I am going to start this article with this:

DISCLAIMER: Some readers may need tissues, I know I did (I had my special proofreader say the same). A lot of people may get angry or sad, but don't worry. I was too. It's okay.

I call my biological father either a "sperm donor" or my "birth dad". I think that can sum up to you our "relationship" (or lack thereof), and how this blog will proceed. 

There is an episode of "Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" where Will's dad, Lou, comes back into the picture. His return is short lived, and it ends with him yelling, "TO HELL WITH HIM!" and begins to cry saying, "why doesn't he want me, man?"

[Here is the link, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PI4Mv8R0mE0]

This scene is incredibly powerful. Whenever I watch it, and I frequently do, I cry. Every single time. I cry, you cry, Will cries, Uncle Phil cries, everyone cries. A powerful moment for me is in part due to the fact that it just wasn't any ordinary scene; but a heartbroken moment between two actors. I read in an article that Will Smith's biological father had actually left him, and this moment was him venting- actor to actor. I relate to him; it is a scene that I have had to see it in the mirror every day.

Every single day.

The only difference is that I don't want him.

I don't want him to want me, either.

[This post will have references to this video throughout, just letting you know.]

[Also, bear with me. I will be switching between "he" and "you". Just bear with me.]

When he left, I was 2/3 days short of turning 15. I was running late for an Advanced Art class I was taking over the summer (this is in June). We had to come in to do final touches for our pieces. We were having an art show that afternoon, but you were nowhere to be found with our one car. 

You said you fell asleep at a friend's house, but "friends" don't send you back home to your wife and two kids with bruises all over your chest and neck, do they, pop? That afternoon mom packed your things, dropped you off, and you were gone.

And she is your wife now. How crazy is it that we aren't aged too far apart?

I saw you maybe 2 times after that. Mom said the last time was MLK Day in 2013 (January 2013). So yeah, its been about 5 years since. 

In those maybe 2 visits, you lied every time. 

"Oh yeah, I forgot your Christmas present. You know I would never purposely forget your gifts." 

"You're in a pageant at your school? I'll come. If you buy your pictures, I want one."

All lies. Dirty, filthy, lies. 

Fast forward to June of 2015. I am graduating. A (some B's) student, 3.8 GPA, SC Teaching Fellows Recipient for 2015. My family finally bought a house, so my mom's boyfriend (AKA daddy) and I were moving the house in the mean time. (P.S. WE DID THE WHOLE HOUSE BY OURSELVES.) 

A couple of my uncles (your brothers) said that they would be there. They wouldn't miss it, nor would I have wanted them too. They have always been there. Always. 

But then one of them told me that you wanted to come and that you wouldn't miss it. 

But you were going to have to.

Because you weren't invited. 

I told him to tell you, "if he wasn't here to watch me play soccer, do pageants, feed or clothe me, watch me succeed or watch me cry, then he doesn't deserve to watch me walk the stage."

They told me you were pissed off.

But hey, so was I. 

Now, I have the feeling that you may find me too critical. I can hear it now, "Oh, Marissa Merve, don't judge your father." But I will. 

I've had to do so much without him, and so much more just to put back the pieces that he left behind in his wake.

Even we he was living with us, we did not have the whole father-daughter experience. A person like him didn't create that atmosphere. I didn't think I would miss that. 

But I did, and I do. For a dad I didn't have, compared to the one I got. 

I had to learn so much on my own. I had to learn about boys all on my own. Trial-and-error. No daddy to teach me what the good guys are, what they look like. I found wrong, bad, and terrible. I found boys who messed me up so bad, I still flinch. I contemplated death to escape one of them. I wished I had a daddy to fly in and save the day. A daddy to walk me down the aisle and cry as he hands me over to my future. But I did it.

"I'm gonna marry a honey, and have a whole mess of kids."

It was and is hard to watch my friends argue with their dads. So often I wanted to be them. I coveted their dads. I would of how I would do anything to have a dad to argue with because it meant he cares about what I did, what happens to me, and the mess he hoped I would never find. 

There was a scene in the "Ghost Whisperer" that had Jennifer Love-Hewitt calling out for her (ghost) dad to save her- pleading with him to save her from the evil spirit that was trying to kill her. Her dad did save her, and before leaving, he told her that he was proud of her. That he loved her. 

I cried so hard, so hard. 

I did a lot on my own. I tried to fix the holes you left behind. No amount of alcohol or anything of the like was going to soothe that pain. 

But I did it, because I didn't need you.

I wanted a dad, not the sperm donor that you were.

My counselor said you did some damage, "unresolved trauma", she said. We both know the rabbit hole you caused. 

Do you think about how you screwed up your own kids? Especially now that you have two more?

But don't worry, I got it. I don't need you. I'll fix myself. Even when you cohabited with us, I had it.

I have the best mom in the whole world. My mom's boyfriend is the best dad. That is probably how I got this far. 

I am lucky. I have had her to go through everything with me. I am glad I at least had one parent.

Look, Michael. Look what I have done without you:

1. I graduated. In a year, I will have graduated again, but with a Bachelors degree.  

2. I've made AB's and the Dean's List every semester since I started school. In hard classes too. 

3. I have an amazing boyfriend, I have great friends. 

4. I didn't have babies at 16 like you told me I would. (This was when I was in the 5th grade, remember? I wasn't more than 10.) I still don't have children either. I am waiting until the damage you made is gone. I'm not going to risk screwing them up too.

"Ain't nothing he can teach me about how to love my kids."

I did it. I did it all. Without you. I'm still going too. 

They say every 7 years our skin will have entirely changed. It'll be nice to have skin that won't have known you.

Tell me, Michael. Do you think about me? Do you tell your new kids about me? Will you? Will they know that they have half-siblings 17-19 years older than they are?

Do they know you do nothing short of lie? I don't have enough fingers and toes to count your lies. Will you ever redeem yourself? Will you atone? Tell me, Michael, my birth father. 

Actually, let me tell you. Do it. Atone. Don't fuck up 4 kids by the time all is done, and I'm sure they will know me soon enough. 

I don't need you. I wanted a dad, I wanted better. 

I deserve better, and I got better. My mom's boyfriend is the bees-knees. If you're reading this daddy, your appreciation blog is coming up soon enough.

I still don't trust anyone with the name, Michael.

As Will Smith said, "to hell with him!"

Marissa Merve

****

Thank you, to everyone that read this. I know this is a lengthy read. I wrote this to make myself feel better, to get it all off my chest. I feel like I did this too. I feel better already. 

If you're Michael, THE Michael, thank you.

Because I am a warrior. I am an Amazon like my mom.