The article I wrote last week ("Growing Up Without A Family") briefly touched on the absence of my biological father. I had planned on just glossing over my family history until I realized that this topic deserved a little more attention. I can't minimize the effect that meeting my biological father for the first time had on me by sweeping that information into a vague article about weak familial relationships.

I thought about not writing this article. I could continue to avoid facing the reality and avoid hurting any feelings by remaining silent. The problem with that is, I know I'm not the only one who has had to go through an experience like this. This is something I struggle with, and I think it would be best to face it. I think it'd be best to share my experience and my thoughts on the situation.

I'll say out loud the mean thoughts that we force ourselves to keep silent.

I'll be the bad guy-- the bad child.

I'm ready for the whiplash, because the reality of meeting your biological parent for the first time is nothing like you'd expect.

I met my biological father for the very first time when I was 16. For the sake of being discreet, we'll just say that I was definitely not a love-child, and for good reasons my mother left while she was still pregnant with me. I had no pictures, letters, or phone calls to tell me who my father was-- all I had was the story of my origin. I actually used to fear that a stranger would come up to me, tell me they were my father, and try to kidnap me.

I never wished for the perfect little family; I had accepted that being fatherless was just a part of who I was. Either I didn't feel like there was a hole that needed to be filled in my life, or I was so used to the vacant space that I was numb to it. I didn't even know that I cared about meeting my father until his sister found me on Myspace. 16 years without a father and all of a sudden I was presented with the opportunity to figure out where the other half of me came from, so my mom and I set out on the road trip from Ohio to Oklahoma .

So many thoughts ran through my head. I thought that there would be a sort of spark when I first saw him-- that the DNA that we shared would send an electric charge through me when the physical distance between us finally closed. I thought it would be like being born again and instantly knowing who my father was out of a mall full of people. I thought that maybe I could live a normal life, and I'd "be whole". I thought I'd be inclined to put forth all of my effort to revive and sustain a relationship, because I had 16 years of absence to make up for. I thought that I'd be able to ignore the fact that he wasn't there, and that I could forgive the reasons why he wasn't.

None of that ended up happening.

The reality of the situation is that he was a complete stranger and meeting him felt just like that. It wasn't like a reunion video between parents and children returning from the military, where everyone runs into each other's arms happy. It's like meeting a creepy guy for a blind date-- frightening and anxiety-inducing. I've always been awkward and shy, so my instinct was to retreat after seeing him. After about half an hour of being around him I wanted to be alone to process everything. I had been so wrapped up in the idea of everything going well (like receiving a Christmas gift) that it hadn't dawned on me that this was a huge moment-- quite a taxing one. I wanted to tell myself that this would be a new start, but with him right in front of me, all the stories, everything I had heard or imagined, was replayed in my head. Now I had a physical being to insert into those stories... it made it easier to recognize the horrible things I had heard as a reality, which made them harder to forget or ignore. I was disappointed, and I had to weigh whether or not maintaining the relationship would be worth it.

After I returned home from our meeting I took some time to try to process everything. He would text me, and I wouldn't know how to respond. I ignored texts and calls, because I was frightened and clueless. Here's the thing: if you're not comfortable with maintaining the relationship, you can't let them guilt you into it. Yes, they may be your "real" parent, but you being their "real" child hadn't meant anything up until this point. They let you down, and you don't owe them your life. I only came to that realization after my biological father lost his temper at my silence. You know it's time to let go once you read texts from your father saying things like:

"I wish I had pulled out rather than ever have had you," and "I want to curb stomp your head into the ground."

Honestly, nothing about me as a person changed from meeting my biological father. I now know that there's another half of my family that exists, but that almost makes it harder. Before, I could pretend like those people weren't there. Now I know I have a ton of cousins that I'll never meet and never get along with. That there are so many people who could have been there that weren't. And now those people are mad at me for not proactively loving them. For not going out of my way to recognize that they are there. In my situation, it just made things more complicated.

Unfortunately, the mean things they say don't stop hurting, even if you've decided that they aren't worth the pain. Maybe I'm wrong, but I believe that being considered family is a privilege and not a check you can cash whenever you feel like it. We may share DNA, but I am not yours to abuse.