Like most families, our story is complicated. After a fairly idyllic childhood, my father walked out the door and never returned. Naturally, even that part is more complicated than a patently dramatic statement. Suffice to say, there’s a longer story and someday, maybe I’ll publish it. But for now, the fact is he turned the world my mother and I thought of as solid and comfortable into chaos one August morning in 1973.
For the next 47 years, after awkward initial attempts to stay connected while I still lived back East, I only saw him once. I kept our contact to exchanging letters because talking to him was just too painful. Even though he had my phone number, he never called. But he did ask to pass it to his step-son, so he could call me in an emergency.Continue reading “Thanks Pop!”