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Today is Fathers' Day a day we honour fathers. What is a father? Following is my definition of a father. My opinion is based on my life experience. Some may disagree, and that is cool. This is just my musings. Let me begin with a little background information.
I was born to a mother with mental problems. She was diagnosed at a very young age, around the age of 15 years old, with scizpophrenia. She should never have had children but had five. I was the third child born after she had already birthed two daughters.
My mother was a patient in a mental institution when I was born. Yes, I find it funny now. I was born in a nut house, Ancora State Hospital in New Jersey (USA). I was very embarrassed most of my life due to the history of my birth, but now? Nah, It is hilarious. I often tell folks it was an indication of how crazy I am now. We all need excuses, don't we? I am being sarcastic.
Until the age of seven years old I was in and out of foster homes with my two younger siblings, a younger sister and younger brother. At times we would live with my biological father and his father. Let me tell you something about these two men(?).
My paternal grandfather was a pedophile. He raped his daughter, my Aunt Gladys. My paternal grandmother, his wife, had him locked up. This was back in the 1950s. My Aunt Gladys, after being raised by her grandfather, spent the rest of her life as a preacher. Her message was forgiveness and cared for her father and abuser until his death. Little did she know that her brother (my biological father) would follow in their father's footsteps.
My younger sister was abused by my biological father sexually. Guess he was not queer, because he just would beat me. He was never sexual with me, I guess he just liked little girls. Maybe he just got off beating up little boys and locking them in a closet. To this day I am afraid of closed spaces. My Marine Corps helped me deal with it, but still? I am frightened by closed spaces. I still have a scar under my nose where he threw me down steps when I was very little. That is why I wear a mustache and did when I was in the Corps. Strange why we do things.
So, who is the dude in the picture you see above? That is my daddy. You see when I was seven years old I was committed to the same institution where I was born. Let us see... 7 years old that would have been 1968. In those days the psychiatrists pretty much thought that mental illness was hereditary. Mamma nut job? The kid is probably the same. And then...
Mr. Reynolds and his lady were already the foster parents to my two younger siblings. He agreed with the social worker to have me in his family. He, (Mr. Reynolds) believed we should all be together. This is the man you see in the picture above. This is MY DADDY.
There is not one person that loved me, defended me, and looked out for me than he. Unfortunately, my poor dad's heart gave out at the age of 53. The world and everything he experienced was just too much.
My Daddy was not a perfect man. Sure, he was just a man in this world. Yet he was a father to the fatherless. Not my blood, but did for me more than anyone in my life. He would be 98 years old today later this month, 29 June.
A father? Well, you know. Ain't got shit to do with biology.