I always had the faintest idea to whom the other portion of my biological “me” came from. This vague “Ford” that lived in Ohio. I didn’t know much. I remember at a young age asking my mother about him (who is my father?) and she got very defensive and simply told me that his name was “Ford” and that I should forget about him. My grandparents gave me the same spiel. “Ford” lived in Ohio, he was a deadbeat, don’t contact him, just forget him.
This was my childhood.
My friend Phil had good parents, a couple of siblings, grandparents and a crazy amount of people around him at any given time. I had all of that but for a father and some other brother(s) or sister(s). I’m sure that statistically out there there is some screwed up percentage of people that I fall into that experiences high levels of God knows what, while exhibiting a profound level of whatever. My therapist would probably concur.
I knew that when I got older I would find “Ford” and let him know that I was here. We would be the best of friends. I wanted to tell him all about me. I needed him. I needed him more everyday.
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