Saturday, January 13, 2007

Finding “my baby daddy” on MySpace

The circumstances surrounding the conception and birth of my daughter could’ve come straight out of a Jerry Springer or Maury Povich talk show.  I’d been broken up with my then-boyfriend for a few months, and had a brief, rather intense fling with a man quite a bit younger than I (who’s the same age as my husband, but the gap seemed so much wider when I was in my late 20s and he was 19!). I can’t really say whether, how long or even IF it would have lasted, had I not gone running back to my boyfriend; who ultimately turned out to be a total dickhead who left me when I was 5 1/2 months pregnant with what we both thought was his baby. This, of course, after his being all gung-ho to be a family and whatnot.

Well, as it turned out, Dickhead was not “my baby daddy,” but that wasn’t established until well after she was a year old. I’m ashamed to say that I wasn’t the one to give the Boy the news that he’d fathered a daughter, but he’d moved away and I hadn’t had contact with him since I’d ditched him to go back to the Dickhead. It just so happened that he’d called one of my sisters to wish her Happy New Year, and she told him about the Princess. I was unprepared when she put the phone in my hand, and in retrospect, I realize that although I said exactly what I meant to say, it came off as cold, harsh and in his eyes was a big “fuck off,” although that was unquestionably NOT my intention. And for what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have slept with him at all if I didn’t love him at least a little bit. As much as I’d have liked to, I really never was able to treat sex the way a man would. The Boy would have had no place in my bed without first having had a special place in my heart.

It’s always been my opinion that no man should be forced to support a child he either didn’t know about, didn’t want or otherwise didn’t step up and commit to because he was left in the dark about things somehow. Most especially when he’s barely an adult himself. And if I didn’t live by my own convictions, I’d be a hypocrite!  At no time during my pregnancy was there even a hint of suspicion that the baby was anyone’s other than the Dickhead’s, so the Boy really had absolutely no say in the matter, and I couldn’t bring myself to hold him accountable for a decision that was, in the end, no one’s but my own. I’d made the commitment to be a parent, and had a long time to prepare for it; he hadn’t, because he’d never even known.

On that day so many years ago, I did promise him that I’d never lie to our daughter and that I’d always make sure we were easy to find if he was looking. I also told him that one day she’d probably want to look for him, and I’d help her to find him.  Although she didn’t start asking until last year, I admit I did do a bit of searching online over the years just out of curiosity. As it turns out though, I was misspelling his last name, which I figured out just a few weeks ago.  Oddly enough, he just recently joined MySpace at the urging of his younger daughter, after quite a long time of resisting because “MySpace is for girls!”

It wasn’t without some hesitation and anxiety that I sent him a message and a friend request; after all, I had no idea whether he’d ever told anyone about the Princess and I admit I was a little bit scared that he’d hate me because I was so cold and emotionless on the phone all those years ago.  Luckily, he’s glad we found him and he’s always let it be known that a day might come when a grownup version of the little girl whose picture my sister gave him years ago and he’s carried around ever since would come looking for him.

My long, long overdue apology, while truly heartfelt and sincere, couldn’t even come close to expressing how truly sorry I am… it wasn’t what I said, but how I said it. And although the truth of the matter is that at the time of that phone call I was, I know now, deep in depression and full of self-loathing for having failed to consider the possibility of the Boy’s paternity; and because during my pregnancy I suppose I was so invested in the baby being the Dickhead’s that I allowed myself to believe she couldn’t be anyone’s but his. I felt like a horrible person and a fool, and rather than show my shame and my pain I acted as though I felt nothing, when that was hardly the case. Worst of all, I hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.

If I’ve learned anything in all my years, it’s that words can and do hurt people, and quite often it’s not the most blatant attacks or verbal abuse, but a one-time conversation or something that might appear to be just a bit of teasing that turns out to be at the root of some of our deepest emotional wounds. Just as my uncles’ and my stepfather’s negative comments ("teasing") about my looks or my weight have (I’ve discovered recently) contributed a great deal to the negative body image that’s a huge problem for me, I can’t help but wonder if my words that day might have resounded down through the years and made some things problematic for the Boy in his life since then. I wish I could go back and do it all over again without hurting him, but it’s too late; so the best I can do now is be as supportive as possible as he & the Princess finally get to know one another. Both of them are thrilled yet nervous about finally meeting, and the Princess is so happy to know she has a little sister. And me, I’m just grateful for the opportunity to set things right after fucking it up so badly, and grateful that the Boy understands now that I never meant to cause him any pain. I may not be able to make up for the hurt, but I can do my damnedest to make sure that I don’t do anything so cruel and thoughtless again, no matter how bad I’m feeling myself.

Most of all, I can thank him for our wonderful, beautiful daughter who is the light of my life and the reason for everything I do. And I can’t wait for him to see with his own eyes what an exceptional young woman she is; flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood.

The Boy done good.

Saturday, February 16, 2002

Learning from past relationships

I have a secret blog that’s secure and protected, existing only for me as a brain dump sort of place.  It’s there I write some of the things that need to come out, but for one reason or another cannot be addressed aloud with certain people, or in some cases anyone at all.  It’s pretty good therapy overall, I guess.

I wrote there tonight about the guy who took me on my very first REAL Valentine’s Day date.  What’s ironic is that we went out as just friends, and after that night had a rather convoluted relationship for the better part of 3 years.  I believe you learn something from every relationship, and what he taught me was that lying about my level of attachment was a bad thing.

I truly loved him, and wanted him for my own; yet I pretended just the opposite, and simply suffered in silence when he’d flirt or go off with other women.  Our relationship ended without a word between us.  Someone else told me he was marrying a girl he’d gotten pregnant, and when I flipped out, he found out about it and avoided me from that moment on.  We’d been friends since childhood, and his family was like my own, yet in the past 10 years I’ve neither seen nor spoken to him (though I’d inquire about him all the time).  However, recently we were brought together in mourning; hardly a chance to address issues long unresolved. 

Hopefully one day we can clear the air.  So much time has passed and our lives have gone on, but I’ve sorely missed having his friendship and his ability to cheer me no matter how bad things seemed.  What’s truly ironic is that I married a man who has many of the same qualities that caused Valentine Guy to capture my heart all those years ago.  In the 2 years or so between losing him and meeting my husband, there was one Transition Guy—the guy who kept me from pining away for Valentine Guy. Those two couldn’t have been more different, and though Transition Guy was somewhat fun, I knew full well there was no future there, and neither of us had any problem voicing that—and we remain friends to this day.  I know there’s a part of me that will love Valentine Guy forever, and it makes me want to thank him for helping me to see more clearly what I desired in a partner.  And let him know that even though the ending was a dramatic one, it probably helped me to become a bit more truthful to myself and the man I love.

Life is really fucking strange sometimes.