saw him again. Never pressed for child support. Never contacted him. He made it very clear he did not want to be a father – so be it.
Now, his mom not only unfriended me … but blocked me. And that ticked me off.
It’s one thing to be a deadbeat dad, but what grandparent doesn’t want to know their grandchild?!?!
If a girl came to me holding a baby and saying it was my sons child – I’d have quite a chat with Nic. Did you have sex with this girl? If so – then there IS a chance this is your child. If you do not believe that to be the case, initiate tests to determine the truth. If it is your child, step up and provide for that child. Emotionally and financially.
Was there ever a conversation about Nic between them I wonder?
So I’m sore about being ‘dissed’ by grandma. Nic says he’ll find him and we start searching the net. He announces “I FOUND HIM!” My boy is a funny guy … on his ipad, in the google search box were just the words “Dead Beat Dad”. Ha ha.
I entered his name … and did find him.
It wasn’t until I saw his smiling, carefree face that I realized how angry I still am.
Not only smiling and carefree, but evidently quite the avid fisherman now (AND reviewing expensive rods and reels on Amazon. That’s just super that you have extra money to spend on your hobby there champ!)
Here is the photo: He’s on the left
I wanted to punch him in the face. I wanted that fish to suddenly pull a Monty Python “I’m not dead yet!” and bite his pointing finger off.
The frustration that I feel seeing him enjoying his life when he walked away from his responsibilities is beyond my ability to describe.
I have been angry a lot of today.
I have to stop – drop and roll. No, that’s for something else …
I have to stop. Breathe. Look at fact.
- I chose not to pursue financial assistance from this man, knowing Nic’s life would be better for not having him in it
- It is donors loss not knowing Nic
- I don’t know if his life has been easy or enjoyable from 1 photo
- I don’t know that he wasn’t eaten by that fish …
What I do know is I have more forgiving to do. Because I’m not there yet on this one.
On a happy note – Nic isn’t phased by any of this. I don’t know where he gets his resilience, but I’m glad he has it. I also hope he has bail money should I ever bump into donor in the future.
Obviously a large part of my blog – and giant chunk of my life is the fact that I’m a single mom.
Just because you have children and got a divorce does not make you a ‘single parent’. Yes, it makes your marital status ‘single’, but you’re not raising your children alone.
That’s one of my pet peeves – someone trying to relate with ‘yeah! I’m a single mom too!’
No you’re not, your children have a father in their lives, who they spend time with and who contributes both financially and emotionally to their upbringing! You have someone to talk to, bounce things off of and who takes some of the load off of your shoulders.
But I digress.
My sons ‘donor’ was a rave DJ who I was quite taken with. His nick name was Odie. We met in a club he had James Dean hair, misfits leather jacket and beautiful blue eyes. 3 months later we broke up and I informed him I was pregnant.
Have to give him credit for his honesty – he did not want to be a father. And, (I quote) if you ever try for child support, I’ll quit my job and move in with my parents.
Well – at least I knew where I stood. And in 17 years, I have never ‘tried for child support’. In my opinion, anyone who does not want to be a part of my funny, kind, smart, beautiful sons life, doesn’t deserve to be. And I do not want their money.
I spat out the bitter pill rather than swallow it and when my son was born, and with a proud and sunny disposition I let his paternal grandparents know they had a grandson. There’s a lot to be said for genes – because after one meeting, apparently they did not want to be his grandparents either.
That’s fine. The way I see it, it’s sad really because they have truly missed out. I look at my son as the best gift I have ever received and so I have gratitude for their existence at least. OK, at best.
I’ve tried never to have a bad word to say about his dad. I didn’t want him thinking that a part of him was ‘bad’.
Lately, I’ve been seeing his dad in him. He has those beautiful blue eyes and some of his idiosyncrasies mirror his bio’s. Like sticking out his tongue when he’s really concentrating. It’s interesting – as they’ve only met once, almost 9 years ago.
But I digress. Today as we were laughing and chatting (he was doing a spot on imitation of Consuela, the maid from Family Guy) I said ‘we SO get us’. Our brand of humor is kind of out there and he makes me laugh ALL the time. He responded with, “well, I do have your genes – of course we ‘get’ us”.
I mentioned that lately he’s been looking a lot like Odie. I told him that was a good thing though – as he was a good-looking man. I then had to explain why he was named after Garfield’s canine friend. He wasn’t the shiniest marble in the marble bag. We went on to compare things in common with each other – our hands, our humor – but I was realizing he really doesn’t look so much like me. (Ask anyone else and they’ll say he does – but they haven’t met his other set of genes).
My son was stuck on the marble thing – and comes out with, “So why am I smart?” It took a second … sunk in … and with mock horror I gave him ‘the look’. I saw what he did there.
Who knows where he got his brain from. Perhaps it was me – and I just muddled it up with past debauchery.
I wonder about that sometimes … how smart could I be if I had NEVER taken a single drug or sip of alcohol? My poor brain cells!
I am smart enough to know how blessed I am to be the mother of an amazing young man.
Someone recently told me I was ‘sacrificing’ my life for my son. “After all, he’s 17!” This came from someone with no children, wanting more of me – more of my time. He didn’t get it. Didn’t get the time and didn’t get that it’s not a sacrifice.
I chose to be a mother and have loved every minute.
From ‘accidentally’ bumping his crib “OH! Are you awake … let me hold you” as a baby to our private jokes and ‘grown up’ discussions now he’s a young man.
If he decides he would like to know his dad in the future – I’ll understand. Hopefully I won’t hunt around for the bitter pill I spat out in order to swallow it. I don’t want to be bitter.
I did have an idea – and I pray I grow up a little more and NOT do it. But in my fantasies, I post a photo of my son graduating High School on his paternal grandmothers wall. With the following caption “Raised, graduated – oh, and he’s 18 now, tell Odie he can stop hiding. And by the way, you’re welcome”.
That would be petty … but oh it would feel so good! ^_^