Son, I Am Not Your Father...

            The day that I found out my father was not my father was a day that I will never forget. The windows were rolled down and I was in the passenger seat. The smell of chronic was filling up fast and I was feeling a little strange. My father said, “son, I have something to tell you”. I was waiting for the ultimate surprise.

            Maybe we were going to take a family vacation, or maybe a new pair of shoes was stuffed in the trunk. But the world slowed down, and the words seemed as if they came out even slower “I am not your dad”. What! I thought to myself. You are not my father? I have been living a lie for the last 15 years?

 From that day on, I was never the same. I never looked at my mother, my sisters, or anyone around me the same. I felt as if I did not belong. That I was stuck in some twilight zone- and I was screwed. I was glad that a man stepped up and was there for me and took the responsibility of trying to raise me. He did a great job in some areas and could have done better in others.

           I did not want to know this at all. I would have rather believed that he was my father. This is not a little white lie like Santa Clause or the Easter Bunny, this was a huge cover-up. It was worse than Bill Clinton and the stains on that dress. It was a totally elaborate scheme that fooled everyone.  

            My mother lied to me. The one woman in the world that I was supposed to be able to trust was nothing but a liar. How could the one person that carried me inside her body for nine months not tell me the truth? The more I thought about it, the more that I continued to rebel.

            As I looked at other men playing with their sons and daughters I wondered if that was a lie as well. My last name was not mine. I was not a Harris, I was an unknown. But what difference did it make? It made a huge difference in my life.

 I had a connection with my Grandmother like no other. When I was young I would sleep in her bed, and she would read to me at night. She provided the shelter over my head and was the reason that I had such a beautiful ocean view outside my front door.  And this unknown man took that away from me because he said “it was making me a weak little boy”. How could love make me a week little boy? Love never makes anyone weak- only stronger.

            Besides my mother, my grandmother was the only real biological connection I had in the home. Now I knew why I was treated differently compared to my sisters. Now I knew why I would get the heavy end of the rod, and they would only get yelled at. It started to click and it all made sense.

            I was damaged for a long time, and that damage lead to some serious mistakes being made in my life. I have overcome those difficulties, and have grown into a man, that knows how important the role of a father is. On this day both of my biological children received student of the month at their school. I study hard, and push them even harder because I know that is my role.

            To all of the mothers, step-mothers, fathers and step-fathers, make sure that you tell your children the truth. The truth is what establishes how our lives will turn out. There are no little lies, only big ones that can destroy a young child that may never be able to recover and believes that lies are used to protect. But the reality is they only destroy.