“My mother would never tell me who my father was. My whole life, I assumed that he lived in the Dominican Republic. But when I was fourteen, my aunt told me that he lived just a few miles away. I was so mad at my mother for not telling me. It was the angriest I’ve ever felt. My aunt set up a meeting between me and my father. He came and picked me up. He looked a lot like me, and he cried when he met me. He took me for ice cream and drove me around the neighborhood. He asked me about school, and told me that he wanted to see my drawings, and told me how proud he was of me. He talked to me about girls, and told me all about his baseball career, and told me how he wished things could be different. We got pretty close over the next two years. Every weekend we’d go to the park and play baseball. Then one day he stopped showing up. My aunt told me that his new wife wouldn’t let him see me anymore. I haven’t talked to him since.”
Posted on: Wed, 26 Nov 2014 18:11:01 +0000
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