I don’t remember much from my childhood. All I know is that I was born on May 5, 1996 in Baltimore, Maryland. I also know that by the time I was two years old you were absent. Back then it probably didn’t seem like a big deal; it just meant I wouldn’t be seeing someone I was accustomed to. You went on and lived your life, and you gave your love to other children. Those other children are my siblings I guess, yet I know none of them by name or face.

Growing up I had everything I needed, a loving and stable environment. However, I couldn’t help but wonder where you were. I observed on several occasions that families were composed of two adults, a Mom and Dad. I had only a mother. Don’t get me wrong, I am beyond grateful for the impact she has had on my life, but the fact that you were not present still stood. In my immature eyes my circumstance was unfair. What had I done wrong? My friends often discussed going to see their Dad or how their Dad took them golfing or how they went fishing with their Dad. I just smiled at these stories, as I never had any to share.

Around the age of eight I got a thirst for a father figure. What better place to look towards than my biological Dad? I got your number form my Mother’s phone and sent you a text. It said something like, ‘Hey this is your daughter, Michaela.’ I remember being so nervous to send it. I waited patiently, a response did not come immediately. In the middle of my summer camp session a familiar Hannah Montana song sounded as my ringtone. I anxiously said, “I’m pretty sure that’s my Dad… can I get it?” The D word stuck in my head, I wondered how many times I would be able to say that in a lifetime. Sure enough, it was you.

From that day forward we began to talk a lot; you made promises to take me to the circus and come take me out to eat. Until May 5th rolled around we were on a good note. I thought on that day, for the first time, I’d get a ‘Happy Birthday’ text or call from my Dad. By about two in the afternoon I was done waiting for you. I took the initiative and called you. I did not even get an answer, just a voicemail message telling me to leave a message at the beep. I left a voicemail, maybe I shouldn’t have. I expressed the feelings I had felt for what seemed to be six long years. I guess you found it disrespectful and offensive. That was my goal. I wanted you to feel the same hurt and disregard that had felt for so many years. Then you proceeded to call my Mom and tell her about my offensive message. Did you think she would punish me? My mom is pretty bright and understanding. She knew that what I was going through was punishment enough.

I’ve always wondered if you ever realized what you let go. I can tell you it is something beautiful, bright, ambitious and genuinely unique.
Now I am about to be eighteen years old. I have been driving for two years, a legend lime green mustang convertible and now a very nice Ford edge. I will graduate in June. I have committed to Temple University and I have been an honor student since I can remember. I have been a cheerleader for five years and a captain for two of them. I have a job working for Chesapeake Utilities as a communications intern. The best part of it all is, I didn’t need you to do all of that.

I’ve always wondered what value I was to you. The only thing you have ever given me is a small check that is written to my Mother every month. Nothing more. Not a text, not a call, not a card, not love, not encouragement and probably not more than half of a thought. Rest assured, you are the one who struck out. Rest assured, I will be successful. Rest assured, if you never apologize for killing part of me on the inside, I have enough in me to forgive you anyway.