Hi dad.
To be honest, I don’t even know if I should call you dad or not, because to me, biology doesn’t determine family. And I also already have a dad. He’s been around for almost 15 years now. But, considering I don’t even remember your name, as I haven’t committed it to memory, I will call you dad.
I have no idea where you are. Neither does my mom. She said the last thing she heard was that you moved back to Korea and started a new family. That you lied about already having a daughter with someone else. But she heard that the truth eventually came out, as it likes to do. You got another divorce. And after that, no one knew what happened to you. Who knows if any of that is true. The grapevine twists as it grows. But, if that story is true, I’m sorry. I’m not sorry to you, but I’m sorry that your life went like that. In fact, if I feel anything for you, anything towards you, it’s pity. And I guess pity sounds kind of pretentious, like I’m in a much better place looking down on you, but I really mean that I’m sorry for you.
My mom didn’t talk about you much growing up, and I didn’t really think about you. There was that one time, when I was about four, when I told my mom that I wanted a dad…but I didn’t really mean it. It was just based on seeing the nuclear family model in all my friends’ houses. Looking back, I’m sure it hurt her to hear me say that, but it really wasn’t serious. I know it wasn’t because I never really longed for you growing up. So I never really wondered about you. I never really asked. Mom filled any hole that ever formed inside of me. She was my best friend. And I know she did much more for me alone than the two of you together could’ve done.
Mom got re-married when I was six. All of a sudden, I had a dad. Adding a new adult into the small and cozy family I had grown accustomed to definitely created growing pains. But we were so lucky. I was happy mom had some help, even though she didn’t really need it. So, growing up with dad in my life really pushed you to the periphery of my mind. The only times you really came up were when I’d tell my friends that dad wasn’t actually my biological dad. To which their stunned faces would reply “what! really??” Every time. It was funny because telling them was usually prompted by them saying they could see the resemblance between me and dad. But I never minded. Not a touchy subject at all, though I could always tell my friends suddenly saw eggshells on the floor before them. I’ve gotten loads of “I’m sorry”s and pity, yes, pity that you never reached out to me. That you left without looking back. But I’ve always said, “how could I miss something I never had?” And really, I don’t feel sorry for myself in the slightest. I’m blessed with so much more than lots of people ever get. I’ve always had love and support and a roof over my head. And so, I’ve never really wondered about you until recent years.
This past spring, mom took me to New York as a belated 18th birthday gift. We had talked about going to NY for awhile, and it finally happened. While we were there, we visited Columbia University. I knew it was her alma mater, but learned it was yours too. I learned a lot about you. Mom and I were walking on 116th when she apologized for not talking about you much. She got emotional. I remember her tears steaming against the freezing air. She said that if I ever wanted to try to find you, she would help. I told her to not be silly, that I really did not care at all. If anything, I was only slightly curious. I knew she had rid of any pictures of you, any contact information. I knew that you didn’t want to be my dad. That you weren’t ready. But I didn’t know about you as a person. I mean, she had to have married you for a reason. So, she told me about your guys’ story. How you were that couple in high school. The equivalent to prom king and queen in Korea. You were the top of the class. Student body president. You were smart, well-liked, funny. But after she moved to the states, you guys drifted apart. Until undergrad.
She ended up at Vassar for undergrad, then found out that you were attending Columbia, just a train ride south. She, in her naïveté, thought this to be fate knocking at her door. She thought you were meant to be. So you two dated once again. The details are blurry to me, but you dated. She visited you on the weekends. She even attended Columbia for grad school. But, in her stubborn attempts to “make the fairy tale come true,” she didn’t realize that it couldn’t. As she explained it, you came to the states to be great. To lead. To have the success you did back at home. But, you couldn’t. You couldn’t assimilate. Your poor English skills reminded you of your shortcomings. A hit to your pride. So, you stopped trying. You hung out with other Korean students, only speaking Korean. Smoking and drinking every night. She would sometimes write your essays for you while you slept your drunkenness away. But know that she didn’t say any of this in bitterness. No, she acknowledged your intelligence. She empathized with you. And felt for you. Of course this was all in retrospect, but I know she was never vindictive. She’s not that kind of woman.
You eventually married. However, there wasn’t really a wedding. There wasn’t much celebration. But she loved you. And I mean real love. Not that butterflies in her stomach, chocolate and roses love, but the love that is choosing over and over to stay with you; for better and worse, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health. She said she would usually go to class while you played video games all day and return to make you dinner and then study while you slept. You didn’t see much of each other. You spiraled downwards, but she stayed. You changed, but she stayed. You became unkind. Rough. She wishes she knew her worth sooner. She wishes she didn’t seek the approval that never came. But she can’t regret ever giving you everything because it was integral to finding her strength.
When I was born, she thought that you would finally come around. You would want to mature, to be there for me. She flew across the country to stay with my grandparents, so they could help care for me. However, instead of you jumping on the next flight to us, you were enraged that she would take your child away from you. How dare she, right? Your anger stemmed from your possessiveness rather than love. How do I know? Because you threw the towel in. You didn’t want a daughter, you wanted a divorce.
Luckily, my mom had something else to live for. Her selflessness now had another outlet, one that would receive it. Even still, I cannot say I’ve done the best job at thanking her for everything. Nor will I ever be able to thank her enough.
In her strength, I have found my strength to forgive you. Not for leaving me, but for leaving her. Leaving her at the altar when you made an empty promise. You said “I do,” but you didn’t. I forgive you, but I am sorry for you. I am sorry that you didn’t know what you had, not even when she was gone. I’m sorry she was the most beautiful, courageous, and intelligent woman you’ve ever met. I’m sorry that life didn’t go the way you had dreamed. I’m sorry it crushed you and changed you.
After all these years, I still haven’t heard from you. But that’s okay. I’m okay. I understand what may never be said and what you may never understand. But know that I want to believe you’ve found yourself out there. I want to believe you’ve cleaned up, thrown away the dice, and put the bottle on the shelf. I want you to know that any time I feel unmotivated, you’re the thought that pushes me forward. Because I’m certainly not banking on finding someone like my mom and I’m most definitely not wasting my potential. So, wherever you are right now, I’m thinking of you. I’m sending peace and love to you this new year. I’m not sure if we’ll ever meet because I’m not looking; but in the event that you are, I’m here.
P.S. My affinity for salty foods and my ingrown toenails come from you, I think. Shame I didn’t get your affinity for math.