Papa was a rolling stone

What is it about the relationship between a daughter and her father? Why is that single relationship the foundation for every other relationship a woman has with a man. My sperm donor (as I affectionally refer to him) and I don't speak, hell I have never even seen him in my entire life. I could have past him on the street and never knew it was him. He and my mother were married and had 3 children before I came along. When I was 2 months old in a drunken and drugged stupor he left me in a car in an alley next to a liquor store. He left for good when I was 6 months old. And as a child I used to think that the mere sight of me had driven him away. I must have been ugly, why else would he have left after 3 perfect boys and just six months of me?

As a child I hated to wear skirts (my how times have changed), mostly because I was born with a birth defect that didn't allow for my legs to be straight (think Kermit the Frog), the doctor's said something about the muscles and bones in my legs not developing properly. So I wore leg braces (think run, Forest, run) for most of my childhood. I use to think that he couldn't stand looking at his daughter's frog legs and had to run. You see the things that go through the mind of a child. Never did I think that this was his issue. Something he had to work out. I believed it was me. And for the better part of my life I thought that any man who left my life, I was to blame. My brothers were being raised by the sperm donor's sister in a lifestyle one could only trully have in Haiti. He called them on their birthdays and on holidays, he knew them. Every summer when we would get together (my brothers and I) they would talk about their father and all the things he had done for them. They spoke as if he was someone completely detached from my DNA. As if he and I didn't share the same smile or the same temper. As if the fact that we shared the same last name was purely done out of politeness.

All this pain didn't come into my life until I was around 7 years old. I had a step-father who I had no idea was my step-father until then. This man was great to me. He was an Americanized Haitian who taught me about Earth, Wind & Fire (the musical group as well as the elements), Teddy Pendergrass (he looked so much like him) the importance of never letting anyone know how much money really have and how this new type of music taking over (Rap) was something I needed to pay attention to. Anyway, one day when I was 7 and at my Evil Aunt Margaret's house and bragging about my Daddy, she yelled at me in the most melacious way she could that he wasn't my father. Couldn't I tell by the big nose that he could never be related to me she said. I was devastated. But I kept it in until I saw him, then I cried like I new born baby. I told him what she said and later that night I remember my aunt calling my mom to complain about my Daddy and how he had come over with a baseball bat and destroyed her house. That's when the questions started. And the pain crept in.

One day when I was 14 years old, my step-father came home with a newborn baby girl. He told me that she was his daughter. All I could think of was obviously I wasn't good enough. That he had finally seen in me what the sperm-donor had and decided he needed to get a daughter of his own. One that wasn't defective. Six months later we moved to Miami. It was suppose to be the three of us, my mom, my dad and I. He came to Miami two weeks after my mother and I got here and left two weeks later with a promise to be back in two weeks. It's been a long two weeks.

How is it that you all can make babies and not be fathers. Don't get me wrong I know alot of men who have done what they were suppose to do and been fathers to their children but unfortunately you all are a rare breed My life has been full of hurt, some you know about and some I think I'll take to the next life but in all honesty I blame him for them. If he were present in my life maybe the hurt wouldn't have been so bad, maybe I wouldn't have cried so much and maybe just maybe I wouldn't blame myself when it didn't work out.

My mother and I had an argument last week because I told her when the sperm donor dies I would go to his funeral in a red Christian Dior suit, red fish net stocking, red high heels and a red and black wide rim had with a black lace veil covering my face. My mother is worried about what people will say. I say screw them because none of them ever told him what he was doing was wrong so how dare they tell me I'm wrong. Did I mention that he lives in Miami and has for just as long as I have.

There's no specific reason for this particular entry maybe it's age, maybe it's death and maybe I just needed to let it out that this particular situation hurts me. Hurts me in a place that's no where near my heart. Somewhere that's bigger than my heart. I cried last night because for the first time in a very long time I needed a father to handle a problem and I realised I didn't have one. And I cried even more.

Can anyone tell me how to get over this?