ssǝɹddns ɹou ɹɐǝɟ ɹǝɥʇıǝu plnoʍ ʎʇǝıɔos ǝǝɹɟ ʎlnɹʇ ɐ ʇɐɥʇ ƃuıʇnɔolɯnɔɹıɔ suıɐʇuoɔ ǝʇıs sıɥʇ



Sunday, June 16, 2013

Letter from my father

I finally realized why my scanner/copier was being a pain...the USB cord was mangled.

Anyway, I went and bought me a new one. And as I had promised my daughter Peace down south there a ways, I am publishing the letter my father sent to me back in March.

In case you missed it, I was separated from my father when I was three-years-old. The last time I laid eyes on him was in a Florida courthouse in April of 1961. He was in handcuffs and my mother was in tears. After we flew to Wilkes-Barre to live at my grandmother's house on Madison Street, I never saw him again, never heard from him again and never, ever had a clue about what had become of him.

But thanks to Google alerts I had set-up and a few phone calls to Alsea, Oregon, I know his whereabouts, swapped an email or two with his partner, and then the following letter appeared in our snail mailbox. Holding it in my hand was kind of surreal. After fifty years of wondering, it was as if a ghost had come out of the shadows.

In a bit of irony, even though he had no part in my upbringing after that courthouse exchange, he helped to shape me as I swore I would never abandon any offspring I managed to help in creating. And thanks to the evil step-fathers, I never took an interest in beating the tar out of said kids.

A local reporter approached me about turning this overdue get-together into a Father's Day newspaper story, but he never got back to me after that initial conversation. Oh well.

Anywho, Peace, you put more work into finding him than even I did, so, enjoy.

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More later.

Later

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