I Recognized His Smile Right Away

1977 was a rough year for me. Many things in my life were turned completely upside down. The world I had inhabited for the previous 18 years turned out to be a sham; and, to be honest, I didn't handle it very well.

Earlier, in the summer of 1976, I was working for Opryland USA. I have shared, previously, that I was among a very lucky group of 16-18 year olds who were hired by the most unique theme park in the USA.

When school started, my senior year was divided into 25% school, 25% band (rifle team) and 50% work. My home life which had always been tumultuous suddenly became a minefield. My parents' (my mother and my adopted father) relationship, which had always balanced on a razor's edge, began to fall completely apart. The happenings are not really mine to share, but as someone who survived it I feel I do have a right to share how it affected me.

I had always known that my 'daddy' was not my REAL father. He and my mother married when I was only 6 months old. Daddy adopted me when I was in the 2nd grade and I took his last name. If ever it even occurred to me to ask about my REAL father, I was told that it was my mother's first husband. Case closed...

During the fall of 1976 it seemed that nearly every night brought a new argument. Anything could set him off. These arguments started with loud screaming, verbal abuse, escalating into violence. Dad would scream and mom or I would try to defend ourselves. He'd push mom, she'd bounce of the refrigerator. He'd come at me and I'd try to cover myself. Mom would try to protect me from Daddy's rages that I could never fully understand. If I tried to protect Mom he'd get even more enraged. They'd throw things and scream so loud that a neighbor-friend of the family actually tried to intervene to quieten them. When I was 11, I was diagnosed with an ulcer. Supper-time at my house was a tense situation..I could barely eat for fear of dropping my fork or spilling my milk. I learned to stay in my room with the door closed in an attempt to keep Daddy from going off. Of course, a couple of hours after these explosions Daddy would call me to him (taking me on his lap when I was younger). He'd be crying..."Daddy's sorry, you love Daddy don't you? Daddy loves you."

It seemed I couldn't do anything right. I began to have anxiety attacks in health class when we'd study First Aid. The pseudo-catastrophe-filled films they would show in class..people laying around bleeding and injured were more than my sensitive, over-stressed psyche could take. I would start to hyperventilate...my arms and hands to tingle, my lips to feel like they were being drawn together and the feeling to flee the room was overwhelming. The Dr. prescribed valium but I was terrified of taking pills. Yes, it was the late 70's and I was a teenager, but I did not do any drugs. I had always preferred being the one in control, the designated driver, the clear thinker in my group of friends.

I missed a lot of classes that came after 1st period (eg. biology, geometry, shorthand) because I would end up being sent home by the school nurse. My body and mind were freaking out because of the war at home. I wasn't built for that shit.

One day, after a particularly harsh confrontation with Daddy I screamed "I'm going to go find my REAL Daddy, because I KNOW he loves me!" Keep in mind that I didn't even have a picture of the man, but no matter what, I figured HE had to be better than this.

My mother, having the foresight that our life there was coming to an end and we'd be going out on our own, dropped the bombshell that blew my teens into oblivion and pushed me into an emotional purgatory..neither child or adult..was I even who I thought I was? Apparently my mother had met a man, a radio DJ, in the late 50's when all those sentimental love songs filled the airwaves..."is that your little girl? She looks a lot like me". My mom and the DJ had fallen in love and Mom got pregnant. Mom showed a picture to me. I had seen it before but never suspected the significance of it. It was me as an infant, laying on a white cotton bead spread, 45's laid around me in a circle. Those records were THEIR songs. The DJ, had a son and twin daughters from his 1st marriage as well. I was not only the child of a man I never knew existed but I also have siblings! As an only child I was often lonely and had dreamed of an older brother.
Selfishly, I supposed, I wished for someone to turn to when things got scary, a witness to the insanity of my life, and someone to watch over me.

Unfortunately, Mom and the DJ fell apart soon after my birth. Mom, finding herself in a desperate situation, divorced, new baby, married the man I call Daddy. This other man, the DJ, had a son and twin daughters from his 1st marriage as well. To find out that I was not only the child of a man I had never known existed until this confusing night in the fall of 1976 but I also have siblings!

Meanwhile, being a member of the high school rifle corp, I marched my heart out! I loved twirling my rifle, throwing it into the air, performing with determination. The honor of traveling with our winning football team, marching at half-time, holding hands with my boyfriend (a trumpet player) as we sat on the bleachers cheering our team to victory, was a Godsend! I threw myself into practice, twirling and tossing that rifle for hours. I believe it helped me to focus on something completely outside of the turmoil that had become my family life.

Later in that school year, I met my biological father for the only time. We chatted across a restaurant table...my mother sitting beside me for support. He promised to take me to visit his family, to introduce me to my half-brother and sisters, to make me a part of his life..he promised many things.

As the football season came to an end so did the romance with my trumpet player but he always held a special place in my heart. He had helped me through a tumultuous time in my life and he NEVER KNEW anything was going on. I presented a happy, fun-loving, "let's go roll (t.p.) someones house after the football game" facade. I was very adept at putting on a mask, even at that tender age.

On March 11, 1977 I turned 18 and began my last summer at Opryland USA. On August 16, 1977 I worked my first day of my first full-time job..that was the day The King, Elvis Presley died.

My parents divorced about that time. The end of their marriage was marked by a huge bruise on my thigh from being stomped as I slid to the floor, deflecting the last of the physical blows 'Daddy' would ever land on me. I was limping and bruised as my mother and I signed the lease on an apartment.

On the morning of my birthday, March 11, 1978 as my mother and I were driving to work we tuned into the DJ's radio station. "Hi you beautiful ladies out there on your way to work..Happy Birthday Baby, Daddy loves you...here's a song just for you." As he played the song I had told him was my favorite at that time, Rod Stewart's "Tonight's the Night"...I dreamed of what my future might hold. Hopes and dreams that would never be realized. Left to melt with the snow banks on the sides of the road. I never heard from him again.

Both 'daddies' have passed on. I sometimes wonder if they are sitting in lounge chairs together in my idea of Heaven. Are they watching me? Did I finally make them proud and happy?

You might be wondering what brought up these memories. Well, I found my trumpet player on Facebook and had a wonderful lunch with him today...31 years since the last time we had seen each other. I recognized his SMILE right away. The conversation was fun as we recounted memories...the fun we had had together as teenagers. As we brought up the names of our school friends we compared notes on who we had kept up with. When we talked about those who have passed we became quiet, reflecting on the last memory we had of each of them. We each talked about our lives in the last three decades..excitedly trying to tell EVERYTHING..but hitting the highlights and some low ones...things we had happily experienced and a few things we were lucky to live through ourselves.

Even though the things I have written about today are not necessarily happy ones..words like "tragic" and "disappointing" mostly fit the bill. The fact that I did live through it and that there is the possibility that I may find my siblings before this dance of life comes to an end are enough to get me out of bed in the morning.

The ageless feeling of connecting with an old friend and the possibility of seeing him again and even MORE of our friends has left me with a smile that I just can't wipe off my face. How cool is that?

What Father's Day Means to Me

As I was sending a couple of Father's Day cards this morning, reality forced it's way into my thoughts (as it always seems to do). I sent two cards: one to my Mother's third husband, my stepfather for the last 20 years, or so, and one to an ex-boyfriend (now, just a friend) of mine.

My mother and I went to Reno last year. We were on a trip planned by one of the casinos, so we could not leave until the chartered flight the next day. We were out of gambling money so we spent that last night in the hotel room just talking. When Mom and I talk it can, and most times does, cover many landmine-type subjects. For some reason, that night, the conversation turned to fathers.

My mother had the traditional-type family, one mother, one father, one brother. She was extremely close to her father. When her father passed away, it was hands-down the most upset I've ever seen her.

My situation, on the other hand, is much different. My mother was married when I was conceived, however, her husband was not my birth father. My Biodad was another man whom she met while she was married and loved very much. Because of her love for my Biodad, her husband gave her the requested divorce. Then good ole' Biodad split and left her unmarried, pregnant, and alone. She tells me she was very scared and ashamed, remember, this was the 50's.

Soon after I was born she met a man while waitressing in the only restaurant in a small town in rural Tennessee. He was willing to marry her, even though she had a 6-month old baby in tow. He turned out to be extremely jealous, volatile, verbally and physically abusive. Also, he and made her burn every letter (or anything else) relating to Biodad.

Their entire 20-year relationship was tumultuous. His anger and abuse only got worse through the years. I do believe he loved her very much and, to his credit, he worked every day (even a 2nd job on weekends some of that time) to take care of us. Mom always worked, too, and I believe I had a relatively normal childhood, to the outside world.

Inside our home, though, there were nearly-daily explosions. "Daddy" would blow up at me, or mom, and often she was forced to protect me from him, literally putting her body between us and taking blows meant for me. You see, I was a living, breathing reminder of the 'man my mother really loved' in Daddy's mind. Funny thing is, I didn't know Biodad existed.

Until the second grade I carried the last name of Mom's first husband. I was TOLD, and most people assumed, that although my mother got divorced during her pregnancy, I was fathered by her ex-husband. During the second grade, 'Daddy' legally adopted me and I took his last name. I remember sitting on the ground by our mailbox, reading the spelling of Daddy's last name emblazoned there, then writing it over and over on a notebook of paper.

FOR THOSE OF YOU KEEPING SCORE...THAT'S THREE 'FATHERS' AND TWO LAST NAMES BY THE AGE OF 8.

Right around the time I graduated high school, they finally ended the misery and got divorced. Mom was thrilled to have her 'freedom at last' but Daddy was not happy about the divorce. He continued to try to hold onto Mom while Daddy's mother refused to talk to Mom and was barely civil to me. This was MY Granny since I was a baby and it was extremely confusing. However, my Pappy loved me always. He passed away soon thereafter.

My Granny was a hateful old woman and she stayed hateful to the day she died in 2003...even cutting me out of her will completely. (I am adopted into the family: the ONLY child of their ONLY child, my Daddy, was already deceased by the time Granny died.) Granny signed every penny of my inheritance to a fallen minister and his greedy wife. They had taken Granny from the retirement home without telling me. They convinced her that in order for them to take her into their home she had to change her will from ME to THEM. She died at their home within a few months of moving in with them and signing the money over to them. They even tried to have her funeral and bury her without letting me know she had died. *sneaky sneaky* God will get them, I have NO doubt.

**When you are adopted you can't be disowned.**

After the divorce, Daddy and I had a sometimes-good, sometimes-awful relationship. In 1998, when he died, I was meeting with the lawyer in charge of his estate. His widow made a point of pulling out a piece of paper that she found in Daddy's wallet. It had my name, and the name of my children, with "$1" written beside each of our names. She was admonished by the lawyer for being cruel and told to put that paper away! She accomplished what she wanted, which was to show me up in front of people. In the end, I did receive a small amount of money from the sale of the house that I'd grown up in. Also, his widow returned a silver collection that was MINE anyway (Daddy and I had together collected Kennedy half-dollars, silver dimes and wheathead pennies for years). She handed it over, during the gathering after his funeral, as if she was being SO generous....ugh!

Back to the story: Around the time of Mom and Daddy's divorce, I became extremely curious about my Biodad (whom I still believed was Mom's first husband). So one day Mom sat me down and told me this twisted tale of how she was married, then fell in love with someone else, then got pregnant, then divorced, then abandoned, then remarried. NOW I wonder why I never asked about this ex-husband/dad..WHY he didn't he pay child support...why there was no visitation, etc. I guess it was because my home life was so tumultuous that it never came to mind that there could be even more upset, confusion, and pain surrounded my male parentage.

After Mom spilled all the beans, I was introduced to Biodad (a local DJ) first over the phone, then there were some shout-outs to me on the radio. There was one face-to-face lunch: Biodad, Mom and me, at Dennys (I don't remember his face, but I remember he gave me a $20 bill). He said he was so proud of me and so glad to finally have met me. He promised to introduce me to his side of the family (the Trumphour's) which never came to fruition. Then nothing, no calls, no invitations, no letters, no nothing...until I heard he died (early 1980s'). A while later Mom told me that she had gone to his funeral and that it was alot like the situation described in George Jones' biggest hit "He Stopped Loving Her Today"...ehh whatever.

Sometime in the 80's I met Mom's first husband at a funeral of someone unrelated. There were no words, no sparks, no interest, nothing. Eventhough for years I had believed him to be my REAL dad, by the time I met him I had known the truth for quite a while.

My mother met her now-husband sometime in the year after divorcing 'Daddy'. They were together for several years and finally married about 25 years ago, or so.

"Daddy's" last name is my maiden name to this day. The only male-parental-unit alive is my Mom's present husband. He has been "Dad", at this point, as long as "Daddy" was.

He is extremely good to my mother and good to me and my children, as well. His ex-wife is an absolute bitch though. (Violent and crazy...I won't go into her antics now, maybe another blog.) He has two grown children, several years younger than me. He has grandchildren from both of his kids and even a great-granchild. He is close to me and my kids and I am happy, and grateful, that my mother has him.

...AND THAT BRINGS THE COUNT TO FOUR

As you can see, 'Fathers Day' sure can encompass more than the traditional meaning. What does it mean to you?

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

HUGS, DANCE

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I look forward to hearing from you!