My biological father was a very traditional Irish-American in that he got my mom pregnant and left. That’s the sum of the story but oh well, I’m passed really caring at this point. But I did get subjected to a lot of the diatribe a rigmarole growing up over not having a “father figure” while my mother tried to raise me on her own, while also working two jobs to pay child support for my four younger brothers.
Yeah, my family is a text book study in the nuclear family gone critical.
The thing is, while I love my mother, I don’t credit her with everything I’ve done in my life. She did a fairly decent job that I will not elaborate on and I made it to child bearing age, which is nature’s only real requirement. The point is that once I was legally an adult in the eyes of the State of Vermont, everything I did was my decision and not because of “how I was raised”. If you believe that all children grow up the way they were raised, then go to your local library and read A Child Called “It” sometime and we’ll compare notes.
So if I don’t give her credit (or blame) for the direction of my life, then why would I give any thought to the existence of a man who gave his sperm and later his reasons for not paying his own child support? Short answer is: I Don’t.
The father of my little sister has been more of a dad to me than any of the “male figures” in my life and for that I am grateful to him and he knows this. Of course I will remind him sometime today. But for now, it’s a small consolation to me that I have never felt the need to follow in anyone’s footsteps simply because they were there at the time of conception.