Ghost Dad

As a little girl I always had a longing for my father. Much in the same way that all little girls loved their daddies and missed them when they were gone, I was no different. Except I had never seen mine before, but I loved him just the same. In my mind, he was this tall and handsome basketball player with brownie colored eyes, desperately searching for his lost daughter. He missed me as much as I was missing him. During school plays and assemblies, parent teacher conferences and daddy daughter dances, I envied my friends. They had what I so desperately wanted.

When I was younger I had the excuse that my father had died, which made my friends feel sorry for me. Pity was better than the barrage of awkward questions like, "how come your dad isn't coming?", "Why don't we ever see your dad?", or "Maybe your dad will come this time, you think?". And I really believed he was dead because that is what my mother told me. And that is what my father's brother, Marcus, told her.

But on a typical sunny Sunday afternoon in June, the warm breeze carrying the scent of the freshly cut grass outside the Cherry Creek Shopping Center, my mother had taken my siblings and I on an outing to Old Country Buffet. After lunch and dessert, our custom was to visit Frank's Pet Emporium located next door to the restaurant in the outdoor shopping mall. My mother let us go alone this time, since she wasn't quite finished with her meal of country fried steak, macaroni and cheese, candied sweet potatoes, and wheat dinner rolls with a ton of butter.

Sasha, Jalen and I hadn't been in the pet shop more than ten minutes when I found myself being called away from the Congo African Grey Parrot with the beautiful scarlet tail feathers I was admiring by. As I made my way back through the maze of tables to where my mother was sitting, I saw that she was talking with a man I had never seen before. Once I had finally made my way to her, she said "Kaiyah, there's someone I want you to meet" and she introduced this stranger as Glynn, her friend from college. I greeted the stranger politely, taking in his white chef's shirt that buttoned at the left shoulder and continued down until it reached the hem. His chef's shirt was paired with black jeans and a hair net covering a small afro with a rimless white hat. His face seemed oddly familiar to me, but I was sure I had never seen him before. The smell of freshly seared steaks, cinnamon, and nutmeg caught my attention, enticing my nose and stomach and distracting me from the interaction at hand.

I was eager to get back to the pet shop so I said "it was nice to meet you" and asked to go back and join my siblings. As soon as I opened the door to the brightly lit shop with lemon yellow walls lined with fish tanks and cages of various sizes, I was met with the scent of multiple animal aromas coalescing into one distinct smell singular to pet shops. The Dalmation puppies, with their unique spot patterns, brightly colored birds, exotic and domestic, and baby red-eared slider turtles so tiny they could fit in a toddler's palm, kept my mind occupied but his face stayed with me, along the nagging notion that he was somehow related to me.

Later that evening after turning over the short meeting between the man Glynn, my mother and I in my mind's eye, my focus always zeroing in on the man's face. The full lips similar to my own, eyes that were just the same slightly slanted shape and milk chocolate brown as my own. I couldn't escape the feeling of familiarity that clung to my thoughts of him. So I gathered up the courage to ask the question that had been in my head since that brief encounter with the stranger named Glynn. I knew he had to be someone significant because my mother singled me out when she made the effort to introduce me to him. And then there was that little issue of my face reflected in his.

So I asked outright, "Ma, who was that man? Is he my father's brother?" as I searched her face to find the truth I was looking for.

"No Kaiyah. Glynn is your father." Those were the words that came from my mother's concerned face. I felt my chest tightening up and the room was starting to turn. I didn't realize I had stopped breathing until the gasp escaped my lips.

"Breathe baby, breathe" my mother chanted softly as she lead me towards the overstuffed tan recliner that sat in our living room.

"Calm down. Are you alright?" I looked up to see tears pooling in her walnut colored eyes. But anger was starting to cloud mine.

"Why did you tell me he was dead? And if he was alive this whole time, how come he was never here? Didn't he know about me?" the questions spewed out of my mouth like vomit, quick and uncontrolled. Another round of questions was bubbling up when my mom stopped me.

"Calm down and breathe. I didn't know he was alive until I saw him earlier. Marcus told me he died eight years ago in a car accident. And yes he knows who you are. Back when you were first born I took you to your grandmother's house, but his mother had some unkind words for me and a denial for you. She never approved of Glynn and I being together. She said I was too dark for her Glynn. Said he could do better than me. Said I was just trying to trap him and furthermore, she didn't claim bastard children."

Her words shifted the anger that was growing inside me to a new target. What type of mother would say such a thing about a newborn? Why would she be so cruel to judge a person by her skin color? Something she has no control over. And what kind of man, what kind of father, would deny his first born child over something so trivial? The questions were spinning in my head like a record on repeat, a song stuck on a loop.

"What are you thinking Kai? Talk to me please."

"I'm angry Momma, for me and for you. That woman is such a horrible person and her son is weak. No type of man at all, still a child afraid to displease his mommy. I'm so disgusted by the thought of them both."

"Do you want to go back and talk to him tomorrow?"

"I do. I want to know why he wasn't there for me. Why his love for me wasn't strong enough to make him defy his mother. I deserve to know that. And I want him to know what he missed out on, that there was a little girl out there loving him and missing him. A little girl with his lips and eyes, with the shape of his face and knock-kneed just like him. A beautiful little girl who prayed for her daddy to come home and asked God to keep him safe wherever he was. I want him to know how lovely a young lady I am shaping up to be without him. And that a grandfather, a real father, stepped in and took his place. So that his little girl wouldn't be lost. So yes, I want to go back to his job and look him in those eyes that are so much like mine and ask him to tell me why". By now I couldn't see my mother's face clearly, the front of my shirt wet against my chest. She grabbed me and held me close, rocking me like a mother rocks a colicky infant.

We stayed like that for I don't know how long. Time seemed stagnate and still, like a old puddle of leftover rainwater. The next day I woke with a headache and a stomachache. I was secretly afraid of what he would say to me. It's one thing to just have him deny me by not being there, but it's a totally different beast to have your father say to your face "you're not mine, leave me alone, I'm not your daddy". But I put on a brave face and my big girl panties and let my mother's words of encouragement strengthen my resolve. I wouldn't be facing him alone and my grandfather pulled me aside before we left and told me "I love you and I will always be here for you. Regardless of what he says or doesn't say, remember that you have a father right here who loves no matter what."

And he was right, I had a father with me all along, doing his best to make me feel loved and worthy. That knowledge made what happened later that day sting a whole lot less.

Once my mother and I got back to the Old Country Buffet, my mom asked to manager if Glynn was working and if so could she tell him that his friend Sonya needed to talk to him for a moment. To our surprise, the manager informed us that he had quit the previous afternoon. Dismayed, we left, realizing that he knew I would come back and he would rather quit his job then face me again. That sunny Sunday afternoon was the one and only time I have ever laid eyes on my birth father. We spoke once after that of inconsequential things, topics that strangers discuss while waiting on a bus or riding on a plane. A second conversation would never manifest, just the sounds of his remorseful mother begging him to come to the phone and talk to his daughter. But he would not.

My grandfather was there then too. Reminding me that I have done fine without him and I will continue to thrive without him. I love you and your grandmother loves you and your mother loves you. You don't need him and he doesn't deserve you. And as always, father knows best.

Thank you granddaddy and I love you too.