The following excerpt from Wikipedia:
“Importance of father or father-figure.”

“Involved fathers offer developmentally specific provisions to their children and are impacted themselves by doing so. Active father figures may play a role in reducing behavior and psychological problems in young adults.[9] An increased amount of father–child involvement may help increase a child’s social stability, educational achievement, and their potential to have a solid marriage as an adult. Their children may also be more curious about the world around them and develop greater problem solving skills.[10] Children who were raised with fathers perceive themselves to be more cognitively and physically competent than their peers without a father.[11] Mothers raising children together with a father reported less severe disputes with their child.[“

I was in the midst of a blissful sleeping dream this morning, when all of a sudden I felt something being shoved into my face. I took a deep breath, opened my eyes and saw a Green Fuzzy Bone pressed against my cheek.

At the “pressing” end of the green fuzzy bone, was a dark brown Ziggy Dog with the green fuzzy bone gripped tightly in his mouth.

“Okay, Okay Zig, I’m up!” I said

Wag Wag Wag.

The toy is tossed away and quickly forgotten, as he gets busy with his morning work. (licking/cleaning my face). I don’t dare stop him until he is done, if I do, he gets very upset, and has to start over from the beginning. (Ziggy has a touch of O.C.D. but, he’s my baby, and I Love Him no matter what!)

After Ziggy finished my bath, I got up, hit the potty, got the coffee started and turned on the news. Fathers Day.

Most of you are probably spending the day with your dads, or for those of you who have lost your fathers,  a day of remembering them.

Me? None of the above.

I was given up for adoption when I was born, which is not necessarily a big deal. There are tens of thousands of us adopted kids in the world. The story we have all heard, (or at least most of us) goes something like this:”Your Mama loved you so much, that she wanted to make sure you had a good life. She knew that she couldn’t give you what we could, so she gave you to us to raise.” I am certain there are other types of “stories” but the basic sentiment is the same.

Onward….So there I was,  a cute little blonde haired, fair skinned, blue eyed baby girl…perfect..

Well, not quite perfect.

My eyes were crossed. (Dear God!)

Having crossed eyes, in an otherwise perfect little baby girl package created a HUGE problem in my newborn life. My prospective adoptive family did not want to take me home because my eyes were crossed. (They had ordered a “perfect” baby, and I had a flaw!)

Oh Vanity, she is a cruel beast!

I was abandoned, for the second time in my newborn life, placed in a foster home (temporarily) until such time that my eyes either corrected themselves on their own so I could be adopted by the “perfect” family or  if they did not correct themselves, I would be an orphan.

I was named “Donna” by the foster mother who took me in. I was in her care, for about three months, at which time my eyes uncrossed, and I was  deemed “adoptable”.

The couple who adopted me were older. My Mom was 36, my Dad, 56. They had adopted a baby a year and a half earlier,  thus, I had a brother.

I do not have any conscious memories of any of that, after all, I was a baby.

To this day, I cannot remember anything about the man who is listed on my birth certificate next to the title: Father.

I do not remember his face, his smell, his voice, his touch. Nothing.

What little I do know about him, I have learned, not from members of my (estranged) family, but from genealogy websites.

My Father had a family prior to marrying my Mom. One of his sons from that marriage is a Mormon. ( I have a great deal of respect for the Mormons. Family is first and foremost, they take the time to research where they come from,  and they take care of each other.)

Were it not for my half brother being a member of the Mormon Church, I would know nothing about my Father.

Here is what I know:

He enlisted in the United States Air Force when he was nineteen. His parents both died when he was just nine years old, his childhood was apparently not so good. He married, had three children, divorced. He then married my Mom,  retired from the Air Force,  got a job at the DMV, adopted my brother then adopted me.

Two years later, my Mom found his lifeless body hanging from a rope in the entry way of our house.

Sadly, I have no memory of any of these things. I have no feelings of loss,of pain, of grief, or love for this man I never knew, my Father.

I never had a close relationship with a man until I became a woman. Sometimes, I wonder if my poor choice in male relationships was a direct result of not having a Father?

I then consider the fact that the man who was my Father took his own life, selfishly, leaving me with not even a distant faded memory of him.

I have never wished I had a Dad. A person cannot long for something they never had. I do look back at the memories of my past,  many of them are but feelings now,  the images have faded into the background over the passage of time.

Today, on Fathers Day, I have no memory, no feeling, no sense of the man who was my Father. How truly sad.



**Happy Fathers Day to all of you who are Fathers!**



One thought on “Father?

  1. That is sad indeed. I had a father but not a dad. My mom did the best she could, but it was not the same. I talked to my father today, but it was pretty much one sided as he gets distracted very easy by the dementia. I think part of the reason I had no children was to break the cycle. His father treated him just like he treated me. I stopped the problem.


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