Filling In the Blanks

So I haven't written anything in over a year. I figure it's been long enough that I can share my thoughts now. Last night I attended the Oklahoma Atheists monthly dinner at Hideaway Pizza. It's always a good time. It seems like every month I sit next to someone new and I'm part of a whole new conversation. I always learn something new, and I always have a good time. Last night I got to share the story of how I met my Dad. One of the guys in our group was in total disbelief at how my Dad handled the situation. It made me realize how fortunate I am that my Dad is who he is and how amazing our story is. So, for those who don't know the story, here goes...

In the spring of 2002 I was a freshman at the University of Central Oklahoma. I was majoring in Child Development (I know, right?). In my Contemporary American Families class we were required to do a family tree as part of our final project. I was a little more than nervous at the thought of how I'd fill mine out as half of it had always been blank. I approached my professor and explained to her that I was in the dark on who my father was, and who he had descended from for that matter. I'll never forget what she said to me next. "You have three options Ms. Brooks; you can leave it blank and fail this course, you can bullshit the whole thing, (I'll never know), or you can let this empower you to be an adult and find out the truth for yourself. It's your decision." I was dumbfounded. Part of me wanted to just make everything up and make an easy A, but part of me wanted to know the truth. I had long dreamed of my father being present at various milestones in my life. When I was a little girl I would lie in bed at night listening to my stepfather and my mother fighting and I would imagine that somewhere out there was this amazing, loving dad of mine. I fantasized about him being at my graduation, walking me down the aisle, all those TV like daddy/daughter moments I had grown up wishing I had. However, I was an adult now, I was supposed to be realistic. Later that day, I called my Mom and asked her who my father was. Dead silence was followed by a click. To me it was obviously an "I'll tell you when you're older" moment. I don't really remember how I felt at that point. I was used to my Mom's keen ability to avoid the truth by that point in my life, so I can't imagine I was anything more than disappointed, maybe mixed with a tinge of anger.

A few days went by without hearing a word from Mom. Then, in the mail I recieved an envelope with no return address. Inside was a piece of notebook paper with my dad's name, the last city he was known to live in, and what his occupation was. I cried as I stared at that paper. I wasn't sure what this was going to lead to. I was part joyful, part hopeful, and mostly full of dread. I laid that note out in front of my desk in my dormroom. I stared at it for a while, unsure of how to proceed. At the time, Yahoo had a people search function. I did a search for the name and city and I got back one hit. It had my Dad's name, his wife's name, an address, and a phone number. My friend Traci was in my dorm room that day studying with me. You have to understand my friend Traci. She was hilarious. She had these facial expressions that were something from a comedy. I called her dumbass Traci, she just called me dumbass. It was a mutually comedic friendship. Traci and I made jokes about my Mom and about what kind of person my Dad probably was. It was therapeutic, she helped me to lower my expectations and be realistic about my Dad. At that point, I had resolved not to call the number. Traci and I continued studying for a while. Then, suddenly, I found myself with phone in hand dialing the number of a complete stanger. I'll never forget the face dumbass Traci made when she heard me say "I'm looking for a James Magnus".

It was something like this:


That look was an epic "Holy fucking shit" moment. She was dumbfounded. I was dumbfounded. We sat there staring at each other like deer in the headlights as I continued my phone conversation with a total stranger.

Me: "I'm looking for James Magnus."
Stranger: "This is Jim."
Me: "Uhhhhhh, do you know a Nyoka McBride?"
Stranger: "She's my ex wi..."
Me: "YOUR EX WIFE?!?! You mean you guys were MARRIED!?!"
Pause. So here's the funny thing about this moment. It was the first time in my life I realized I wasn't the result of a one night stand. This moment legitimized my existence in a way that I could never have imagined. For the first time in my life, I wasn't Nyoka's bastard kid.

Stranger: "What's this all about?"
Me: "Well, Nyoka is my mother and she uh.... she says you're my father."
Stranger: "................."
Me: "................"
Dumbass Traci: "................"
Now here's the best part... My Dad had two options here. He could have been a complete and total asshole, or he could do what he did next.

Stranger: "Well, how old are you?"
Me: "I'll be 19 in a couple weeks."
Stranger: "Well that makes sense. We were married in March of 1982 and she left late that summer."
Me: "Where have you been?"
Stranger: "All over the world honey. All over the world."
Now my Dad and I recall the conversation a bit differently, but either way he comes out looking like a saint. We talked for a bit, I spewed a ton of information about myself a la Micro Machines guy, and then I told him that I had to go, that I needed to figure out what to make of all this. He asked me to email him some pictures, so I did. This whole time, Dumbass Traci is sitting across from me with her eyes wide like saucers with a sucker dangling out of the corner of her mouth. She couldn't believe what was going down in front of her face.




After recieving said photos, my dad called me back. He told me there wasn't a chance in hell I wasn't his kid. Poor me, I look just like him. The best part about all of that is that 10 years later, my Dad is my best friend. I absolutely love him. He is the perfect example of a loving, accepting father. From day one it was as though he had been in my life all along. In 10 years I have found that every ounce of my personality comes from my Dad. I'm just like him. I think like him, I tell really lame jokes like him, I laugh like him. It's weird. It's amazing. It's nothing short of the TV fantasy I grew up wanting. I love that crazy bastard and I'm thankful for him every single day.