My father exists in hiding because he sure as hell ain’t living.
When me and my mother speak on him it is always an odd conversation.
It goes a lot like, “Has any child support come through?”
“Nope… there isn’t an update on the warrant neither.”
“I don’t understand how he can exist in hiding for this long… where is he?”
Sometimes, I imagine my father on a farm in Tennessee.
He grows crops or makes some type of organic hand soap and sells it on the streets.
He wears overalls in the heat and lies underneath sheets.
He will not tell anyone where he lives, and I have lost track of how many kids he has.
I have not seen my father in years.
Sometimes, I think I start to forget what he looks like.
But then I look in the mirror.
See how we are both alike in looks and rage.
See how we are both alike in looks and rage and anger and grudges and how we do not forgive.
Even though my father is absent and we do not get along, our similarities do not make me mad.
I have learned how to embrace who I am,
and while I am both him and my mother,
I am also my own person.