when i was two my mom and my father were having problems. they split up, divorced. my father was an abusive drug addict. he tried to kidnap me on more than one occasion. but only because he loved me so much and couldn't bare to lose me. so my mom says. and when i hear her tell it, i actually believe it.

i was allowed to see my father, but the state would only permit supervised visits. i had horrible nightmares and couldn't sleep. everyone blamed it on him. they had to give me tranquilizers just so i could sleep.

when i was nearly three my mom told my father that she was leaving the country. that she wanted to marry someone new. and that she felt it'd be best for this new guy to legally adopt me so at least one aspect of my life would appear normal.

my father was angry. he didn't want to give me up. but some time passed, and he realized it wasn't good for me to be around him the way he was. so he agreed.

my mom, my new dad and i moved to australia.

my father was really nice at first, writing me all the time saying he missed me. then the letters became nasty tirades. ``i'd love to be able to give you hugs on your birthday sweetie. you're daddy's precious little girl. i love you so much. do you know why you can't be here right now? because your mommy is a bitch. she'll never admit it, but she's a whore and i love you more than she does...``

my mom wrote him back and told him if he couldn't clean up his act, she wouldn't allow him to ever contact me again. he did behave for awhile. but then he got angry again, and that was that. he stopped writing. the last contact i had from my father was when i was four. his last words to me where ``i love you. you'll always be daddy's angel.``

his last words to my mom were ``i'll never bother you again. make sure my jenny has a good life.``

a couple more years passed, and we moved back to the states. however, my father's previous kidnap attempts stayed with my mom, and it was that fear that always made her nervous about me being on the local news or going anywhere alone.

the fact that my dad wasn't my father was never kept from me. they told me at two, three, seven, and nine. just to make sure i understood. so that it wouldn't shock me and send me into some sort of emotional whirlwind.

i'm thankful they did that. i never felt unloved. just the opposite. i felt lucky that i had twice the love.

my mom and dad had problems when i was eight. separated when i was ten. and when i was twelve, my long lost godfather whom hadn't laid eyes on me or had any connect with me since i was two, recognized me on the street one day. he said i had my father's eyes.

my mom and dad finalized their divorce when i was thirteen. i think.

my dad tried to blame me. how cliche.

i didn't hate him though, not then. i needed his acceptance. i tried to be the perfect daughter for him. i always wanted to be a daddy's girl.

i never was.

he never told me why it was so easy for him to turn his back on me. perhaps he viewed my mom and i as a package. can't get rid of one without getting rid of the other. he treated me like shit. he went years without talking to me after the divorce. at seventeen i'd had enough.

i called him up and told him just what i thought of him. how much i hated him for all the shit he put me through. i told him thanks for the five decent years, but really, he shouldn't have bothered. we haven't spoken since.

in fact, i have only a vague idea where he is. the thought of him makes my face flush, and my normally gentle heart fill with fury.

at eighteen i asked my mom about kenny. the father i'd never known.

she told me all i wanted to know. answered every question. she helped me look him up. she had no problems with it, because i had respected her wishes to wait until i was legally an adult.

we found a couple leads. i called a number one day and was wished good luck in my search by a lady who said she had bought the house from a man who matched my father's description.

nothing more came of it.

i built a powerful relationship with my grandpa, my poppie. i didn't pursue looking for my father any longer.

in part, because i was scared of the outcome. but also because i knew how much it pained my poppie, and i didn't want to hurt him.

a week ago i was in a bookstore and a middle aged lady came up to me. ``jenny?`` she asked. she was my father's girlfriend after he and my mom divorced.

i guess it was that incident that made me want to pick up where i left off on my search.

who knows if i'll be successful? more likely than not, i'll find that he's dead. hard-core drug use tends to have that effect on a person.

on the other hand, he may have cleaned up his act, and i might even have a half brother or sister out there somewhere.

or i might not find him at all.

there's only one way to find out. and i know that i'll never be able to completely move past that area of my life, if i don't at least try.

i wonder... is everyone right? am i that much like a man i don't know? ... do i really have his eyes?

any thoughts? (0)����������������