Heidi Barr

Don’t Call Me Dad

I know he left me when I was 2, but that was then. I don’t know why he went away and didn’t try to take me with him, or why he’s never called or tried to see me, but I forgive him. I know he still cares about me; he wants to meet me again and be a part of my life. He doesn’t even have to tell me he loves me, or even be around me for me to know. He’s my dad, and I’m his son. That was a long time ago and now I’m 14. I can’t wait to meet him and he feels the same—I’m sure.

“Mom, when is Dad coming?”

“D’Andre…I don’t know if you should try to meet him.”  D’Andre’s mom replied cautiously.

“No I really want to. I bet he’s different now.”

“I don’t know; he might be just the same.”

Mom never told me much about Dad—just that he was irresponsible and not ready to have a family. She said he was nice, but not very good with commitments, or keeping promises. She didn’t talk badly about him, but gave bits of information hoping to deter my desire to see him. She didn’t really say why he left, just that it wasn’t about me, it was about them.

“He’ll be in Hartford on Friday.” She said flatly. Her face was blank. I could tell she didn’t really want us to meet, but I ignored her body language. I couldn’t be more excited: I was going to meet my dad!

The night before, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was full of visions of how my dad and I would act when we first saw each other. Our possible first words and first conversations played through my head with vivid detail over and over again. We were both so excited to catch up on all the years we had been apart. I smiled as I imagined the years to come: our bond would grow and our lives would become intertwined. I couldn’t wait for the next afternoon, for when these visions could play out for real and I would have a father in my life.

The next afternoon came all too soon. I put on my favorite shirt, fresh jeans and new kicks, and asked my mom how I looked.

“You look adorable, baby.”

“Mo-om!”

“Sorry. You look great. Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Part 2