I get so many “potential spam” calls that once in a great while when I’m feeling feisty I’ll actually answer an unknown callers call.

You assumed you were important enough to me for your number to be programmed into my phone. When I answered you dove right into a conversation without a hello. What I hear is a mans voice asking me how I am. My simple fine reply and courtesy return question has you responding with you’re okay, just waking up from a nap and how that’s all you seem to do these days. I had to ask who you are. Your response, “This is your father.”

The dust rag I’d been running along the banister stops, my heart-rate doubles and confusion fills my mind.

Father.  I’ve decided there are many different versions of that name. Yours is sperm supplier, not father, not in my terms.

My core people know cleaning is one of my coping mechanisms and thankfully I can listen and clean at the same time. I finish wiping down the banister  and move onto the hall table. You tell me you’ve tried calling me but must of gotten my digits screwed up as the voice in the phone tells you this number has been disconnected. I stay silent, wondering what it is you’re calling me for after all these years. Yes, I connected with you a couple of years ago but strictly for family medical information and that was a very tough call for me. I understand from the other sibling you supplied sperm for, that your health is declining. I can’t help but wonder if you’re calling to apologize, to listen to how I am, to regret your past decisions and say goodbye.

You tell me my sister wrote you a long letter of apology for something or other, then ask me what I remember from all those years ago.

Dear reader, please forgive me, my eyes sting and my heart is racing yet again. Back to the past my mind wanders.

What I remember is dirty ball fields while you umpired a game and we sat hungry waiting for you. Your response was like you didn’t hear me as you ask if I remember you taking us to St. Louis to Six Flags and how we were supposed to go to a Cardinals game but when we finally made it to the car we all fell asleep. I tell you about the time you took us to Lake Darling in the heat of summer, mind you have two redheads. I remember getting home so burnt we eventually got blisters on our skin and were taken to the ER to receive medical care. I still have an angry patch of skin on my arm as a reminder. Again, you don’t hear me and change the subject.

Then comes the “I love you, I always have. You were my favorite.”

I have no words for that.

I tell you I have another much darker memory from a night spent at your parents house. You tell me about the skating rink you owned and how one time you had me in your arms as you were skating, then you turned around to skate backwards only someone behind you fell and you protected me as we fell.

Nine minutes, my phone logs nine minutes of conversation with you. What did you call for? Why did you ask if you can call me again? Are you looking to clear your conscious? You remember only good times, I remember only bad times. I don’t need anything from you, I haven’t for quite some time. You didn’t listen when I talked, really hear what I said. Instead you put a lot of the blame on “my mother.” I feel you are just as self-serving as you’ve always been and I can’t imagine another conversation with you. You said something about me, something along the lines that I’ve always been family oriented. You don’t know me but yes, it’s true. I replied with the fact that I am the parent I am because of the parent/s that I had. That I parent the way I wished I had been. This was met with silence.

I have no relationship with my mother, there are many reasons for this. I keep my circle small but in it are people I can trust, people that are caring, not selfish, people I love. My circle is filled with love, with grace that allows forgiveness and is the safe place I always dreamt of. I now know that those things; love, grace and safety are not automatically installed in parents to gift their children. Even now as an adult, as a mother and a grandmother I wonder at the audacity you had to not only call me but to announce yourself as my father, to ask me questions without hearing my answers and turn around and inquire about future phone calls with no thought to how your call affects me.

We said our goodbyes and I realized I’ve removed the dust from every surface on the main floor and I am standing in the middle of the great room. The initial shock of the call is wearing off and I collapse onto the nearest chair. I need to finish the weekly cleaning, next on my list is to vacuum all the rugs and hand wash the kitchen mats. My head won’t stop the flood of memories, I want to find the off switch. Hot tears stream over my cheeks and spill onto my shirt. Our conversation is on replay and I remember he asked me about Dave. Telling me that he shops the grocery store chain in his town that Dave works for. Do he think that earns him brownie points?

I’m starting to see the reason that he called was purely for himself.

I don’t want to be mean, especially to a man that could be facing his final days so as I blow my nose and clear my head, I program his number into my phone not because he deserves to be, but because I want to know who is calling and decide if I want to answer.