I always knew who my father was. The story goes: I was born while he was in the Navy serving in the Vietnam War. He came home when I was 9 months and came straight to see me. Nobody knew he was coming but when he stepped through the door I said “Daddy!” and everybody turned and there he was. My father spent a lot of time with me during my life. There was never a question of paternity on anybody’s part..I was his spitting image. A mini female twin, I followed him or he took me everywhere. It would make me mad and embarrassed sometimes because we couldn’t walk to the damn store without him stopping at least 3 or 4 times to announce “This is my DAUGHTER!” I say it in caps cause he usually shouted that part in that heavy Dominican accent of his. People would go oh and ah and we would stand there for like 5 minutes each time while he praised my academic prowess.
I’ll never forget the day they brought my twin brothers home from the hospital. My father walked from Columbia Presbyterian Hospital on 168th St to 135th St with each of my brothers in his arms. I can only imagine how long it took for them to get home. He came into the back park and down the ramp and introduced them to me. “These are your brothers. You are my number 1 and these are my sons. You watch out for them”. My father always talked in formal language like that, ask anybody. I was 7 and I listened. I still look after my brothers now.
I tell this story because for us there was never an issue of paternity. My parents started going out when my mother was 13 and he was 17. They stayed together for 18 years. Never got married and didn’t have any other children but me and my brothers. I didn’t have any extra siblings that showed up after his death. Nor any other wives or women because my father never had another serious relationship after him and Mom broke up. It never bothered him either. I laugh as I remember our conversations and how I would tell him to find a woman and he would scoff and say he had better things to do with his time.
I remember when I found out he wasn’t on my birth certificate. It bothered me. All of us talked about it at various points over the years but it wasn’t a priority because he was our father. He knew it, we knew it and anyone who knew us knew it. It was important I guess but we never made it a priority to get it done.
Flash forward. We are now nearing the second anniversary of his death. Which was also during the week of his birthday. My grief is definitely more manageable. I was able to write this post without crying or becoming depressed. That’s a blessing. I still miss him but I talk to him a lot in my head. It’s kinda like praying to God and talking to him at the same time.
Now we find out that our grandfather, his father whom we barely knew, has died and left an inheritance. It’s not much but enough to make me and my brothers lives a little better for a minute. We just have to send proof that he was our father.
I’ll let you connect the dots on that for a minute.
We have some paperwork that my mother saved but we, me and my brothers, have decided to go further. On his birthday we will all go to petition the court to have him added to our birth certificates. Mom and his sister will attest to it and this matter will be done with. My father, who I will love all of my life, will finally been seen as such in the eyes of the world.
I almost feel like he did this. And if he did…thanks Daddy….
