My biological father doesn’t know about my blog. He didn’t give me permission to discuss him here. So, I will not provide any information that could identify him in this post.
Sitting here about 48 hours after our meeting, I’m wishing I had reached out to him years earlier. Sometimes, it’s easy to let the fear of the unknown convince us we don’t really care about something. Other times, we let previous rejections convince us that we will be rejected when we won’t be rejected. But when we finally take a difficult step and it goes better than we were expecting, we are left with regret that we hadn’t taken that step sooner.
Obviously I have no idea what the future holds, but I do regret not offering him the chance to tell his story sooner. I am disappointed that I didn’t allow him to show me how he may have changed from the teenager he was decades earlier. For both of our sakes, I should have made the contact that was so much easier for me to make than him. Since I didn’t give either of us the opportunity to share our stories and say our pieces, I’m left with my own regrets and a hope that the time left can be good.
Leading up to our meeting, I was a bit nervous. Some of my hesitation stemmed from the wonder I felt about how he would react to my blindness. Some of my hesitation stemmed from the wall I had spent decades building based on what I knew from Mom from the time of her pregnancy and how hurt she was by everything. And while I absolutely believe Mom’s story, talking with him reminded me that things are often more complicated than we regularly make them. Too often we simplify emotionally painful things. By simplifying them we have an easier time avoiding them. In avoiding them, we deny ourselves the chance to learn things and perspectives we should learn. And, of course, in seeking protection from emotional pain, we deny ourselves the heeling only confronting the pain can bring.
I kept telling myself, because it was true, that I would be happy if all I got was the medical information I should have. But the truth is everyone wants more than a few facts about family medical history. Sure, I would have settled for that. I would have been comfortable if that was all he gave me. But when you know someone is your biological father, you would like more from the relationship than the understanding that you should schedule a colonoscopy.
Sitting here today, I’m thinking about the text he sent last night reminding me of how much he enjoyed our conversation. Thinking about that tells me he wasn’t scared away by my blindness. I’m guessing he has questions about that and he may not quite know how to ask them. But it didn’t seem to make him think less of me.
When I finished telling him a bit about my life, he said he was proud of me. He said a few minutes after meeting me what my adoptive parents almost never said in decades with me as their son. Honestly, that meant a lot to me.
I’m guessing we are pretty different personally. Very few people share my political beliefs. Very few people share my lack of religion. Very few people see the world the way I see the world. But maybe we could have a decency and respect that could result in those differences not preventing us from sharing what we may be able to share.
He made mistakes decades ago. I made mistakes in not hearing him out and judging him when I shouldn’t have judged him. But talking with him felt good. It felt like we could move beyond our mistakes and have a relationship that makes both of us better.
I truly believe he knows he made mistakes and that he is sorry for them. I know each of those things is true for me too. There is much more we will need to discover about each other. It will take time for everyone involved to be comfortable with this change. But meeting him and sharing an acceptance with him left me feeling a peace I didn’t think I would feel when I thought about meeting him.
Time will write the rest of our story. But I’m very much looking forward to doing my part to making sure time writes a good story that leaves all of us involved with no more regrets and hopefully many good memories.