Happy Sperm Donor's Day
This isn't the Father's Day post I had intended to write. But I'm hopping a plane tomorrow to fly back to Chicago for summer break and I needed to remind myself again why it is I have nothing to do with my biological father, AKA the sperm donor.
You see, he's a deadbeat dad. But not just any deadbeat. Oh, no. He was around for awhile. Then he just stopped coming around. Stopped caring about us. He stopped working and sending support. He instead chose to fart around at the VFW and the VA hospital. Charitable works for sure. But volunteering should come after you earn money to support yourself and those dependent on you. That didn't bother Larry. No, instead of worry about his children and what kind of education they were getting, he got himself elected to the school board (and president of it, no less) and began work on an as of yet unpublished text book on the history of Will County Illinois (don't everyone begin cheering at once, I can't think with that kind of racket!).
He didn't bother sending birthday cards or a letter at Christmas. Nothing for 8th grade or high school graduation. Nada for college graduation. I don't even think he realizes I sport a pricey Master's degree from a pseudo prestigious university. I don't think he cares, really. He's made half hearted attempts at being a grandfather, but when I say half hearted that's giving him almost half a heart. It's sad and pathetic.
But once upon a time, he promised my two and a half year old daughter a rain stick. You know, the kind that when you turn them they sound like rain. He promised he'd get her one for Christmas. My mom was on her way out for a visit, just before Christmas. Larry had already missed their birthdays (Roman's in November and Reilly Kate's in the beginning of December) and I was pretty pissed about that. Not that my kids noticed. They didn't. But that isn't the point, really, now is it? Anyway, my mom emailed him several times to ask if he wanted her to go out, shop around, pay for, then carry from Chicago to Hawaii the promised rainstick. He never responded.
He instead called me up to bitch about her. In fact, his words, and I quote since I have that conversation emblazoned upon my brain, "Tell your meddling mother to get out my face." He then proceeded to tell me, "I have no money. There will be no rainstick or anything else." Like my kids were some kind of undue burden on him. Well, I had had a bad day. I was actually bringing in groceries when he called to bitch about my mother. And I exploded. I let go a verbal beating across the phone lines that scared my daughter so bad she ran and hid in a corner crying. It was ugly and I felt ugly.
I resolved right then and there to NEVER deal with that man again. And since then, while I still am bitter (yes, oh so very, very bitter), I have never become enraged regarding him. Angry? Yes. Enraged? No. This is a much better solution and I highly suggest it to any in similar shoes.
Here is the letter I sent him severing all ties. I haven't heard from him since. I've let the kids see him once since then when Danny and my mom took them when Danny was home from Iraq on leave. But that wasn't for his benefit. Or theirs. It was for mine. I don't want the fucker to die and I feel like I owed him a thing. Nothing. So an afternoon at Chuckie Cheese paid for by my mother to let the poor bastard have a taste of what he is missing pretty much fullfills any debt I may remotely feel I owe.
If you are a deadbeat dad, please read this and know that your kids feel the same about you as I do Larry. Then, go stick your dick in a paper cutter. Happy Sperm Donor's Day, ya worthless ass.
P.S. I don't want anyone to confuse the sperm donor with the man I call my dad. My dad is my step dad and he is a wonderful man who has given me so much. He's the best grandfather I could ever even hope for for my children. And I love him. And I would hate for him to stick his dick in a paper cutter. Plus, if he did, my mom would pretty pissed at me.
If you have opened this email at all, you may be tempted to delete it prior to reading it in its entirety. I encourage you to refrain from doing so as this will be the last time I attempt communication with you or anyone in your family.
Allow me to explain why my “meddling” mother was “in your face,” unbeknownst to me. You see, I have your Christmas gifts wrapped and waiting to send. I was waiting until after the holidays to see if you bothered to send a card to my children. You had missed their birthdays entirely and I was fairly certain you were going to blow off Christmas as well. Mom, god love her, believed the opposite. Along with your gifts, I was including a nasty gram explaining to you the responsibilities that come along with grandparenting. I had told my “meddling” mother that depending on your reaction, or more likely lack of action, I would be severing the already flimsy ties between you and my children.
Apparently, she was trying to prod you into doing what you should need no prodding to do. I talked to her after you hung up on me and she told me she emailed you. I had no idea. She was trying to lead you to water. Hell, she even offered to do your damn shopping for you. So money can no longer be an excuse for you. “I’m broke,” “I have no money for gifts.” At the risk of sounding like one of you heartless Republicans, this is just hillbilly hick speak for, “I’m too damn lazy to be bothered to send something or to come up with a creative way of giving without spending what I do not have.”
Let’s discuss how easy it would have been for you if you had only wanted to do something for my kids. Ummm… let’s see. You whittle. Whittle them something. Free wood in the backyard. Don’t have time? Have arthritic fingers? Give them something you’ve already done. You have tons of crap gathering dust around the house. Hells bells. You could have MADE a rainstick from a papertowel tube, a couple of balled up paper towels, some rice, and duct tape. That’s cheap enough. All you had to pay for was postage. Or go to the dollar store. Target now has a dollar section right when you walk in the door. A squeaky toy for Roman and a spiral pad for Reilly. A buck for each kid. That’s two bucks. Hand write a card. Stick it in the mail priority mail (4 bucks) and you have two gifts for them for about what it costs for a pack of smokes. You do have enough money for smokes, don’t ya?
Or BORROW some money. Call up your mom or your son or a buddy. Ask for ten bucks to get your grandkids a couple of cards. Would that injure your pride to do so? How much damn pride can you have at 60 years old and not having enough money to buy your grandkid a birthday card? Nope. None.
Nope. Money isn’t the reason. It isn’t even a plausible excuse. My god, Larry, it is the December 20th !!! And you are just NOW sending them cards? They won’t even get here on time. It’s not like you have a lot of grandkids or something. When Grandma and Grandpa Peet failed to send me a card for my birthday or for xmas, I always explained it away with the fact that they had a lot of grandkids and they just forgot. No big deal. But, you have TWO. How the fucking hell do I explain that one to them?
Back to my meddling mother for a minute, though. I want you to realize how stupid you are in getting angry with her. Let’s take a trip back in time and count the ways she has meddled… ON YOUR BEHALF.
1. Inviting you to my wedding – her idea. If it had been up to me, I doubt you would have even received an announcement.
2. Paying for your tux – if it had been up to me you could have come in your usual smelly clothes.
3. Inviting you to Reilly Kate’s christening – again, her idea.
4. Driving down to see you and Grandma during the summer of 2002 – she thought that one up.
5. Inviting you to Reilly Kate’s birthday party – again, her idea.
6. Inviting you to Roman’s christening – yep, you guessed it, her idea.
7. Driving down to you and Grandma this past fall – you don’t think that was MY idea, do you?
You dumbshit. She was on YOUR side. For whatever reason, she really wants you to be a part of our lives. Maybe she wants you to have a second chance. To get a little of what you missed out on when you went AWOL on us after your divorce from Wilda.
You probably have no clue, but the reason I have been so distant, so aloof from you isn’t anger at you for something you have done. It is for what you didn’t do. You fucking disappeared on us shortly after the divorce. No call. No card. No letter. No nothing. And DO NOT say it was because you didn’t hear from us. We were your children. If Reilly Kate ever even TRIED to sever ties with me, I wouldn’t stop knocking on her door. Not ever. I would try and try and try and try. Because she is my CHILD. I am her PARENT.
Ya know, on one of those rare occasions that we saw you (I think it was when Wilda took us to Grandma and Grandpa’s 50th ), you promised Danny that you would take him fishing. He was so excited when he told me. His face was lit up like a kid on Christmas Eve. I could only roll my eyes. “You’re such a bitch, Heather,” was his response. “Give him a chance. He’s trying to make up for not being there. He’d take you fishing, too, if you’d let him.”
“Let’s just see if he actually does take you fishing, Danny,” was all I said.
Did you ever take the damn kid fishing? Did you? No. No, Larry. You broke that kid’s fucking heart. And then you did it again. And again. You don’t call him. You don’t bother with him. You don’t bother with either of us. And it is a fucking painful thing, let me tell you. You don’t’ know what it is like to have a parent that is just plain absent. Allow me to tell you that it fucking sucks. More so for Danny than for me. I built up that wall of anger to keep you from hurting me any more. Today, it dawned on me that my wall had been crumbling. Time to rebuild, I guess.
I will NOT allow you to hurt my kids. No, sir. You did it to me. You did it to Danny. By GOD, you will NOT do it to my kids. You are either IN or you are OUT of their lives. And, by your inaction for their birthdays and this Christmas I take it you are OUT.
When you were gone all those years in my teens, sometimes I would wonder if when someone asked you if you had kids, what you would say. Did you say yes? How could you say yes but never bother to contact us? Never to see if we were alive or well or what? Allow me to suggest an answer now. If asked, just say you have one child. And if asked about grandkids, just say you used to have two, but you lost them. Stupidly. You lost them.
Merry fucking Christmas.
Heather
PS. I am cc-ing this to the meddling mother so that she can see first hand that she need NEVER try again with you. Should you, Mom, try to intervene on his behalf, you will deal with what is left of my rage. I am through with this matter.
You see, he's a deadbeat dad. But not just any deadbeat. Oh, no. He was around for awhile. Then he just stopped coming around. Stopped caring about us. He stopped working and sending support. He instead chose to fart around at the VFW and the VA hospital. Charitable works for sure. But volunteering should come after you earn money to support yourself and those dependent on you. That didn't bother Larry. No, instead of worry about his children and what kind of education they were getting, he got himself elected to the school board (and president of it, no less) and began work on an as of yet unpublished text book on the history of Will County Illinois (don't everyone begin cheering at once, I can't think with that kind of racket!).
He didn't bother sending birthday cards or a letter at Christmas. Nothing for 8th grade or high school graduation. Nada for college graduation. I don't even think he realizes I sport a pricey Master's degree from a pseudo prestigious university. I don't think he cares, really. He's made half hearted attempts at being a grandfather, but when I say half hearted that's giving him almost half a heart. It's sad and pathetic.
But once upon a time, he promised my two and a half year old daughter a rain stick. You know, the kind that when you turn them they sound like rain. He promised he'd get her one for Christmas. My mom was on her way out for a visit, just before Christmas. Larry had already missed their birthdays (Roman's in November and Reilly Kate's in the beginning of December) and I was pretty pissed about that. Not that my kids noticed. They didn't. But that isn't the point, really, now is it? Anyway, my mom emailed him several times to ask if he wanted her to go out, shop around, pay for, then carry from Chicago to Hawaii the promised rainstick. He never responded.
He instead called me up to bitch about her. In fact, his words, and I quote since I have that conversation emblazoned upon my brain, "Tell your meddling mother to get out my face." He then proceeded to tell me, "I have no money. There will be no rainstick or anything else." Like my kids were some kind of undue burden on him. Well, I had had a bad day. I was actually bringing in groceries when he called to bitch about my mother. And I exploded. I let go a verbal beating across the phone lines that scared my daughter so bad she ran and hid in a corner crying. It was ugly and I felt ugly.
I resolved right then and there to NEVER deal with that man again. And since then, while I still am bitter (yes, oh so very, very bitter), I have never become enraged regarding him. Angry? Yes. Enraged? No. This is a much better solution and I highly suggest it to any in similar shoes.
Here is the letter I sent him severing all ties. I haven't heard from him since. I've let the kids see him once since then when Danny and my mom took them when Danny was home from Iraq on leave. But that wasn't for his benefit. Or theirs. It was for mine. I don't want the fucker to die and I feel like I owed him a thing. Nothing. So an afternoon at Chuckie Cheese paid for by my mother to let the poor bastard have a taste of what he is missing pretty much fullfills any debt I may remotely feel I owe.
If you are a deadbeat dad, please read this and know that your kids feel the same about you as I do Larry. Then, go stick your dick in a paper cutter. Happy Sperm Donor's Day, ya worthless ass.
P.S. I don't want anyone to confuse the sperm donor with the man I call my dad. My dad is my step dad and he is a wonderful man who has given me so much. He's the best grandfather I could ever even hope for for my children. And I love him. And I would hate for him to stick his dick in a paper cutter. Plus, if he did, my mom would pretty pissed at me.
If you have opened this email at all, you may be tempted to delete it prior to reading it in its entirety. I encourage you to refrain from doing so as this will be the last time I attempt communication with you or anyone in your family.
Allow me to explain why my “meddling” mother was “in your face,” unbeknownst to me. You see, I have your Christmas gifts wrapped and waiting to send. I was waiting until after the holidays to see if you bothered to send a card to my children. You had missed their birthdays entirely and I was fairly certain you were going to blow off Christmas as well. Mom, god love her, believed the opposite. Along with your gifts, I was including a nasty gram explaining to you the responsibilities that come along with grandparenting. I had told my “meddling” mother that depending on your reaction, or more likely lack of action, I would be severing the already flimsy ties between you and my children.
Apparently, she was trying to prod you into doing what you should need no prodding to do. I talked to her after you hung up on me and she told me she emailed you. I had no idea. She was trying to lead you to water. Hell, she even offered to do your damn shopping for you. So money can no longer be an excuse for you. “I’m broke,” “I have no money for gifts.” At the risk of sounding like one of you heartless Republicans, this is just hillbilly hick speak for, “I’m too damn lazy to be bothered to send something or to come up with a creative way of giving without spending what I do not have.”
Let’s discuss how easy it would have been for you if you had only wanted to do something for my kids. Ummm… let’s see. You whittle. Whittle them something. Free wood in the backyard. Don’t have time? Have arthritic fingers? Give them something you’ve already done. You have tons of crap gathering dust around the house. Hells bells. You could have MADE a rainstick from a papertowel tube, a couple of balled up paper towels, some rice, and duct tape. That’s cheap enough. All you had to pay for was postage. Or go to the dollar store. Target now has a dollar section right when you walk in the door. A squeaky toy for Roman and a spiral pad for Reilly. A buck for each kid. That’s two bucks. Hand write a card. Stick it in the mail priority mail (4 bucks) and you have two gifts for them for about what it costs for a pack of smokes. You do have enough money for smokes, don’t ya?
Or BORROW some money. Call up your mom or your son or a buddy. Ask for ten bucks to get your grandkids a couple of cards. Would that injure your pride to do so? How much damn pride can you have at 60 years old and not having enough money to buy your grandkid a birthday card? Nope. None.
Nope. Money isn’t the reason. It isn’t even a plausible excuse. My god, Larry, it is the December 20th !!! And you are just NOW sending them cards? They won’t even get here on time. It’s not like you have a lot of grandkids or something. When Grandma and Grandpa Peet failed to send me a card for my birthday or for xmas, I always explained it away with the fact that they had a lot of grandkids and they just forgot. No big deal. But, you have TWO. How the fucking hell do I explain that one to them?
Back to my meddling mother for a minute, though. I want you to realize how stupid you are in getting angry with her. Let’s take a trip back in time and count the ways she has meddled… ON YOUR BEHALF.
1. Inviting you to my wedding – her idea. If it had been up to me, I doubt you would have even received an announcement.
2. Paying for your tux – if it had been up to me you could have come in your usual smelly clothes.
3. Inviting you to Reilly Kate’s christening – again, her idea.
4. Driving down to see you and Grandma during the summer of 2002 – she thought that one up.
5. Inviting you to Reilly Kate’s birthday party – again, her idea.
6. Inviting you to Roman’s christening – yep, you guessed it, her idea.
7. Driving down to you and Grandma this past fall – you don’t think that was MY idea, do you?
You dumbshit. She was on YOUR side. For whatever reason, she really wants you to be a part of our lives. Maybe she wants you to have a second chance. To get a little of what you missed out on when you went AWOL on us after your divorce from Wilda.
You probably have no clue, but the reason I have been so distant, so aloof from you isn’t anger at you for something you have done. It is for what you didn’t do. You fucking disappeared on us shortly after the divorce. No call. No card. No letter. No nothing. And DO NOT say it was because you didn’t hear from us. We were your children. If Reilly Kate ever even TRIED to sever ties with me, I wouldn’t stop knocking on her door. Not ever. I would try and try and try and try. Because she is my CHILD. I am her PARENT.
Ya know, on one of those rare occasions that we saw you (I think it was when Wilda took us to Grandma and Grandpa’s 50th ), you promised Danny that you would take him fishing. He was so excited when he told me. His face was lit up like a kid on Christmas Eve. I could only roll my eyes. “You’re such a bitch, Heather,” was his response. “Give him a chance. He’s trying to make up for not being there. He’d take you fishing, too, if you’d let him.”
“Let’s just see if he actually does take you fishing, Danny,” was all I said.
Did you ever take the damn kid fishing? Did you? No. No, Larry. You broke that kid’s fucking heart. And then you did it again. And again. You don’t call him. You don’t bother with him. You don’t bother with either of us. And it is a fucking painful thing, let me tell you. You don’t’ know what it is like to have a parent that is just plain absent. Allow me to tell you that it fucking sucks. More so for Danny than for me. I built up that wall of anger to keep you from hurting me any more. Today, it dawned on me that my wall had been crumbling. Time to rebuild, I guess.
I will NOT allow you to hurt my kids. No, sir. You did it to me. You did it to Danny. By GOD, you will NOT do it to my kids. You are either IN or you are OUT of their lives. And, by your inaction for their birthdays and this Christmas I take it you are OUT.
When you were gone all those years in my teens, sometimes I would wonder if when someone asked you if you had kids, what you would say. Did you say yes? How could you say yes but never bother to contact us? Never to see if we were alive or well or what? Allow me to suggest an answer now. If asked, just say you have one child. And if asked about grandkids, just say you used to have two, but you lost them. Stupidly. You lost them.
Merry fucking Christmas.
Heather
PS. I am cc-ing this to the meddling mother so that she can see first hand that she need NEVER try again with you. Should you, Mom, try to intervene on his behalf, you will deal with what is left of my rage. I am through with this matter.
posted by The Histrionics of a Fat Housewife at 9:34 AM
15 Comments:
oh honey.....
that sucks. Thank you for reminding me why I'm so blessed with my husband and father.
I couldn't have said it better. I know Larry from these parties and he doesn't even seem happy to be there. I've had to write my biological father a letter as well becuase after he split when I was 2 years old never to talk to me again or see me he comes back in my life now and then tries to talk bad about my mom and how he is upset with her about the things that I had to go through when I was little and had no father. These men are worthless pieces of shit- no wonder they end up alone and miserable. Karma is a bitch.
Whoa. Did you really send that to him? If so, right on. I have one friend who has a deadbeat dad and I can only imagine how disheartening it is. At least you have a stepfather who gave you all the love and support you ever needed. Larry who?! Don't even bother with people like that. I know it's aggravating and frustrating, just be done with him already. It'll save you a lot of heart ache.
I hate the term "deadbeat dad", would like to see it replaced with "deadbeat parent". My son's mom (a.k.a The Egg Donor) left us when my son was only 5 years old. He's 19 now, and has turned out to be a fine young man, no thanks to her. I'm not bitching, raising my son has been the best thing that ever happened to me... just stating the facts.
I have a dad like that. He called and said he was on his way to visit my newest son and never showed up.
I called again and invited him over but he has better things to do. He said he'd call the next day and we'd plan something. I haven't heard from him since and that was over 5 months ago.
I too have an awesome step dad that has been there for me my whole life.
I can totally relate.
Sadly not everyone has had a wonderful father. I'm so sorry ... but you do have a wonderful Dad. A father isn't a sperm donor as you are fully aware. A FATHER is someone who cares and loves and provides for and cherishes.
So hugs to you for what you missed from 'Larry' ... but you know what ... you do have it in your Dad! That is what is important. Your children need nothing at all from Larry!
I just ran across your blog. I am so sorry that you have had the deal with that horrible man. My son has a deadbeat dad and I am afraid he is headed for some heartbreak with it. Now that he is older its becoming more obvious that his father wants nothing to do with him. Thank goodness my son has a wonderful and loving step father, it sounds like you do as well. {{{{HUGS}}}} to you!!!
Wow, that letter puts a ton more into perspective.... it really makes things align in my eyes... thanks for sharing that letter, no questions are needed beyond this point.
My father is just as worthless and has done the same things to my niece and nephew. My brother swore he would never let him hurt them, but for some reason he still seeks my father's approval. I've had it with my father as well and I think that he and I are done.
So I feel your pain and pretty much understand exactly what you're feeling. Amen to you for letting him have it and for cutting that asshole free!! You go girl!
I wish I could do that.
But the child in me still cries for her father....
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