It was 2009 and I was five years old. I had two fathers who lived in two different homes. My parents had shared custody of me and I alternated weekends with my biological father whom I call ‘Dad' and with my Mom and Step-Dad whom I called ‘Daddy.’ As a little kid I was confused about who my real father was.

For a time I thought my step-dad was my biological father. On the weekends I would leave to stay with my Dad, and my Daddy would always send me off safely. On those weekends with my Dad, I don’t remember spending much time with him. Instead I remember playing alone in my bedroom or going to my grandparents house, my dad’s parents, and just being with the family to hang out. I didn’t do much on the weekends, but I was always so excited to go there.

Three years passed, I was now eight years old. One day I was in my bedroom at my Dad’s house, his girlfriend helping me get dressed. It was a foggy, rainy day and she wanted me to wear a sweater. She had handed me a black hoodie of the band, ‘The Beatles’ and I didn’t like it at all. I threw a tantrum. Before I knew it she had shoved me into my closet. It was dark, cold and locked so I couldn’t come out. I cried and yelled wanting to get out. I don’t remember how long I was in there, but later, when I finally went back to my mom’s home I told her. She was angry and in disbelief. “Do you still want to go over there?” I told her, “No.”

Five years passed. That whole time I didn’t see anyone from my dad’s side of the family. But then one day, at my cousin’s birthday party, I heard someone shouting my name. “LAHNIE!” Surrounded by numerous people, I realized my family members from my dad’s side were there, including my dad. “Go say ‘Hi’ to your dad,” my daddy told me. Nervousness overpowered my body. I realized I wasn’t ready to see him again. It felt like it had been forever since we last talked. I realized I saw him as a stranger.

Days after the birthday my aunt asked if I could start going to his family's house again. She told me she missed me. I never realized how much I had missed them as well. After this realization, I began visiting my dad’s family’s home more often. I recreated a strong bond and connection with the family once again.

But as years passed, even with all the times I would now sleep over at their house, my Dad and I seemed to always avoid each other. I heard stories from my uncle about my father missing me. I realized I might miss him too. Wanting to get in touch with him again I decided to reach out. We both told each other over text that we had missed each other. But even after having his number for quite a while, we barely texted. But even though my dad and I began texting it wasn’t as exciting as I thought it would be. They were short responses and he never seemed to check up on me as often like how he did when we first began texting. At some point he stopped texting, and so did I.

It’s 2022. Months passed and we have slowly drifted apart as there wasn’t much communication. Three months have gone by now without speaking with my dad. I have stopped caring as much as I have grown used to not texting my dad.

Perhaps one day we will start texting again. When that time comes, maybe, just maybe, there will be a chance of a new journey between my dad and I.

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