Bein’ Serious: Happy Father’s Day Wherever You Both Are

So today is Father’s Day in Australia and I am at home on an RDO whilst MOH is at work.

I am not with my family on Father’s Day as both my biological father and my stepdad are no longer with us. At this time of the year, I get a bit yucko emotionally because I remember not treating my stepdad right when I was a teen and I  have never met my biological father.

The unknowntheartist history lesson:

My mother and stepdad lived together in the same apartment building as the man who is my biological father. As you may have read in earlier posts, I have absolutely no respect for my mother anymore and am quite estranged from her and the rest of the family. Obviously, she cheated on my stepdad and I was born.

My stepdad was an Irishman, immigrant to and adopted in Australia. My mother is from the West Indies. My biological father was a Tongan national.

So now you can understand the big deal behind why my stepdad had no idea I wasn’t his daughter because as a child, I looked this light:

unknowntheartist as toddler-gyal

Even I didn’t know, he wasn’t my real dad. Until I was about 6 years of age.

The day my mother took me to my first film, I found out I had a different dad. Without even realising, my mother was pointing out where her and stepdad used to live and that my father might still live there. (No, I didn’t say she was a smart woman, after all, she has me offside.) I guess knowing that as a decently intelligent child, I was going to start asking questions. She told me his name and that he was a Tongan immigrant. Explained to me that I looked the spit image of him and that was why I didn’t have similar features to her or the rest of our family.

I don’t remember much after that and the next time this situation arose was when my stepdad took my mother to court after they had split for the umpteenth time. He wanted custody of both me and my younger sister because he thought my mother was an unfit parent (she was, for a good portion of the time). My younger sister was purely my stepdad’s daughter, looked like him, same temper, she had no dark features whatsoever. But my stepdad still didn’t know I wasn’t his rightful first born daughter.

It was during this court proceeding when my stupid mother yelled “Why are you even going for custody? *%^$#’s not even yours!”

Thus, my stepdad found out. Subsequently, he dropped his case and we (mother, younger sister and I) moved out to my great grandmother’s home for a little while. This was an unfortunate thing for me as I was molested in this household and tormented by my great grandmother (this is a situation I call The Egg Trauma, more about that in a later post.)

My stepdad and mother got back together again and we moved back in time for me to finish first grade at the local Catholic school.

During the years up until my parents separated again for the last time, after I’d just started 6th grade, my stepdad became violent and because he was an alcoholic since he was a teen, it got worse and worse.

Now as I look back on it, I realise because he had a bad relationship with his dad (who was actually his adopted dad), having my mother do what she did must have been history repeating itself- his anger was emerging through his fists towards the person who caused him heartbreak. I don’t condone what my mother did and neither for what my stepdad committed against us. But I do understand why people go back to abusive relationships and why the loved ones of the abuser back them.

My mother moved my sister and I around a lot but we still had to visit my stepdad on access weekends, a ruling handed down by the family court. I felt bad for my stepdad because he had to learn how to be a parent of a teen and a pre-teen by himself and two girls at that. I felt even worse when my mother would make disparaging comments about all the materialistic things he would buy us. Obviously, he would be able to spend more money on us for luxury items because he was not our primary caregiver and did not have anything else in his life that money would be needed for.

For the last time, my mother was preparing to move us into a low income area, worse than our original location. I was intent on not moving there- I was afraid of the area, mainly because it had a bad reputation and once you were there, it was very rare that you got out of that area alive. I was in high school by this time and doing quite well for myself in class, had great friends and was just living adequately as a teen. Moving to the area in question would not only ruin me but I doubted that if that happened, I could never extricate myself.

I begged and pleaded for my mother to let me live elsewhere, even with my stepdad. She said no and one afternoon at the end of weekend access, my sister was sent back to our home alone. I stayed behind at my stepdad’s and waited for the fallout. For about a month, I was called, taunted, abused and begged back to relocate with my mother and sister.

My stepdad was very supportive as he wanted me to become something more than my mother. He wanted me to concentrate on my education and become a nurse!? I used to laugh when he would say things like that because if you know me, then you’d know I’m not a nurturing person by any standard.

I went through most of my high school days living with my stepdad, excelling at school and finally getting into uni (it wasn’t a perfect period but I made it). When my mother found out I got into university, she was not pleased as I thought she would be. I realised then that she would never be proud of me and especially because my stepdad was the parent who helped me become the woman I am today.

When I turned 18, I thought it might be worthwhile looking for my real dad. I didn’t tell my stepdad until after I’d sent out letters because I knew it might break him. My stupid mother thought it was great because she would get to act prim and proper to this other family or something- I don’t know what her deal was, with being excited considering she barely knew my father before she slept with him.

I was contacted my biological father’s cousin and I was told my father had passed away when I was only 5. So my mother was wrong when she took me to see Young Einstein. He had been dead a year before she’d even taken me back to the neighbourhood. And she was just dead wrong that I was unable to ever meet him. So eff her. That can never be forgiven.

And God works in mysterious ways: you know what was amazing to me after I had found my biological father’s family?

My stepdad’s total acceptance of it. He was so happy that I had been able to piece that part of my life together. And you know what he did after that? He joined a local Tongan church! He spoke better Tongan than I did!

So now you know my little story about my fathers. I have to say, I believe they would have been good friends too. They both worked at breweries?! Would have been a few war stories told over drinks between them.

Anyway, I bid both of you- Peter and Meleke,

Happy Father’s Day, wherever you may be…

~ by unknowntheartist on September 6, 2009.