Faux Pa

I received a phone call tonight from 23 of my chromosomes. It is a rare event, and one call I've not known how to handle. There are long pauses, moments of hurried chat, then odd syncopated monologues, where I vamp for time, trying to figure out what I want to do with this call. Entertaining dissertation on Nothing? Real thoughts? Excuse to end the call? The last one was 8 months earlier. He was not well then either.

Please, before there is any misunderstanding- this is NOT one of those blogs from guy-that-hates-someone-for-not-doing-something. Yawn. That thought is tiring and unproductive. This is about forgiveness, redemption, and unexpected sorrow. Sometimes I miss the younger, more self-absorbed me. It was easier to miss the sorrow of everything around me.

This guy, the deep voice on the phone, was my father. It was his biological right, earned in the throws of passion and in vows of marriage. He chose to renounce them, and me. Other fathers appeared. One bad. One good. Names changed a lot, to the dismay of geneologists trying to find me in 200 years. The story ended well, with the good guy, but I not without some anger and scars. I could not see past my rage for being thrown to the wolves. It defined and blinded me. That whole happy ending part was missed somehow because there was conflict and rising action in the beginning of the story.

By the time I'd made it to my mid 20's, it finally occured to me that it might be hard to wonder what ever became of your own flesh and blood. Parenting made me realize that. I turned out ok. This BioDad should know not to worry or blame himself. I looked him up to tell him. We met.

It is impossible to describe how totally underwhelmed I was by the experience. Maybe secretly I'd hoped that he'd be big, larger than life, proud of being an ass to me to justify the anger I harbored all those years. Nothing was farther from the truth. This guy, my BioDad, was living the sentence he'd pronounced upon himself for his crimes. For his many mistakes. He was Faux Pa: the dad that never really was, the mistakes that could not be unmade. He was small (impossible to imagine considering I'm 8 inches taller), in poor health manifested in so many ways, and looked nothing like me. Except the hands. We shook; they were the same. So odd, these complete strangers with identical hands.

He wanted to tell me about what happened, why. I really didn't want to hear it. (me me me) It was over. The upshot was he is forgiven (me me me). Don't talk about it. Time to move on. I'm fine (me me me). I told him that I didn't rightly know what to do with him. He's related to me, but not my father. What do you do with that? He was gracious, saying he'd be there when I wanted to talk. But I didn't want to. I was done.

I wanted to know some health information that related to me and possible risks. He's a wreck. I needed to know what was self induced and what wasn't (me me me). Then I felt all proud of myself, benevolent, and sanctimonius. Like a Christian. Little else happened after that. Rare calls.

We talked earlier in the year before he went into surgery. They were not sure he'd be ok for it. I called to wish him luck and skipped the post op call, wondering what would happen if he was dead. I just didn't know what to do with him. My nuclear family was full. My father (dad #3) was really sensitive about being cast aside for some guy who never did anything but leave. I get that. Part of me ignored him because of the obligation I felt to the guy who raised me. In retrospect, it seems like a cruel way of showing loyalty. I'm sorry that I've done that. Its too late.

Tonight my Faux Pa called to ask about my sister. She's in a state that is evacuating because of hurricanes. He knows she's there, but not how she is. His news is old and poor in general. He has memories and dates, fears and questions. Wonders what her kids look like? How she is. If she's like she was as a tiny kid... I let him know she's fine. Safely waiting out the storm, far, far away from a distant state. All is well. He was glad, but there was other news. He is sick.

This has never been anything new. In fact, I believe he has collected bad habits to punish himself for his mistakes. Sadly, they did nothing to relieve his pain. Now the bills are coming due for years of neglect. Coronary artery disease, inflamed liver, COPD, disk degeneration, damaged heart tissue, and now an aortic aneurism. It was picked up on a scan this week and is 2.5cm. They can't operate, or shouldn't. He's not a good candidate for survival. At 5cm they'll operated, if they get a chance. It may likely burst by then, and he will die in a matter of minutes. This is what he called to tell me.

Its a strange feeling to sort out. This person I never knew, but wanted to know, then wanted to hate, then wanted to forgive is still a stranger with similar hands. I've spent so much of my life wondering if it would really be so hard to love someone like me, wondering why I could be so easily cast aside, like a defect. I raged on blindly for years. And yet waited the Faux Pa; for a chance to be forgiven and start again. But I needed the anger more than the love, I guess, or maybe the anger seemed easier to get.

And I had a happy ending. Good parents, a beautiful wife, job with lots of money and beautiful kids. It all looks so happy. In the moment it is. But I cannot keep my mind out of my past. All these people who were good to me, I've overlooked and focused on this one rejection (me me me). Now that I see that this life of mine is really about so much more than me, I see only what I've missed all this time. The one thing I wanted most my whole life, the thing that would have made me whole- it was there and I was to angry to see it. Logically I know that can be grateful for what I am, and who am with now- for however long. Its just easier to forgive others, not yourself when things go wrong. I'm not supposed to dwell on my mistakes, but I am. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Post Script:

This was written a few years ago. The FauxPa is still getting along. I am moving blogs to this site and its funny to read them. Much energy expended on what could be rather than what is. Perhaps one of these days I'll figure that out.