tml An Open Letter to My Biological Father and Satan's Cocksucker – Mama Banana's Adventures

An Open Letter to My Biological Father and Satan's Cocksucker

     I remember you. My father. Memories from when I was a baby still linger. I remember seeing your car pull into the driveway from work. I was so happy. One of my first memories is running to meet you in my diaper. I ran to you, full of smiles, with open arms. You scooped me up. I remember watching you tinker in the garage, getting kissed goodnight gently on my forehead and saying the Lord’s prayer. I still remember the way you smelled and the way it felt to be in your arms. The cheap Old Spice cologne in the bathroom cupboard, and watching you shave your face. I remember dancing on your feet in the kitchen and opening presents on Christmas Morning. I remember learning about gardening and planting flowers, picking blueberries and learning how to drive the lawn mower. I was Daddy’s girl. I had taken to you not more, but differently, then I had taken to my Mother and I preferred to spend my days outside with you, while my brother’s were inside with Mom. You were my world. I mistakenly thought I was yours.


     I was proud of you. Proud of your status in the military. I was proud to be the daughter of an Army officer and I defended you when the kids at school picked on me. I cried for you at night when you were “gone to war” AKA courting your long-time mistress overseas, or so I was told by the military personnel you worked with who called our home. We all slept in bed with Mom. We waited for your phone call and tried to pass the time by making up care packages to send to you. We took joy in knowing you were well and counted the days for you to return. EVERY NIGHT I wished you were home. I wished you were home tucking me in. I wished you never joined the reserves and went overseas. I wished you felt the same way about me that I did about you. Because if you did, you would have NEVER left our family.
     I was 11 years old when it happened. I knew you and Mom fought. Everyone fights. I remember one fight about the vacuum. Mom wanted you to vacuum the house. I knew, even then, that the weight of household chores lied mostly on her shoulders. She worked as a nurse, took me to lessons, T-ball practice, helped me with homework and cooked and cleaned. You should have kissed her feet and picked up the G-D vacuum. Not long after the fighting grew, I knew something changed. The odd phone calls at night, the camping gear in the back of your car and the emotional distance.
     Mom was upset. She cried a lot. One day I watched her take all of your clothes outside and put them in the driveway. I heard her talking and I knew. I KNEW WHAT YOU DID. I knew about her. The woman you had been cheating on your family with. The woman you were being nasty with instead of coming to my T-ball game, vacuuming the house or planting a garden with me. You didn’t just chat on Mom, you cheated on me. How did you go from the man who kissed my forehead at night to the man who wouldn’t bother to show up once a week to see me for 2 hours?
     Things got worse from there on. There were court dates, court ordered visitations you never showed up to. I remember waiting in the driveway, Mom’s now slightly mentally unsatable hand on my shoulder waiting for you to show up for your court ordered visitation. Because now, there would be no kissing me goodnight, no dancing on your feet in the kitchen or planting the garden. There would only be visitations, no driving the lawn mower together and no birthdays. She shouldn’t have had me wait. For what you did, you were not worthy of my company. Instead of getting visitations ordered by a judge, my Mother should have filed a PFA against you and kept you away. Whatever circus you put on when I was little was over. You are not a good man, you never were a good man and any smoke and mirrors you put up faded away.
     I remember the begging. I remember my Mother begging for your sick disgusting ass to stay. I remember the day she didn’t put on a bra under her tank-top. I asked her why, she said “because it’s sexy.” She was trying to talk you into staying, and leaving the treacherous pile of dung you were trading your family for. YOU TRADED YOUR FAMILY FOR A WHORE. Wait, whore is too nice a word. Satan’s Cocksucker? Still too nice, but we’ll go with that. Any woman who would be with a married man with 3 children is an inexcusable human being. She is not human.You are disgusting for wanting her, but I have come to learn that you deserve each other.
     Have you ever wondered what your family was doing without you? Because I know. I know what we were doing. I remember my 13th birthday. I cried and cried. Do your remember how you spent that day? Where were you? I was turning a teenager and you weren’t there. My 15th birthday and shortly before my 16th birthday I was date raped. There was no man at home to screen the boys I hung around with. Mom was never, and has not ever, been an authoritarian. Maybe if you had been around, instead of off buying time shares with Satan’s cocksucker, I would have had someone to protect me. Instead, I was date raped and my innocence was taken from me. If I had a father at home, instead of a Mother who was working full time, taking me to lessons and sports, cooking, cleaning and paying every bill you refused to pay. Maybe I wouldn’t have been raped. How does that sit with you? Let that resonate while you spend 3 weeks at your cabin this year.
     I learned to drive from a paid stranger. I learned to change my oil from a high-school friend. I went to the Prom without my father seeing my dress. You didn’t even ask to see my dress. By now you were living hours away. I graduated high-school, went to college and struggled. I struggled over the years and you were no where to be found. I tried everything I could think of to get you to see me. I cried, I begged, I forgave you, repeat, repeat. Still, you never felt the need to be present in my life. You never felt the need to be in your own daughter’s life? Is the man you once were in there somewhere? Do you remember kissing me on the forehead at night? I’ve asked you these questions. I’ve asked why you never wanted to see me. Your answers are UNACCEPTABLE and the excuses are pathetic. You are a pathetic excuse for a human being and I am lucky to be nothing like you.
     I’ve heard it all. “Your Mom was crazy.” “Your Mom called the cops on me.” YES, My Mother called the cops on you after you beat her. You piece of shit. My Mother, the one who did everything for me…you beat her because she didn’t want you to leave. Do you think you deserved to go and find Satan’s Cocksucker because you thought Mom was a little crazy? Because you fought? If you thought she was crazy you should have gotten her help, gone to counseling or just shut your fucking mouth and smiled. You had me and my brothers with Mom and you couldn’t handle a little crazy? You are not a human being. I have news for you. While you and Satan’s Cocksucker count your pennies, time shares and plan your next child and grand-child-less vacation, you are missing out.
     While you avoided; paying child support, buying cars and car insurance payments, college tuition. Buying your children food. Apartment rent, buying books, groceries and putting a dime towards any of your children’s weddings (which I didn’t have by the way), Mom was working her ASS off to try and provide for my brot
hers and I. I wish she understood, that she never needed you. Mom did it all and you were always just a tag-along, unable to find your own identity or way in life. In a way, she’s lucky you found Satan’s Cocksucker. Because you two truly deserve each other and the eternity you will spend together rotting in hell.
     While you were out buying time shares, going on vacations, tinkering with your tools in your creepy quiet home, child-free, with Satan’s cocksucker. Mom was meeting a very lovely man. While you are busy going to Lion’s club meetings, singing in the choir at church (I am still in awe that you don’t burst into flames when you enter a church) he was chopping wood for our fireplace, coming to my college graduation and taking Mom out to dinner. While you were going on another cruise. He was carrying my Dead Dog to the vet’s office while I bawled and and held my newborn. While you were mowing the grass of the house I’ve never seen, he was holding my 4 sons after they were born and showing up at my house with a weed wacker at 7:00 AM on a Saturday, just because, with my kids smiling and waving out the window at him. While you were going thrift store shopping with Satan’s Cocksucker, he was here blowing bubbles with my remarkably beautiful children, whom they call “Pop,” watching their favorite movie with them and listening to the voice mails they leave him that end “I love you so much Pop.” He’s their grandfather, not you.
     I go back and forth with allowing you in my life at all. The one or two hours a year I see you. The strange phone call I get at 9:00 in the morning saying “We’re in, can I meet you and the kids for a cup of coffee?” It’s sad. You are so out of touch with reality, that you think it takes 30 minutes to get myself and 4 children ready and out the door. Worse yet, my children think you’re a stranger we’re meeting for breakfast. I mean, they’ll only see you once or twice a year, no need to explain your many, many, many faults to them. I hope to GOD they don’t inherit any of your traits. Luckily, they think “Pop” is my Dad, and I have graciously allowed them to believe this. Because, he is my real father. No DNA necessary.
     As time passes, I see you growing old. Each year you get a little thinner in your shoulders, a little greyer and a little more hunched over. I know one day I’ll get a phone call, or maybe not, from Satan’s Cocksucker letting me know you have passed. I will cry for you. Not the you now, not the you 20 years ago, but the you I lost when I was a little girl. The man who died sooooo long ago, the man whose feet I danced on top of, the man who helped me build a snowman and a playhouse outside. I hope that as this time has passed by, that it’s been worth it for you. I hope that giving up your children, your grandchildren and every moment with us has been worth it. I hope, that you made the right decision. That sacrificing the life I would have had if you stayed with me and my brothers was soooooo worth it. Because, you are a complete fool. Signed, your Biological Daughter.
    
    

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