Besides the winter holidays, there is one other holiday that I dread each year, Father’s Day. I have never met my father, I don’t know what he looks like, I don’t even know if he’s still alive. It’s always just been my mom and me.
For a long time, I desperately wanted to know who my father was. These days, it’s not something that I dwell on or that bothers me much. It’s a sore subject with my mom, who refuses to give me a name and begs me to let sleeping dogs lie. I just want to know about the other side of my family tree. All I know is that he is Filipino.
I guess my mom is afraid that I’d try to contact him, which I can’t say hasn’t crossed my mind. In many respects, I hate him for leaving my mom alone, for not helping financially, for abandoning his own child. But I still want to know his name and see his face. His name will unlock a part of my family history that I’ve always wanted to know more about.
I envy those who grew up with their father, even if their parents were divorced. There are things I will never experience because my father is not a part of my life and that hurts.