Do I want to know you?

I think I don't want to go to school today. I don't want to see that look. That look of disbelief. That look of confusion. Then, that look of understanding. That horrifying look. I've seen that look a lot in my life. Every time I go to a new school. Everyday, on the first day, when my teacher asks, "Why did you switch schools?" Such an innocent question. Such a personal answer.

I've tried to lie, tried to say "I wanted to take Spanish" or "You have a better sports team" But I've seen so much lying. I don't want to become a liar. So instead, every other year, I have to see those faces, those looks, when I tell the truth. "My mom is afraid my dad will find us." Such a simple sentence. 

And every other year, I have to hear that awful silence, as my teacher tries to find their voice and as the students comprehend. After those awful moments pass, the day pretty much continues as normal. Each class, a lunch break of sitting alone, a silent recess as other students are caught up on "the weird new kid" Yep. That’s me. 

The truth is, about 12 years ago, my parents were divorced. It was right before I was born. I never met my dad, and my mom’s intention is that I never will. I’m not sure why, though. She refuses to talk about it. So many questions have pestered at me over the years. Who is he? Why did they divorce? And why was Mom so afraid?

I’d tried to ask. I’ve asked a lot. But all I’ve gotten is “Not now.” When will it be ‘now’?

The day ended, and I slowly walked out of the building. It’s not that I want to be in this place longer, but I don’t have the energy to go faster.

My mom doesn’t know what she puts me through. She doesn’t understand that I hate lying. She used to lie. She told me that I was adopted. She made up all this stuff about records, because she didn’t want me to ask questions. She didn’t want to answer. Still doesn’t. It wasn’t until I found a picture of her pregnant that I found out. Sometimes the truth can hurt more than all the lies. The fact that I have a father somewhere that my mother is afraid of is worse. 

I know one little thing about him. He called once. We were at home, and the phone rang. When I picked up, the man asked if he could speak to my mother. My mom cursed and told me to hang up. So I know his voice.

And he made some effort.

As I get off the bus, my phone rings. It’s my mom. “We have a situation,” she says in an urgent tone that worries me. “Your father’s back.”

“What?!” I say, following my first instinct to be alarmed. “How.. How.. Why?”

“Don’t come in,” she says. Before I can say anything, she hangs up. I stand frozen on the sidewalk in front of the house. I can’t hear any yelling or screaming, which surprises me. My mom is afraid of him, so there’s something about this situation that doesn't feel good.  Someone who leaves their 7-month pregnant wife is probably not the best person.

After a minute of silence, I sit on a curb. I wonder what's happening in the house. I wonder why my father came. I wonder who my father is. I wonder what I should do. 

Without knowing the whole story, I’m really not sure who’s side to be on. Sure, it’d be easy to say my mom’s, but I don’t know my father’s. I know my parents are divorced, and I know my mom is afraid. But why? What did he do? Who is he? Sometimes it’s better not to know. Or is it?

There’s still nothing from the house, so I decide to venture inside. Slowly, I walk up the path, past the rusty mailbox, past my mom’s neglected garden, past the ugly vase from Grandma. It feels like a walk of shame.

As I finally reach the door, I stop. I don’t know my father. I’ve never met him, and he hasn’t reached out for years. I didn’t know what to do. He is a familiar stranger. He is someone I’ve wanted to know my whole life, but at the opportunity to, I am frozen. What is he like? Is he nice, like I’ve hoped? Or is he the kind of guy you read about, the guys who leave at any given time? Is he tall, like me? Or short? 

These thoughts have pestered me for so many years, but I’m not sure if I want an answer. Finally, slower than possible, I open the old door. At first, I don’t see anything. The dim hallway makes it hard to see. I walk past old family portraits, through the kitchen, and into the living room. Then I see him.

He’s sitting on the couch, trying to look calm, though he’s not doing a great job. He’s a tall man, with brown hair like me, and a business suit. I feel like meeting an old friend, that there’s something in me that recognizes him, but I don’t know what it's from. There are flower petals strewn across the floor, as if someone had stomped on them. My mom is in a rickety dining room chair, her face in her hands. Nobody sees me. 

After a minute, my mom lets out a sob. She looks up, and it’s like I’m invisible. If there’s a way to summarize my childhood, that would be it.  

After a long minute, my father (do I even want to call him that?) speaks. I recognize his voice, even from so long ago. It’s amazing what a brain can remember.

“I just want to-” the man begins, but my mom cuts him off.

“I don’t want you here. You know what? I don’t want you within 5000 feet of this city!”

“Would you just let me talk? You know it’s not your decision.”

“I don’t care,” she challenges. “I’m sick of this! You really thought your “genius plan” would’ve worked?” Her tone is sarcastic and condescending.

“All I want is to know my child! How is that unreasonable?” Child, as in me? He wants to know me?

“You know what? Leave! This is my house, and you left us!! I didn’t!!”

“You told me to!” my father replies. What? Why?

He, my estranged father, who I’ve wanted to know my whole life, wants to know me. My biggest wish could come true, and I’m not sure whether to accept. 

He finally turns. And he sees me. There’s a pause. He speaks. “Do you want to know me?”

Do I? I want to answer, to say “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” but the words are caught in my throat. All I can say is one simple word.

A word that’s taken advantage of in the modern world. A word that is used so many times in a day. A word that doesn’t turn people down, but it accepts them into your life. A word that turns “mysterious father” into “daddy” An amazing word.

"Yes."