The Illustrated Life of Terri Jean: okay... gonna rant a bit

Those of you who know me probably know about my daddy issues.... and for the most part, there are two of them.

I was adopted paternally at birth by my mom's first husband, Jerry. He left when I was 2 and I really didn't know him - even when he showed up at our doorstep when I was 8, and then came back to Ohio a few years later. We had visitation for awhile but we were never close. The visits were awkward and forced. When he took my mom to court for custody (what an asshole!!!) when I was 12 - it was just to get the social security we were receiving due to his motorcycle accident. I told the judge I wanted nothing to do with him.... and that was that. And then that sentiment was made official when I was 15 - and he died from an allergic reaction to a bee sting to the neck. He was 34. I went to the funeral, heard stories about how much he loved me (wtf???) and then relived his assholeness when I was left $1.00 in his will. (A dollar I never did receive, by the way.)

Also when I was 8 years old I learned that the boy I had a crush on was actually my birth father's little brother. Talk about being weirded out (and yet, kinda happy cause it was cool)... then my birth (paternal) grandmother denied me till I was in my late teens - which also cause lots of awkward and mixed feelings - plus lots of resentment. When I was about 24 or 25 I finally sought out my paternal birth family and it was okay... but in truth, I was extremely disappointed. I think that the people who bail out on their kids/grandkids and leave the mom hanging for 18+ years are like that because, well they're actually selfish assholes... and it took me a while to realize and understand that. Once we met, they couldn't hide their selfish asshole tendencies, and now I pretty much only associate with my Aunt (who was there for me all along... the ONLY one in the entire family to claim me since birth), her family, and my little brother and sister. Everyone else has either abandoned me once again - or made comments that weren't all that... shall we say... nice. (Such as, because I don't come around that much, maybe I'm not really family. Who says that about a child they abandoned?!?!)

So I finally mustered up the courage to contact my birth father on facebook. (FYI, he hasn't ONCE done anything to contact me - except to hit the accept button). My birthday was this weekend (my little brother, on my paternal side has the same birthday, mind you) - and not a peep from the long, lost parental unit. Nope. Actually, what I got was - UNFRIENDED. I assume it was because he couldn't deal with being a father - even via the internet. Maybe he was upset I never messaged him ( am far more stubborn that most people and will NOT make a first move ever again with him. I did it when I was 25. I think that means the balls in his court for the next contact.) But nope. He couldn't manage that. Like I said, once a deserting father asshole, always a deserting father asshole. Right? They don't really change.

But I have a Pops and he's my father, my dad, my heart. I adore him. Even though he can be cranky and cynical at times. Even though he had a temper when I was younger. And even though he and my mom often bickered like two teenage siblings - this man has been at my side since I was 8 years old. He's been with me through the good, through the bad, and everything in between. He never once said he wasn't my father. He never once gave me the impression that I didn't matter, or that I wasn't really his. And even when I pushed him away throughout my teenage years and did the whole "You're not my dad!" act... he never rejected me. I eventually made it up to him when I gave Alex his middle name (David), and he even helped me raise Alex and put up with his teen-pregnant daughter.

He called me on my birthday. He said all the right things ... the things that a father says to his daughter on her 43rd birthday. He made me feel good and proud to call him my Pops.

And that's pretty much all I could ever ask for in a dad. All the biological crap is not all that important. It really doesn't matter. Assholes stay assholes and real dads remain real dads till the end. I love my father. And there is no doubt that he loves me.

Here's a few photos... Enjoy.

Mom and Pops getting married 7-7-78. I was 8. That's me in the blue floppy hat and sundress.
I still have mom's wedding sundress.


My Pops, my grandpa Lewie, and my FAVORITE uncle EVER - Uncle Droopy RIP Grandpa.

This is my all-time favorite photo of my Pops. He's thumbing and with his backpack. Just wish he was wearing that old jean jacket with the lion/leo patch in this pic (I eventually lost that jean jacket - something my mom still reminds me of). But this is a great photo of my Hippie Pops.