Finding Dad
By: KK
Copyright @2001

My sister and I have different fathers and we never knew them while growing up. Our mother raised us as a single parent. My sisters father lived in our state for her entire life and from the beginning tried to be a part of her life. My mother would not allow him to help raise my sister. Several years ago I found out that her father had died in the 80's and my sister was devastated and felt betrayed by our mother. My sister did find out that she had a half sister and brother and has contacted them. Both did not know she existed, but assured my sister that they had no doubt that he would have wanted to be a father to her.

According to my mother, her and my father were engaged and when she became pregnant he disappeared. While she was still in the hospital he showed up with a Mexican woman with five children and tried to kidnap me. Her elaborate story of the kidnap attempt was backed up by certain relatives. These same relatives also admit to not actually seeing my father at the hospital and their stories were based on my mother's version. When my mother was questioned about the validity of that story, she stood firm that he did know that I existed, but she chose to not have him in my life.

I was very inquisitive as a child and was constantly asking questions about him. My mother always promised that when I turned eighteen she would help me find him. She only had one picture of her and him sitting on a sofa together. He looked like a young James Dean and she had the traditional 60's blonde bouffant and black pointed glasses.

When I was almost eighteen I was kicked out of my house for having a party while my mother and step-father were out of town. I moved to San Diego and stayed with relatives. I quickly realized that since I was back in my birth city that this was my opportunity to find my Dad. Even though my mother and I were not on the best of terms, she did give me the small amount of information that she remembered about him. I had his name, date of birth and the place he worked at when she was dating him. A police officer friend of one of my relatives looked up the information I had and gave me my Dads social security number and some other bits of information. At this point I thought it should be easy to find him now. Because of my lack of knowledge and young age I was not in a position to pay a private detective to find him. I did all the foot work myself and it took six years to finally locate him.

Shortly after I started dancing I met a private detective at the club I was working at. He listened to my story and said that he would be happy to look up the information I had if I would come to his office and give him a private table dance. I refused and said I would rather pay him instead. He was persistent, but I was stubborn. I knew that he was my chance to find my father, so I flirted with the detective and led him on until he finally agreed to let me pay him instead of privately dancing for him. One day I gave him the information I had and within a half an hour he called to tell me that he had located my Dad.

I was stunned. The moment that I had waited for all these years had finally landed in my lap and I now had a decision to make. I spent my entire life imagining every scenario possible should I ever find my father. What if he does not want to see me? What if he does? Is he married? Does he have other children? Will his family accept me? Will I be ruining a family unit? I tried to convince myself that I would be happy just knowing where he was and would feel lucky if I could just see a photo of him. In truth, I would be devastated if he rejected me. The one thing that I did not consider was that he did not know I existed. I had always believed my mother when she said that he knew about my birth. To this day that is the one thing I have never been sure about and to this day, it does not matter to me.

The detective asked me what I wanted to do now. I told him that I was not comfortable contacting my Dad personally and would he please do it? My only request was that the detective not tell my Dad that I was a dancer. I did not want my Dad to automatically attach the stigma of "stripper" to me. I did not want him to think that I wanted any money from him or that I was some type of whore, on drugs or any other immoral traits that the public assumes that strippers possess. The detective hung up with me and phoned my Dad. My head was spinning and I kept repeating over and over to myself it's ok if he rejects you, at least you know he exists.

The detective called me right back and said he left a message on my Dad's answering machine. I am now at the point of feeling physically ill. I was a nervous wreck. I am the type of person who has to have everything done right now. For me to sit and wait for anything makes me insane. The detective called me back again within a half an hour. He said my Dad had returned his call. At first my Dad thought it was some kind of a sales call. When the detective explained to my Dad that he had a twenty-four year old daughter that was trying to find him, my Dad told the detective not to call him again and hung up on him. Within five minutes my Dad called the detective back and said that he was eager to talk to me. By now I had to be peeled off the ceiling. The detective gave me the contact information for my Dad and the next day I called him.

I swore that I would try to remember every word of our first conversation, but my nerves got the best of me and I honestly do not remember much at all. I do remember telling him about my mother and my birth. He told me that he was married, his wife was excited about me and that they did not have any children. I felt a tremendous amount of relief. Within a week he sent me a photo of himself and a tape recorded message. Throughout the recording he kept turning the tape off because he was crying. He was overwhelmed with emotion and accepted me without conditions or judgments. At this point I was still not certain that I had the right person. I was very cautious and surprised by how quickly he accepted the fact that I could be his daughter. The photo he sent did not resemble the old photo that I had of him in his twenty's and I could not see much of a resemblance between the two of us. I was terrified that I was going to break a total stranger's heart if it turned out that I was not his daughter. I still needed proof.

We immediately made plans for me to fly out to meet them. He and his wife paid for a round trip ticket for me and I do not think I took one breath on the entire five hour flight. My mother let me borrow the old photo of them together and I felt that if he could show me old photos of himself that matched that photo then I would have my proof. Through the entire flight I held the old photo next to the current photo of him and tried hard to find some resemblance. He had either changed drastically or this was not the right person. I was about to find out.

My only other fear was, is he going to be there when I get off the plane? I honestly thought I would have to be taken off the plane in a wheel chair. My legs would not move and I was either going to faint or pee all over myself. I pushed forward and as I entered the terminal, there he was. My Dad. He had obviously raided someone's garden, because he had the biggest bouquet of flowers that I had ever seen. He embraced me with such force that it literally took the breath from me. I was speechless and trying to forever engrave this moment in my memory. I felt strange that I did not cry or respond with more enthusiasm. But then again, my emotions are usually buried pretty deep and I do not cry easily. I am a natural pessimist and I could not get out of my mind that this was too good to be true.

We spent the next couple of hours driving to his small town. We talked non-stop and I was still desperately trying to believe that I was actually sitting with my DAD! He told me that he did not remember my mother, but did not doubt that he had probably slept with her. He makes no issue with what a party guy he was. He said he never knew I existed and made a good point that he finds it highly unlikely that he would have forgotten that he impregnated a girl and tried to kidnap the child. On the other hand, I do give my mother credit in that it is likely that a seventeen year old girl probably did tell the boy that he was about to be a father. There are always two sides to every story and this particular issue is not something I dwell on.

The entire town knows my father and everyone was aware that I was coming. Rightfully so, most of his friends had their doubts as to what my intentions were. When we arrived, we immediately went to see his wife at work. As I walked through the small office the entire place went silent. Talk about pressure! My dad briefly greeted everyone but kept moving through the halls. As we came around the corner to a small office there sat his darling wife, grinning from ear to ear. I literally watched the blood drain from her rosy cheeks and the first words out of her mouth were, oh my God, you look just like each other...you ARE his daughter! People started coming out of their offices and as my Dad was introducing me, jaws were hitting the floor all around us. Personally I did not see the resemblance, but obviously everyone else did. I was still not convinced.

After settling into his home I really started to notice similarities in our personalities. We have the same beliefs in just about everything. We love to debate, like the same television shows, have the same sarcastic sense of humor, like the same foods and have opinions about anything and everything. My step-mother kept leaving the room because he and I would complete each other's sentences and freak her out. I was feeling more comfortable, but I kept insisting that he show me some old photos of himself. I did not tell him why I needed to see those. Finally he dug them out of an old shoe box. I quietly, but frantically ripped through that box looking for my confirmation. I found it. There were a couple of photos of him in his twenties that matched the photo I had. I started crying and confessed to him that I needed that proof. He smiled and joked that he did not even recognize himself and he had forgotten what a stud he was. My protective wall came down and I finally had a piece of me that I had never known.

My Dad and his wife have accepted me from day one. They have been supportive, generous and loving towards myself and my family. He saw my mother for the first time in twenty-five years at my wedding. There were no hard feelings, but both readily admit that a relationship between the two of them would have never worked out. I enjoy the time I spend with my father and I am forever grateful that we have the opportunity to have a relationship that I once thought would never come to be.