Inspired by the writing workshop, prompt 1, on Sleep is for the weak.
I’ve been trying to find the time to sit down and write this for a couple of days now. I thought about various ppl I’ve lost touch with, but there’s really only one who counts.
If I tried hard enough, I could probably find my dad. I know roughly where he went. I probably know someone in the area who could help me out with local knowledge ‘cos I’ve hooked up with home educators all round the country now. If he wanted to he could probably find me – this blog certainly isn’t all that hidden.
But it doesn’t seem like he wants to find me. So I don’t know if I want to find him. What would it be like if I did, and he just wasn’t interested? What if he didn’t care that I’ve had more miscarriages, but I’ve also managed to give birth to a beautiful granddaughter for him. He doesn’t seem to care about his other grandchildren, can’t remember when they last heard from him.
Is it my fault? Was I not a dutiful enough daughter? Probably not. I don’t seem to be desperately good at face to face family relationships. I find the virtual world of blogs, twitter and facebook so much easier to cope with – you can’t see me blushing through a blog, you don’t know if I stuttered or how many attempts it might have taken to find the right words. But I still don’t think that excuses a father moving away without giving his child a forwarding address.
When I think of the times I stood up for him while I was growing up, I could kick myself. I hurt the parents who were there every day, for the sake of this guy who was hardly ever there. I felt some loyalty to him because of a genetic bond that started me off, but doesn’t define me any more. I am what nurture did for me at least as much.
So maybe I don’t need to find him after all. Because it seems like there isn’t anything left to say.




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