My long-lost father suddenly resurfaced in my life. Popped up like—you know what… And I feel absolutely no joy in reconnecting with this relative.
When my father decided that he no longer needed our family, I was ten years old. I remember all too well the scandal that accompanied my parents’ divorce.
The fact that they shouted at each other—that was just the tip of the iceberg. But when my father and his mother started taking everything they considered “theirs” from our apartment, that was something else entirely.
He took everything: dishes, furniture, the TV, the VCR, and a whole pile of other things.
By the time they were gone, the apartment was almost empty. He even took my desk, where I used to do my homework. All we had left were some clothes and a few kitchen utensils.
I remember how quiet, empty, and cold the apartment suddenly felt. I sat in the kitchen with my mother, trying my best to comfort her. She was in complete hysteria.
Little by little, we furnished the apartment again, with help from my mother’s parents.
Twenty years have passed since then. In all this time, my father has never once appeared in my life. No child support, no calls, no gifts on holidays. He simply vanished, as if he had never existed.
After he emptied our home, I began to hate him—and I think I have every right to. Over time, the emotions faded, and I simply stopped thinking about him.
My relationship with my mother is wonderful—she gets along well with my husband, adores her granddaughter, and, overall, our family is happy.
And then, my father burst into our peaceful life. He was waiting for me outside my workplace. I would have walked right past him, paying no attention to the balding, aging, overweight man, but he spread his arms wide, inviting me for a hug.
I had to take a closer look at his face before I could even recognize him. That recognition brought me no joy, so I simply walked around him and continued on my way.
He ran after me, mumbling something. He suggested we sit in a café and talk—after all, it had been so many years. And suddenly, I became curious: what was the purpose of this whole performance?
At the café, he started rambling nonsense about how he had always wanted to reconnect but was afraid of my mother’s reaction—how she had supposedly forbidden him from coming near me. And he suffered so much, oh, how he suffered… that in the meantime, he managed to father three more children.
I only believed the part about the children—the rest wasn’t worth paying attention to. My father started asking about my life, what was new with me.
Great questions to ask after twenty years of complete absence, right?
I got tired of this act and asked him directly what he wanted. He put on a hurt expression, started babbling about how we are not strangers to each other, and how I was being unfair with my attitude.
I paid for my coffee and left. This time, he didn’t run after me, which was an immense relief. I really hoped that would be our last meeting. But I was wrong.
A week later, he caught me again after work. He said he understood my feelings, which was why he gave me some time to “sort them out,” but now he was back.
Seeing that I had no intention of talking, he finally got to the point. It turned out that he now lived in another city with his wife and children, but his eldest son was planning to start university in my city this year.
So, dear old dad came to ask me for a “family favor”—to let his son stay at my place because rent was too expensive.
“You’ll get to know your brother better,” he tried to tempt me.
I tapped my temple with my finger and walked away. Was he out of his mind? What brother? I don’t even consider him my father, and now I’m supposed to take in some random relatives?
Later, he somehow got hold of my phone number and started calling. The moment I realized it was him, I blocked every number he used.
And then he decided to guilt-trip me. How dare I ignore him? Didn’t I know it was painful for a real father to be treated this way?
I only told my husband about all this. I chose not to tell my mother—I didn’t want to upset her. She takes things to heart too much.
My husband wants to explain to my father just how wrong his actions are, but I think it’s best to leave him alone—otherwise, we might end up feeling disgusted just by touching the subject.
I hope my father will soon realize that he has absolutely no chance with me and finally leave me alone. But his audacity, I must admit, is truly astonishing.
