I am thirty years old. My mother raised me alone. She did not know my father, as if he never existed. My mother did not answer any of my questions about him. And by the age of seven I realized that there was no point in asking anymore. Let everything remain as it is.
I grew up and watched as my friends one by one found their parents, arranged meetings with them. Many still communicate, go for tea, have dinner together, spend time together on weekends, even help each other financially. And so I thought, why am I worse than them?
Maybe I can also establish a relationship with my father. I will try to understand and forgive him. And for this, first I had to find him. And once, when my mother was not at home, I went through her documents and found his data. With their help I found some address on the Internet. I decided to go there, hoping that he lived there.
I stood at the door for a long time, did not dare to knock. I called my friends, gathered courage and knocked. A woman with a displeased face opened the door and asked in a rude tone:
– What did you want?
And like a fool I told her everything. She said that my father rarely appears there, and in general, he is not my father, and closed the door.
I tried twice more, but each time she kicked me out without giving me any information, not even his phone number. I decided to do the following. I wrote my number on a piece of paper and my father’s name and surname next to it and put it in the mailbox.
A few days later, my father called. He asked me who you were, where you were from, your mother’s name, what you wanted. He spoke to me so dryly, I did not expect this. I asked to meet and talk normally. But he hung up. I decided to call him myself, and it turned out that my number was already in the blacklist. He turned out to be the last scoundrel, of course. I want to say it to his face, but he is not worth it. Mom probably did the right thing. I don’t need him.
