It Happened to Me: When I Met My Father After 18 Years, I Tried to Make That Asshole Cry

And it worked.

By Jenny B.

I wrote this story more then 25 years ago and submitted to xoJane. I always had wanted to send it to JANE magazine, but never had the courage. I was going back and forth with [an editor] at xojane and it looked like it was promising, and then it fizzled out. Now that anotherjanepratthing is here. I figured I’d try again. Here’s my story…

The phone rings on a regular Thursday night. I lie on the couch watching TV.

“Hello, can I speak to Jennifer?” a man on the line says.

“This is Jennifer,” I say, thinking it was another bill collector.

“I think I might be your uncle,” the man says.

Panicking, I stand up to look at the caller ID, which back then is on a device next to the phone charger. It shows an unfamiliar number from out of state. “Who is this?” I ask.

“This is Peter. Jennifer?”

“Yes.” I say, my heart beating in my throat. “Wait, who is this?” I just can’t grasp that it is real. Could this really be my father’s brother?

“Peter [last name],” the man says.

“What is your brother’s name?” I ask.

“Adam,” he says. “I can’t believe I found you.”

As a child, all I knew was that my father, Adam, was an abusive alcoholic who destroyed my family. We left him when I was 4 years old. I was told stories here and there from my mother and older brothers, but we mostly didn’t discuss the topic. My brothers had a different father and had a horrible time while living with mine. I never really knew anything different. Adam didn’t know we were leaving. One day, my mother took everything and left. She left the house empty for him when he came home from work. At first, there was visitation, but apparently, I would cry when I was dropped off, and my mother didn’t feel it was good for me to be around him. She told the lawyers and judge she wouldn’t do it anymore, and Adam never fought it. We moved only 15 minutes away from him, but he never attempted to see me again.

On the phone, Peter fills me in on more details. I ask Peter the questions I’ve been asking myself all my life. “Does he talk about me?” “Does he miss me?” Peter tries to fill in the blanks as much as he can, but what I need to do is ask Adam these questions myself. I have wanted to do this for years. I would drive past his house, and stare in, hoping to get a glimpse of this man who was my father. I am mad at him. I miss him. I want a father. I want to tell him all of these things.

Peter and his wife, and their two kids, want to come to New York, to meet me. I decide I will go see Adam with them when they come up.