Me-Me Monday #3

Yes, it's that Me-Me Monday thing again!

3. I don't know my father at all.

Well, the past few days have been very tough for FunkyB, and I was looking forward to some light banter about my life. I thought about skipping #3, but I'll have to deal with it sooner or later, so I might as well toss back another Michelob Ultra and get it over with.

Essentially, my mother fell in love with this sailor named "Bud". Madly. Passionately. Stupidly. You've fallen in love like that before -- you KNOW how it feels, especially the "stupid" part.

So against her better judgement, she hooked up with this guy and they dated whenever he was in port.

Before I say she's blameless, let me mention again that this kind of love is STUPID. It makes you do stupid things. It shuts down the frontal lobe and you lose all reason. So, in spite of the fact that his wife called her and informed her of the fact that she was dating a married man, it was really too late for my mother to reason this one out. When she became pregnant, he promised to take care of us. Let's just say he didn't keep his promise.


He's seen me -- once. After my mom married Sarg, he ran into us at a military commissary. He took a look at me all cute in the pram and then asked my mother if she was happy. She stupidly said, "yes". It was a lie, but what do you say when you live by the motto, "living well is the best revenge"?

So I grew up never, ever knowing my biological father. I'd LOVE to start calling him sperm-donor or baby-maker...but I can't. He's my dad. That kind of sucks, because I can love him regardless of the fact that I do not know him, and most likely never will. I do know that he was a champion sharp-shooter and according to my mom, looked quite a bit like William Devane.
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I did search for him a time or two. When I was in my teens, my grandma gave me a piece of paper she'd held onto -- with his social security number and military information written in fading pencil. I tucked that in the safest place I knew. Then one day -- without explanation -- it was gone. My mother never said a word about it.

Later, after my son was born, I tried again. I came so close, I thought...but it never materialized. At 24, I gave up, and I've never tried to find him again.

An addendum to #3 would be:
3a) I cannot watch Oprah or Montel when they do reunion shows. I cry too hard. I can't breath.
3b) I identify more with my Sicilian side than my German side. After all, I grew up with the German, but I missed the Sicilian. It's all I've got, and I'm keeping it.
3c) If by some miracle, one of you reading this knows someone named George Calvin Burkhart, please e-mail me. I miss my daddy.



So, there's my Me-Me Monday, in all its carnival fun. Let me know if you play and I'll link you up.