When I tell people that my dad is missing, they normally don’t believe me. But it’s true, I haven’t seen him in just over eleven years. And no one else in my family has seen or heard from him in just over eleven years.
His disappearance has affected my life in many ways: the ways in which I view the opposite sex, the outside world and myself are forever tainted as a result of missing the key element of a father. His absence has caused a lot of agony, pain, and confusion. It’s hard being in a world where most people at least know where their dad is while I still have no clue.
So when I say my dad has been missing, I mean that my dad’s last location was at his shared residence with his mom and step-dad (my grandparents) in Southern California in January of 2000. My grandma (his mom) is my only biological grandparent that I know. She married my grandpa (my dad’s step-dad) after both my dad and his younger brother were born. My dad’s real dad is unknown (sounds familiar to my missing father). Apparently, my dad thought that his father abandoned their family because my grandma kept having boys when he wanted a girl. However, as I aged, my mother informed me otherwise.
My grandma had apparently slept with her boss who, in fact, had his own family not including my grandma and her boys. Even though she got knocked up by her boss, he just wouldn’t have anything to do with them, so my grandma got a new job, where she met my dad’s step-dad. She then had my dad’s little half-sister after marrying my grandpa.
And as pathetic as it was, my dad lived at home with his mom and step-dad until he was last seen by my family. I have always thought it strange that my family continues to repeat their history, year after year.Which means I have the important task of changing the cycle. However, the only way to adjust the cycle is to look back on what I do know, so I can figure out what I need to do in order to be a successful parent for my daughter. Because, in reality, the change lies within ourselves and what we can provide for the next generation. Looking back, my father was very dear to me. If only he wasn’t such an alcoholic deadbeat, I probably would still have my dad around. His drinking led to abuse and power trips.
He somehow managed to always prove how deadbeat he was: he lived with his parents in a re-modeled garage customized to live in, drove his mom’s old Nissan Maxima that she gave him when she upgraded to the next generation Nissan Maxima, and whenever he would takes us out to eat or take us to an amusement park, like Knott’s Berry Farm or Disneyland, it was always with his mother’s money. When he was around, I was too young to care. But don’t take all of this the wrong way, I love my dad. He was awesome and he was my hero. He talked to me as though I was an adult.I remember that he would explain things to me that no one else dared to explain because they thought I was too immature to handle the truth, but my dad knew I was far too intelligent to lie to, even at such a young age. He used to tell me all sorts of stories as well: crazy fantasies that he would make up, or insane but true stories about himself.
Like one night, when he was hanging at a friend’s house, he sat outside to have a drink and get some fresh air. When he placed his hand down to get up, he was bitten by a black widow spider and passed out from the intensity of the fresh wound.His friend eventually came outside to check on him and found him knocked out and sprawled across the front stairs.
They first tried to wake him with amazing luck. He came to with a badly swollen hand, but somehow managed to live through a deadly bite without being hospitalized. When he told me this story, I was only nine so, of course, I believed him without a doubt in my mind. Now-a-days I don’t exactly feel the same way. Another crazy story of my dad was the most recent. The summer of 1999, my little brother and I went to visit my dad in Orange County. Upon arrival, my dad made it very clear that he had survived a car crash.Normally when you hear about car crashes in which people survive, you don’t really think it could be that devastating.
But from the evidence my dad showed, it was a horrific crash. The car was totaled on one of the freeways in California (one of the freeways with cement walls). When looking at what was left of the car, one would not believe that the man showing you the sad car remains was in the vehicle at the time it was totaled. The vehicle was crunched from all angles, the mirrors dangling by threads of wires and metal, and there didn’t seem to be any glass remaining where it once should have been.And yet there was my dad, standing right next to me, showing off this deadly piece of junk.
“How could he honestly still be alive? ,” I remember wondering, but I was thankful my precious father was still alive to hold me close. Remember, I was young when my dad was around. Some of my earliest memories of my dad were at my grandparent’s pool. I remember I learned how to swim in that pool. My dad taught me how to swim. He was such an excellent swimmer, and I remember being thrown about in the pool and being taught how to hold my breath under water. He also showed my little brother and me how to handle the waves and current at the beach.I remember a time when he actually had to jump in at the beach and save my brother from a current grabbing him and sweeping him down the coast.
That was a scary event. Regardless of his deadbeat ways, he was my hero. I was so fond of him and still find myself missing him today.
He was intelligent: he could answer all of the “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” and “Jeopardy” questions. It was almost too cool, like creepy cool. I would always hassle him, “Dad? How come you never go on those shows? You could win a lot of money. ” He would always reply, “The time I end up actually making it on the show is the time I will get an answer wrong.
I felt he was only limiting himself. So, I should probably explain why my dad ended up being such a dead-beat. Especially if he was so intelligent, it just doesn’t make sense why he would be so lame. Back before I was born, my dad used to work for Xerox, before that company got “big. ” One day on the job he went to repair a copier on location and tore his cartilage in his right knee. It was a very painful injury that put him out of work.
He was forced to have some sort of surgery and ended up undergoing several surgeries to place pins in his knee and to have other things fixed.His injury was too great to overcome completely. Therefore his “deadbeatness” became a reality. He began to drink heavily. His pain would normally keep him up all night and forced him to sleep in a recliner chair for a better position. This also explained his limp.
My dad was easily spotted due to his limp and his crazy, wavy, thinning hair and his abnormal shakiness. He was great at managing to hide his bald spot with a baseball cap: a sun bleached navy blue hat with the red lettering, “ANGELS,” with tufts of wavy dirty blonde locks hanging out the sides.The pungent aroma of beer laden his breath, but only if you were held near his face would you be able to pick up on the scent. His shake was because of the drinking and was one of the more memorable features of my father.
The hair was a genetic issue. I sadly regret that I share almost the exact same texture of hair as him. I guess it was a genetic fault that we both were cursed to suffer through. He was tall, thin, and was excellent at sports when he was younger. I loved getting picked up by his substantial and strong hands that for whatever reason always seemed rough and soft at the same time.His grip would be firm and comforting, the way a dad’s should. he was definitely a one-of-a-kind dad.
Well, you probably are wondering why I haven’t just gone and searched for him myself. I have searched for him, though with no luck. I have spent many hours hunting for any sign of my father. I found numbers, online profiles, and addresses that all brought me to a dead end. I even looked into getting on that one TV show, “Find Your Family. ” But I didn’t have all the information they were asking for, so I gave that one up.
It has always been my dream to find my dad, especially now that I am having a daughter.I guess I always thought he would at least be back in my life to see the arrival of his first grandchild. I guess I was wrong. Every day is a struggle, regardless of what they say about time healing everything. But I have learned to live with the situation of not having a father in my life, rather than fight off this painful reality.
There have been too many nights that I spent crying for my daddy and too many times were I needed his help. Being without a father figure gave me a lack in a sense of protection and as a result I became discouraged and I just can’t allow myself to continue doing so.So you can take this as a release of memories of my dad or a release of the hardships that I have faced living without him in my life, or you can just take it as it is. Any way, you now know about my missing father and hopefully we don’t share this in common. I would hate for anyone else to feel the pain and sorrow I have felt from my loss, but the realities of this world say otherwise. Maybe you have a worse situation, or you can relate, either way, it is what it is and life just goes on.