my two dads

i have a complicated relationship with my father. my biological father. the man my mother married to get away from her own mother. the man who left her for another woman. the man who hasn't spoken to his "other children" in almost 10 years. the man who didn't speak to his own mother for 5 years when she was battling leukemia.
it's damn hard to explain.
i have these golden, perfect memories of my childhood with him, when his role as a parent was only delegated to two weekends a month. i knew i was daddy's favourite. i was a good kid. no, i was a GREAT kid. i was respectful and happy. i didn't throw tantrums or get into trouble. i was never sent to the principal's office and always got straight a's. i was the pretty blonde ballerina princess who always helped in the kitchen without ever being asked. it's no mystery why my half brother and half sister hated me.
i remember my dad packing up his musical equipment to play weddings and bar mitzvahs every saturday night, leaving me to the care of philip & debbie. they were much older than me- 9 & 7 years respectively. my then stepmother denise would skulk off to their bedroom to roll clandestine joints & recline on their silk-sheeted bed to watch reruns on their small black & white tv while painting her nails. once in a while, she'd let me in to dig through her drawer of barrettes and play with her long, silky hair. most of the time, i would just sit in the living room, reading, while my siblings shut the door to philip's bedroom (plastered with posters of ozzy osbourne & iron maiden) to play big kid's games or fight over who got to use the atari. i was never invited.
one night, i felt lonely & knocked on the door meekly, hoping to play with them. when they opened the door, i was pummeled with rolled up socks was they shouted, "go away! you're not our sister!" i was six years old.
i didn't tell my father about the incident for 10 years.
he would wake us up early with sandwiches packed carefully in a wicker basket to go to the beach & watch the sunrise. he let me bury him deep in the sand & carve a mermaid's tail above his submerged body while my brother & sister played frisbee. he would make us dolphin-shaped pancakes flavored with almond & tinted aqua with food coloring.
he had us paint the laundry room of his small north miami house. we unanimously agreed on an underwater theme and created our own fish. mine was a jellyfish, made out of a jar of grape jelly and long, menacing purple tentacles.
i idolized my father for most of my adolescence. wore the chunky silver id bracelet with his name engraved on it proudly. it must have killed my mum & stepdad at the time.
as i got older, i realized that my father wasn't the invincible god i had placed on the highest pedestal. he shrewdly manipulated me against my mother. ah, the fights during the holiday season, the unpaid child support, the snide little comments inserted in our weekly dinners...
it was plainly clear to me by the time i was 20.
my dad was incredibly talented and warm. he was open-minded & creative & fun when i was younger, but turned into a prejudiced, born-again right-winger as i grew older. it seemed that, by the time i was 22, the only fair game topics to discuss were films & movies. any comments about the state of the country, foreign policy, travel, politics,war would result in my father screaming at me that i had no idea about how the world really worked.
such a drastic difference from the way my stepfather spoke to me...
my stepfather IS my father now. he married my mum when i was 5 and was always the voice of reason in my sometimes tumultuous home life. he put me through college and always spoke up for me when my mum unleashed her violent agression at me, leaving me sobbing quietly in my room only to hear scream about what a terrible daughter i was. he has always supported me unconditionally and spoken to me with the greatest respect. to even begin to describe our relationship now would take days... he is just that good to me... and my friends, and my boyfriend. i find myself craving time to just sit down & talk to him now i live so far away. he doesn't really call to see how i'm doing, yet i'm not bothered by it at all.
i hadn't spoken to my "real" father for over a year and a half when he called me two months ago to tell me of his partner's stroke. i was immediately saddened and felt guiltier than i ever have. his bizarre patterns in familial relationships seemed to have impacted me greatly... but, to be honest, my mum & stepdad are all the family i've ever really needed.
i spoke with him daily until his partner seemed to have made a marked improvement. upon our last conversation, he said, "so i guess we'll keep in touch?" that was two months ago and i haven't heard from him since.
i'm scared to call him- and i don't know why. he, much like my mother (at least, when i was younger), has always had the power to make me feel smaller than anyone. they had both convinced me that i was selfish & uncaring, though my mother has long since become my biggest fan. she once chastised me, told me i made myself ugly & that it was no wonder i didn't have any friends. she also once sneered that i should go ahead & kill myself already.
she tells me how much she loves me & how proud she is of me every time we speak now. funny, how women change as they age.
i recently learned that my stepfather is on anti-depressants, which kept me in a state of confusion & silence for over a week. he's my best friend in the world, yet i have no clue whatsoever on how to approach him about this.
i can't speak to either of my fathers, and it leaves a black stain on every minute i'm alone.
my stepfather has never said, "i love you." he doesn't need to. unlike my "father," his actions prove it more than mere words ever could.
funny, how the wordsmith girl is left silent when it comes time to say something to the two people who need to hear her most...