Where's daddy? I don't remember asking this question because I never knew what a daddy was. Only male figures I knew were the drunks and addicts that walked in and out of my neighborhood and then it was so long connection now onto the next.
My mother, may her soul rest in peace, kept you a secret for what reason I will never know but growing up as a platinum bastard was one of the hardest things I had to do. Was I a burden? A product of a one night stand? Or a cum stain that you wish could have been wiped away? What made me different from the rest? Questions without answers but substituted with you ignoring your child.
I often wondered how I would turn out if you were around to show me the building blocks of being a man but instead your absence stepped in to raise me. I made promises to give my all to eveyone who I love because being wrecked by distance is curse no one should know.
Our past conversations began and ended with you and I telling eachother how we wished we never knew one another but deep down inside of our souls we would always be that "what if" reminder. I tried to cry blood in hopes I would rid myself of your DNA but the taste of salt streamed down my face and into my mouth reinforcing the bitter hate I had towards you.
But then I forgave and stopped placing blame on you and realized your avoidance was abandonment speaking through your fears, broken promises and inadequacies, truths revealed helped me to heal three decades of scars bleeding with burning pain. Adding yet another piece to complete my puzzle, I slightly understand that part of life that was swept under the rug.
There's no turning back time and fixing the past because this was something that was meant to be. Throwing pennies for thoughts into a wishing well probably would have interrupted our fabric of time and kept us at eachothers throats.
I finally can call you daddy and respond calmly when you call me son, a common ground now we both stand upon but a thirty year old gap still stands in between us. I can't deny the fact you made a contribution to my existence and for that I thank you because I could have gone unnoticed.
I will never understand why you and my mother made the choices you did but I will acknowledge the tie that binds. I am your son, a sample of your soul, a masterpiece created in lust but hidden by confused love and nothing can change the fact that you're my father.
"Daddy's Home" was written when my sister told me our father was battling prostate cancer. I grew up not knowing who he was nor did I know of my brothers and sister. I was 32 years old when my father and I started to form a relationship.
I, of course had a host of questions asking why he was present and his reply was: "He was scared and he was married." I became angered by his response because it was a cop out but I immediately rationalized the situation and was eased ( a lot more to the situation). After he and I spoke, I wrote "Daddy's Home".
My father passed away last October from prostate cancer and accepted as true, it was sad and emotionally draining. However, it was his illness that afforded me the opportunity to get to know him (somewhat) and to meet my siblings. God works in mysterious ways and we will never understand why.