I generally only refer to this man as my sperm donor. He donated the sperm to create me. That is all he ever did for me. I am 27 years old and I have seen him a total of maybe 8 or 9 times and in reality, I think I'm giving him credit for some of my imaginary times with him.
He owned a multi-million dollar oil company back in the 80's when I was just a kid, but we lived in poverty without a dime of child support to be seen, nor a hair on his head. Of course, I was 15 by the time I learned that he had been bald by the time he was 17, so I guess I wouldn't have seen that hair anyway, huh?
Sadly, he had a new daughter, but she wasn't really his. But he was there for her. She had all of her needs met. She didn't watch the other kids at school and long for what they had... You know typical things, like pencils that they could actually take home, not borrrowed from the teacher. She didn't see the Dad's that came to the school to pick their children up and long to know what it was like to have a Dad.
But I did. I finally met him when my son died in 2000. I was 22 years old. I still had that strong NEED for him. I developed a relationship with him, moved 500 miles away from the only family I had ever known. And I hated him. I hated him because he had never been there before and he wanted to act like it didn't matter. He wanted to act like it was my Mom's fault. I played into it at first. But I remembered. I remembered the time I asked my Mom if I could call him and she made about 15 phone calls to different people to find his phone number. All 15 calls were long distance. When she found his number, she gave it to me. I was so excited. I was 14. I called him. I told him who I was. And he hung up on me. I hated him. No, it wasn't on my Mom. He was afraid I would ask for money. And he owned a multi million dollar business. The man is a millionaire. I never wanted his money. I wanted him... But yes, a pencil would have been nice in the fourth grade.
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