My Fathers: Biological vs. Adoptive

“You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car—hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they’ll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father.”
                          (Keanu Reeves, from the movie Parenthood)

So a few months ago, I had a big box sitting out of my old childhood memories; report cards, drawings, letters, school papers.  My kids decided to look through the box and giggled at my goofy drawings.  Then they began to read some old postcards from my grandmother.  A grandmother they hadn’t known about.  I heard one of my daughters say, ‘Wait a minute….this is addressed to you…but…this isn’t your last name!’. 

DRAT!  Foiled again!  Holy Perceptive Children Batman !

Okay, I kept a secret from my kids for oh, 17 years.  My dad, their grandfather, did not ‘father’ me.  Dun Dun Dun Dun!

My biological father and my mom had a very volatile marriage.  Lots of drinking, not coming home and violence.  Actually, a lot of violence.  I remember many fights, screaming and brutal beatings.  One day I was maybe 4 (?) and my mom (with bruises on her arms and face) lifted me onto the kitchen counter and gently touched my hair and with tears filling in her eyes said, “It’s just you and me kid.  From now on, it’s just you and me” 

This one sentence and the divorce that followed was probably the single best thing should could have done/said for herself and for me.

So, for a short while she struggled to raise a daughter on her own.  Then she met a guy.  She worked with him.  His name was John.  He was calm and collected  (He didn’t become cool til way later, lol)  Anyhow, they married shortly thereafter.  I spent time going back and forth between houses (when it was convenient that is, for bio father), and then my new dad adopted me.  I remember I was old enough to sit before a judge for questioning on who I wanted to live with.

It was a very happy day.  Like…stability, finally.  And my biological father had a new family too.  A new wife (that he cheated on my mom with) and new kids: a boy and a girl.  Over the years he was married 3 more times.  He never contacted me after the adoption.  When I first learned how to drive, I remember seeing him in his front yard.  I pulled up and said hello to him and his wife.  She came over and talked, and he walked away quickly.

To others I always referred to them as ‘my father’ and ‘my dad’.  Here’s why:

Biological Father:  Definitions:
*The natural father of a child.
*The father is defined as a male parent of an offspring.
*The man from whom one inherits half of one’s DNA (My foul mouth??)

A Dad:  (as written by Susan Ceylise)
A dad is someone who wants to catch you before you fall
but instead picks you up, brushes you off, and lets you try again.
He wants to keep you from making mistakes but instead lets you find your own way, even though his heart breaks in silence when you get hurt.

A dad holds you when you cry, scolds you when you break the rules,
shines with pride when you succeed, and has faith in you even when you fail.So, the next time I saw him was at a funeral of a family friend.  Shortly after walking in to the parlor, he saw me and left.  His mother, my grandmother, who I loved dearly suggested that I try and speak to him.  I agreed and went to visit him as his house.  We had a wonderful visit!  We talked about how great I turned out, my family, my life.  He appeared to be genuinly interested.  He asked if he could take me to lunch one day the following week.  I said okay.

 Three MONTHS later, he finally called.  He wanted me to hang out with his new girlfriend (I believe #4 wifey), who was 1 year OLDER than ME!  Are you frickin’ kidding me?    Eeeewwweee!

I declined and he never contacted me again.

I got married a couple years later.  And my biological father passed a couple years after that.  (they said it was his heart, but I think too many wives did him in)  I called my grandmother and got a huge surprise!  (no…not money!) I had formally been DISOWNED!  As it turns out, she was upset that I didn’t have him ‘walk me down the isle’.  Hmmmmmm.  Walk me down the aisle?  I saw him twice in the last 15 years.

I was threatened that if I showed up at the funeral, I would be escorted out.  (And she was always such a nice lady.) I found his #5 wife’s number and offered my condolences.  Of course, she’d never heard of me but accepted.

So, long story even longer:  I never told my kids about any of this.   They had, over the years, seen 1 or 2 old books with my ‘original name’ in them…but I told them…”Oh, that was a book I borrowed from my friend also named Sheila”  Or when my son did a report on his grandfather in Vietnam, I had to remove the paper that indicated he was enlisted during the period of my birth (and conception).  Or, why when they asked to see gramma’s wedding pictures, she couldn’t find them….because I was in them !  lol.

So when I finally told them, they were shocked.  They were all like, “How long have you known? How long has dad known?”  When I explained that everyone we knows knows, they were a bit rattled but got over it quickly.   Then I pulled out an old envelope that my mom gave me with my adoption papers and old photos she collected from family and friends (because all her photos had big circle cutouts of where he used to be).  So they got to meet him through photos.

I feel a little bit bad that my kids never got to meet him, although at that time (when they were little), I didn’t want to visit that whole scenario. 

Then I figured I should mention that I had another sister, a half-sister (Collette).  And a half-brother, Brian (Who died at age 16 in a car wreck.  I did go to his funeral)  So that was a bit weird for them.  I’m contemplating contacting Collette.  I located her current address but I’m not sure how receptive she would be.

So lastly, my kids asked me, “Are there any other secrets you are hiding?”
“Nope, none”, I replied.  But… I lied.  There was one more, but not as big.  And that’s another post.