Fathers

My "biological" father, Bob Brown, died last week. That term always seems a little strange to me because, what else would a father be, but biological? Fast on the heels of that thought always comes the answer: the kind who takes care of you, supports you, stays there for you and never betrays you, that's what else a father would be. My "first" father did none of those things. My "real" father--the one who married my mother with two little children--did. I'm thankful for my dad, he's the one who sits at the head of a rather large collection of children, grandchildren and one tiny but darling great grandchild.--his GREAT GREAT granddaughter. I have spotty memories of Bob Brown before the divorce from my mother. One of my strongest memories, however, is of my mother the night before their divorce was final. She was very upset and crying and we were at my aunt Shirley's home (Bob Brown's sister). I was about 5 at the time. Bob was going to get married the next day--the minute the divorce was final. Bob's sister, Shirley, had told him if there was ever a choice to be made, she would choose my brother and me over him, she stuck to her word over the years. We scarcely saw him after that. Oh, we'd see him occasionally, but visits were sporadic. When I was 15 and Bobby (my brother) was 12, we were visiting our Martin grandparents in Mesa, AZ, and he called and wanted to see us. He took us to lunch. He was expecting a really big deal "reunion" event, but it just didn't happen that way. We ate, he took us back to our parents, and that was that. I spent a part of a summer with him and his second wife and met their children. I remember I studied them and couldn't figure out what made them better than us... ...and eventually I got my answer, nothing. He left his second wife after finding a third. I remember my grandmother Amy Brown (Bob's mother) told me that Bob's second wife was, of course, broken hearted that her husband would leave her for another woman and said something like she couldn't believe he would do that to her. Grandma just told her, of course you knew he would. As she related that story to me, I was thinking that I'd like to be able to connect with my siblings from that marriage, and Grandma said that she thought that would be a good thing. Bob's oldest son by his second wife, was resistant to my overtures of friendship, and I never tried again. I recently reconnected with Margaret, my sister. She's a little older (less than a year) than my sister Michele. I hope we stay in touch. I don't know whether or not the boys even remember me. Maybe if Margaret and I continue to communicate, maybe even visit, I can eventually meet her brothers again. Bob was always glad to see me if I happened to be in his neighborhood and visited--an occurrence that didn't happen often--maybe three or four times over the years. It seemed that he knew he had abdicated his title didn't expect anything from me. His wife, however, always seemed a little peeved that we didn't call, write, visit, etc. more frequently--after all he was our "dad". He was not my "dad". He was the biological father. Bob's second wife, Dorothy, was -- well, I got on with her pretty well. As I grew older, I realized that we pay our whole lives for some of our mistakes as young people. Not all mistakes have such permanent and negative consequences, but some do. She must have been a really good lady because I liked her despite everything (maybe I was the really good lady because I liked her despite everything). I don't know. My grandmother Amy Brown always tried to stay close to us, and my mother tried over the years to encourage us to be close with her. I think it was the right thing, and even then I realized it must be difficult for my mother and I was glad she did it. I believe a child can never have too many grandparents! Just before my first marriage, Bob took me to lunch one afternoon in Mesa (I was staying with Grandma Brown prior to my wedding). He attempted to explain why he left our family for his second wife. After listening for a few minutes, all I could see was that none of it was his fault and he was the victim of a young marriage to a woman he didn't get along with, so he followed his heart--right out of his family. I interrupted him and told him that whatever happened to him and my mother and his wife was in the past and should stay there, and I didn't care to hear any more excuses. What is the adequate excuse for leaving your family? for years of non-communication with your children? for complete estrangement from them? So, when Marilyn called last week and told me my "dad" had died, my only response was, "oh." She continued to talk and let me know he would really want me to be there, and she really thought I should come--I just said I couldn't get away. I would have loved to see the four children from his second marriage, though (actually, I'm not positive they were all there, come to think of it.) His legacy is that he made two families and left them both. He then married a woman with five children and chose to adopt them. That just seems a little scummy to me.