As Thanksgiving grows near, I want to speak out to the one person who is biologically a part of me, but will never be a part of my life.

Dad,

First of all, I want to say thank you. For creating me. For existing. I don't know much about you, but I do know one thing: I have your eyes. I'm the only person in my family with brown eyes, and it reminds me every day of the man I never knew.

Like I said before, Thanksgiving is very near and around this time of year I think primarily about family and friends. Even those people I've never quite gotten to meet or even see in person. Like you. However, thinking of you feels wrong. I have survived perfectly fine without you in my life, but curiosity will always prevail over my comfort. I am happy with how my family turned out, but I can't help wondering what might have been.

What could have been different had you become a part of my life? When I think about you this way, I usually remind myself that I most likely would have been much worse off. No offense, but I don't see you as the type of man who would make a very good father. What else am I supposed to think, though? If I met you and realized what a horrible person you were, I would be devastated - but also relieved. But for as long as I wonder what you might be, no concrete emotion has to be involved.

I would rather be disappointed that I don't have a solid picture of you and your life in my head than to be hurt with the reality of who you are and be full of hatred toward you.

Part of me feels that this is a very cynical view, but I hope you understand. If I tore my life apart to search for you, I would be insane.

For as unhappy as I am that I have never known you and will never know you, I am thankful. I have heard far too many tales and watched people I love dearly have to deal with their not-so-great fathers, or even just the drama involved with parents who don't get along - I'm thankful that I will never have that problem.

I will always wonder what it might have been like to at least meet you, see you with my own eyes (and not just in a photograph), but the fear of what pain you might cause if I do will forever be worse than any amount of wishing it could have been different.

Day-to-day, I do not miss you. I cannot miss someone who was never there. Even so, the longing to know you will exist until the day I die. I want to know if you're doing well. I want to know what kind of job you have these days, or if you even have one. I want to know whether you're still alive, whether you have other children, whether you're a part of their lives.

I want to be able to tell people about you; whether you're a great person now, or that I'm for sure relieved that I didn't have you in my life growing up.

I want to let you know that I never needed you. My family and friends all took care of me and guided me. I may not have had a father, but I found father figures in other males in my life. I never needed you.