I Was An Emotional Prostitute Part 25

          About a month before I found out I was pregnant, I received a note telling me where I could write to my father. I was so excited, I screamed. Mother and Bill thought something was wrong with me until I explained why I was so excited. Then Bill said, “You’re not going to tell him where you live, I hope.”

            I said, “No, of course not!” I was really irritated at his question. Even though Von was my father, he was basically a stranger to me, as I hadn’t seen him in over 30 years. Of course, I wouldn’t send him my current address.

Over the course of the next several days, I learned a few things about my family that I never suspected. I had done most of the looking for my father over the years and while I had always had my family’s support, I also had the impression no one, not even my brother, Mike wanted contact with him. Now that I had a way to get in touch with him, everyone wanted to contact him. We even got together for a family meeting one evening at a favorite restaurant to discuss the issue. By the end of the evening, I had decided to do everything in my power to keep my contact with Von a secret until I had heard from him and knew whether further contact would be possible. I didn’t write to my father right away, as I was very nervous. Would he want further contact with me? If so, would it be possible or would he be married to a woman who wouldn’t allow it?

I finally to him a few months later. A good friend of mine, Al, allowed me to use his address for my return address on the letter to my father. I don’t remember how long I waited for a return letter; I just know that I was on “pins and needles” the whole time. When Al called me to let me know a letter had arrived for me at his place, I was so excited and nervous. I drove up right away.

When I got there, he gave me the letter, and at first I just looked at it. I was tempted to ask Al to open it and read it, because I was afraid it was bad news. Finally, I opened it. I got lucky, it was very good news. Von answered all my questions, such as family medical history as far as he knew it. He also told me that he didn’t know why I would want further contact with him, but it was up to me. I think the best part though was finding a letter from his current wife, Virginia. She told me that she snuck the note in with his and asked me not to tell him she’d done so. Virginia then went on to tell me how excited Von was to hear from me and that she hoped I’d write again. She also enclosed a couple of pictures so I could see what he looked like. I was so relieved; I had been concerned that if he was married, his current wife might resent me for wanting to be a part of his life again.

I wrote back and told him that no matter what had happened in the past, he was still a part of who I am today, even if only genetically. As it turns out, I inherited more from him than my coloring.

When Caleb, my son, was about two months old, he and I flew to Florida to visit my father for two months. I know some people think I was crazy for doing so, but I felt that might be the only chance I would ever have to spend such time with my father.

It was an interesting trip. I learned more about my father and how much alike we are, something, which had never occurred to me. While people have always said how much I look like my mother, I realize now that I also look a lot like my father. I have his same basic coloring. I also have his temper.

I had made arrangements to have Caleb’s picture taken for Christmas at JC Penney’s before I left for home. When I got there, I found out the date quoted to me to have the pictures back, was wrong. The actual date would be after I had left for home. I got upset and asked to speak to the manager. It turns out I was speaking to the manager and she informed me there was nothing she could do. I really started to get angry and upset then. Von and I took Caleb and started to leave.

On the way out, we saw a young man in the shoe department. Von stopped and asked him where to find the store manager. The young man hesitated. Von demanded to know if the fellow even knew where the store manager’s office was. He said he did, he just wasn’t sure if he should direct us there. Von asked again where it was and this fellow finally told us. As we turned to find our way to the manager’s office, a woman stopped us and asked if there was anything she could do to help us. Von asked if she was the store manager. She said, “no, but she was a department manager and might be able to help us.”

We told her how I had made an appointment to have Caleb’s picture taken under the impression that I would receive my pictures in time to take them home with me. Then when I came in, I found out I wouldn’t get them back in time. I also told her how I had spoken with the photo manager who told me there was nothing she could do for me. She told us to follow her and she would handle it, if nothing else, they would mail my pictures to me. We went back to the photo studio and she spoke with the photo manager. By this time, Caleb was hungry and as soon as I fed him, he spit up on the green, velvet outfit I had dressed him in for the photo session. To top things off, he wanted to sleep afterwards and we still hadn’t had any pictures taken. The photo manager took the photos and I have to admit, she was good. Caleb wanted to go to sleep and she managed to cajole him into staying awake and smiling for the camera.

When the photo session was over, I was still upset and needed to vent my feelings. As we were going out, I tried to talk about how I felt. Von told me he understood how I felt, in such a way that I felt like I was being told I should just let it go. I couldn’t just let it go; I needed to vent my feelings, which he didn’t seem to understand. By the time we got a few blocks away, I was blowing up like a volcano. He kept telling me that he understood how I felt. I wanted to tell him he couldn’t possibly understand. He had never been a single mom with her first child, trying to have professional photos taken; only to learn someone had misinformed you regarding the date the pictures would be back. I got so angry with him, I screamed at him to shut up. Only after I calmed down, did I apologize for telling him to shut up.

He then told me that I had scared the counter girl at the photography studio, because of the look of anger on my face and that I had scared him, because I reminded him of his younger self. He had learned over the years to control his temper and it scared him to see it in me. I had always wondered where I got my temper, but it never occurred to me that I inherited it from my father. When I finally realized it, I thought, “Well, duh!”

By the time my visit was over, I had learned quite a bit about my father and myself. I learned that in some ways we’re too much alike to get along well. I also came to realize that he didn’t seem to understand that I am not the little girl he left behind over 30 years ago. He didn’t totally accept that I’m an adult who is capable of making her own decisions and accepting full responsibility for them.

I called Von from time to time after getting home. On one occasion I told him that I had turned down a temporary job, which would have lasted a month in favor of being free to seek permanent work. He got upset with me and told me in no uncertain terms that I should have taken the temporary job as I have a child to support. I should have realized that he wouldn’t support my decision.

A few months later, I made a decision I needed to tell him about, so I called him. If I thought he was upset last time, he was really upset this time. I told him I had decided not to celebrate Christmas anymore. He asked me why and I told him that part of it was the stress. Every year, no matter how simple I tried to keep it, I always ended up stressed out.

The other reason was something I had been thinking about for some time. I’ve known for years that the origins of Christmas are not as Christian as people think. I had basically ignored that fact in favor of celebrating the holiday as family time. When I told Von that, he really hit the roof. He acted like I was committing some kind of a crime by deciding not to celebrate Christmas.