I haven't thought about my biological father in a while.
Well, that's not completely true. Every time I come home from work and then check the mail, I wonder if he's finally come around and written me.
So far, nothing.
But what I meant was that I haven't done anything about contacting him myself. He sits on the back-burner of my life, always there, but never taking center-stage.
And that bothers me.
I think it says something about my attitude about my fathers. Maybe it even says something about how our society thinks about fathers. But mostly, I think it says something about me.
If pressed, I suspect I could say something about why finding my mother was so important to me. That need exists at an emotional level, but I think I could find some words.
When it comes to my father, I don't know what I want. A letter would be nice, I suppose. But is it important to me? If so, why don't I do something more about it? What about him matters to me?
Is all of this born from my distrust of men? Do I just not expect much from him, so it doesn't even occur to me hope for something from him?
I don't have answers to these questions. Independent of his own apparent rejection of me, I don't know what I think of him. I'm not always sure why I think of him.
He exists not as a positive presence in my life. He exists merely as an absence, a void. And confronting that void is frightening in some way. Whether because I'm afraid of what I will find or because I'm afraid I will find I don't care, I can't say.
And until I confront these issues, I don't think I will be able to say.