Fore, Father!

I finally found my father at forty

Years ago, one of my classmates from high school posted her Ancestry.com results on Instagram and she came back like 93% Black. I was impressed and began to wonder what my percentage would be. I was a little scared that it might come back like 65% Black because we got a lot of light skinned folks on my branch of the family tree. I settled on 90% as an acceptable threshold of Blackness that I was willing to accept from my DNA results. Anything less and I would feel disappointed because being Black is the core of my identity. Obviously, I’d get over it, but it’d be a bummer for sure. Somewhere around Thanksgiving 2020 I did an Ancestry DNA test. I tell this story to say, I honestly signed up for Ancestry.com because I wanted to see if I was Blacker than my classmate who was known in high school for having “good hair”.

My hair is nappy as fuck so i figured I gotta be Blacker than her!

The first father figure I can remember was my foster father John. I don’t remember much about him aside from him being very religious and very mean. We used to clean the church every Saturday night and attend service all day on Sundays. We couldn’t watch TV other than PBS and the Braves on TBS. Very strict household. Basically we couldn’t do anything secular. No for real, I didn’t even know who Michael Jackson was until Free Willy came out. The only other thing I remember about him is him reading the bible at the dining table. That’s how I learned to read around 2 or 3 years old. I don’t remember our relationship being particularly loving. I got out of foster care sometime during second grade and didn’t have any father figures in my life after that. I heard John died tragically in a car accident in the 90s.

The only thing I knew about my father growing up was that his name was Ed and he was from Chicago.

My first Christmas after I got out of foster care my father got me a toy called a Light Brite, but he literally came and dropped it off and left. But what pisses me off to this day was that he didn’t get me any batteries or light bulbs! The toy was absolutely useless without those things! I don’t remember anything else about our first meeting. It probably lasted less than 5 minutes. I couldn’t even remember what he looked like.

Growing up I always wondered and imagined what his life was like. I assumed he must’ve moved back to Chicago and started another family. That’s why he wasn’t in my life; he had a new family now. It’s probably some level of internalized and socialized sexism that allowed me to imagine some great life for him, in direct contrast to the life I saw my mother living. She was on drugs, of course he wouldn’t want to be with her. That’s why he’s not in my life. He has a new family now. That was my go to answer whenever I questioned why he wasn’t in my life. I managed to assign a life of virtue to a man I didn’t even know.

One of my best friends became a father in 2014 and I remember going to visit him in 2016 and seeing him be a father to his toddler daughter. His wife was in residency to be a surgeon and at this particular junction she worked nights. I’m sure it was hard on the whole family but I really admired watching him have his child on a schedule and taking care of her. He took pride in it. He’d stop watching the game because it’s time to put his daughter to bed and he needed to read her a book and cuddle her until she fell asleep. He’d fall asleep too in the reading chair with her in his lap. Somewhere around the 4th quarter he’d stumble back to the family room and ask about the score. I didn’t mind watching the game alone. Daddy duty calls. It was seeing this level of devotion that made me realize I didn’t want to be a father. But I really enjoyed watching him do it. I wondered if my father was that devoted to his other family. I wondered if he was that loving.

Every year I go on a golf trip with a bunch of guys old enough to be my father. There’s one guy on the trip who looks like Barack Obama who always asked me about my finances. Was I maxing out my 401K, am I cutting down on my spending? I’ll admit, it annoyed me at first. Why was he in my business?! Why does he care what I spend my money on? Well it’s been over 10 years now and he still asks, but now I understand that’s just his way of expressing love. After all he’s never mean about it. Just a very “encouraging” West Indian parent! One day I was golfing with his son and said something like, “You have a great dad. He probably gets on your nerves sometimes, but you’re very lucky to have a dad who gives a fuck about you”. I wondered if my dad would be proud of my life, so I went out and spent six figures on a new car. I needed to show the world and subconsciously my father that I’d made something of myself. You know Barack gave me a good speech about my spending on that year’s Mancation! I now lease my cars and cut my car note in half. Thanks Obama!

When I got my ancestry results back, I was 89% Black! I really wanted to be in the 90s but I was happy as hell that I wasn’t in the 60s. As part of your results they show you other Ancestry.com members you are related to. I saw that I had an uncle Fred who had the same last name as the name I’d heard mentioned with my father. Fred hadn’t logged into Ancestry in years at that point but I figured I’d throw a Hail Mary and send him a message. Years went by, I never heard back. I used the Ancestry resources to put together a family tree. I went as far as I could on my maternal side and then decided to find out as much as I could about my paternal side. Through public records and obituaries I was able to piece together some semblance of a tree. I found all of my aunts and uncles and tried to find them on Facebook. I hit dead ends.

One day I wondered if my father gave his “other son” an alliterative name similar to his own. So I searched for young black men with names similar to Ed from the Chicago area. If the message to my uncle was a Hail Mary, I don’t even know what to call this. I messaged this guy asking if he was related to my father or the uncle I had matched with on Ancestry. Never heard back. This was December 2020.

December 2024, I get a message from that random guy I messaged on Facebook saying that the uncle I had matched with was his father. I sent him a screenshot from Ancestry to let him know I wasn’t trying to scam him. I made it clear that I wasn’t trying to disrupt my father’s life but would love if he could pass along my contact info and let him know I’d love to talk to him. At this point I’m still imagining he has a family in Chicago.

The first time my father called, I didn’t pick up. When his name popped up on phone, I lost all feelings in my hands. My arms felt soggy like Top Ramen that had been left in the microwave too long. I didn’t even have the strength to pick up my phone if I wanted to. About 5 minutes later I mustered up the courage to call him back.

His voice sounded foreign and familiar at the same time. His tone sounded like any old Black man in his 70s. But there was a leisurely cadence to his speech. Like he had nowhere he had to be and if he did, he’s gonna take his time to get there. The first call lasted about 20 minutes. I hardly remember what we talked about but I remember feeling a thirst for knowledge. I wanted to know everything about him. What the fuck has he been up to for the past 40 years??

We talked on the phone for hours over the next few weeks but my thirst was never quenched. His answers to my questions were often evasive and curt. He wouldn’t even tell me his birthday! I figured he was just being cautious in case I was a scammer or something. But I noticed in his recounting of his life he got even more slippery when discussing what he’d been up to since I was born. One thing I found out was that he’d been in Atlanta this whole time! There was no family in Chicago, in fact, he didn’t seem to have had any meaningful long term relationships or notable life events. We were almost polar opposites in every way aside from our love of football. He’s a Capricorn and I’m an Aquarius, I guess it’s to be expected.

As a storyteller, I grew tired of his answers. There were never any details! Maybe he felt like I was interrogating him but honestly i’d describe it as voracious curiosity. I want to know about the man who made me! I tried to tell him all about me but I began to notice that the curiosity was not reciprocal. When I’d tell him about my life, he’d give disinterested responses like, “unhuh”, “that’s right?”. I don’t think he ever asked a follow up question. It felt like he was speaking to me out of duty not desire.

The eagerness in getting to know me just wasn’t there. Maybe I’m just not that interesting.

I figured maybe we just needed to talk more and the curiosity would develop. I suggested we schedule time to talk every month. He felt that was too rigid. I thought it would keep us accountable. I sent him a calendar invite but those scheduled calls never happened. As the weeks went by we talked less and less.

Father’s Day 2025, I wasn’t sure if I was going to call him. For the first time in my life I had someone to call on Father’s Day but at the same time, I felt like a phone call was not something he had earned. He had made no attempt to see me in person and we hadn’t talked in a few months. He called me with my uncles and cousin on the phone. They passed the phone around and I got introduced to everyone for a few minutes. They seemed very eager to meet me. It made me wonder what story he’d told them.

I sent him pictures on the day I got married at the courthouse. He called and congratulated me but the enthusiasm just wasn’t there. It almost felt…negative. It didn’t feel like he was happy for me. Maybe he’s just an old Black man who struggles to express his feelings and emotions. That’s what I told myself

We text each other on the major holidays and birthdays now but that’s the extent of our relationship. I’ve made peace with that. One holiday I flat out told him that I want him to come visit me in LA so we can meet in person, and his response was some variety of, “if I’m ever in town, I’ll look you up”. He has a brother who lives in Pasadena, so maybe it’ll happen one day.

I’ve accepted that my father is not the man I daydreamed about as a kid. He didn’t ask to be put on a pedestal. He’s a man with flaws, just like me. We don’t have to have things in common. That doesn’t change the fact that we share DNA. But, I have to admit, I wish he were just a little bit more curious about me.

Even if my father and I never speak again, the journey to find him was worth it.