China Springs

I filled my car with gas before heading south down I-35 to Waco. It was a route I knew well, one that I had worn many times when going to Waco to visit my grandmother and some other relatives that I had only found a few years before, thanks to the miracle of social media. But this trip, this route, would be slightly different. The exit I would take would come a few miles before my usual one, the one that takes me to Granny's assisted living apartment building. For this trip I would exit a bit early, and head west down an assortment of roads to China Springs, Texas. One of those tiny little places in Texas that always seems to be named for a place in has nothing in common with.

My destination took me more than ten miles away from the interstate, down winding back roads with houses and horse properties throughout. An intersection would bring about the usual small town convenience store, gas station, what have you, and then on to another empty stretch with more properties spread around.
Siri gave me instructions to make one final left turn, and my destination would be on my left. I can't describe the nerves that went through me as I got closer and closer. Closer to what though? I had no idea what answers I was really going to find here. I knew I would get something, but would it be what I was really looking for?
After seeing the home I was searching for, I made a U-turn at the top of the street and came back around to the house. It was a small horse property like so many I had passed on the way here. The kind you could only afford if you had made a decent living, and then were smart enough to hold onto it. Having horses isn't a cheap hobby. There was a small riding area adjacent to the front yard, not large, but enough to take a couple of horses around at a time. The front yard was well kept, with grass that was torn between winter brown, and holding-onto-the-hope of Spring green. I parked in front of a mailbox that did me no favors by not having the home owner's name on it. I hoped to at least see some clue if this was the house I was looking for that may save me from having to actually have to go up to the front door and risk someone seeing me. And worse, asking who the hell I was. If the mailbox had been kind enough to have something written on it, at least I could have braced myself further, or knew to just pack it in and leave because this was not the house I had hoped to find.

The driveway connected to a small sidewalk that was horizontal to the house. Off to one side was a small work shed with a Chevy pickup parked beside it, and between the shed was a carport with two more cars underneath. It gave the impression of a quiet family home that probably didn't get a lot of visitors. Certainly not like the one they were about to receive.
As I got closer to the front door, I could feel my heart rate quicken even more. There was a USMC themed sign near the door that had the family name on it, and I found myself hoping it said anything but "Fitzhugh". After coming all this way, I wouldn't mind if whatever disappointment came from this, happened simply because of human error and meant me being given a wrong address.

I've never met my father before. Before it gets confusing, I separate the man I call my dad, Jack(who is in reality my stepdad), and the actual sperm donor, whom I am referring to here as my father. That man's name is John Fitzhugh, and it's his door I am about to knock upon on this mild December day. John was my mom's second marriage. Her first produced three kids, my brothers Will and Chuck, and my late sister, Christine. My mom wasn't really good at relationships, and her second marriage was falling apart even faster than the first. Her and John had been together less than two years when she left Waco for Amarillo, and filed for divorce after. John wasn't even in the country at the time she made this decision, as he was on a tour of duty in Vietnam. My mom had told her in laws that her father was ill in Amarillo, and that she had to get there immediately to be by his side. Which, coincidentally, was the exact same story she had told her first set of in laws when she wanted to leave Ohio, and her first husband. Honesty was never mother's strong point.

It's actually rare to hear me refer to my mother as anything other than her first name, Dorothy. That's because our relationship became so fractured over the years, that I didn't really feel like she was a mother to me at all. And it was her lack of honesty, combined with some championship caliber bitterness and petty behavior, that kept me from knowing about my father for most of my life. She was so determined to will him out of my life, that she even denied he was my father until the day she died. Despite her entire family, my brothers, and even Jack telling me the contrary.

As I approached the front door, I gripped the letter I had written ahead of time and brought down with me. Due to previous experience, I had a pretty good idea John was married again, and an even better idea that his current wife and family probably had no inkling that he had children. It was a secret that ended his previous marriage(or so I am told), which was his third. I had no interest in creating that kind of upheaval for him now, so I had come up with an alibi for my appearance at his doorstep, and a reason to give the letter to whomever opened the door. I would tell them I was a member of his family in Waco that he had no contact with(true), and that the letter was to let him know they would like to mend fences with him(also true). The only issue with that story is that no one on the paternal side of my family knew I was even planning this trip, so as not to cause any undue harm if this didn't go as I hoped.

Standing on the doormat was one of those surreal experiences in life. You've dreamt of this moment in thousands of different ways, but part of you never really thought you'd end up here. That this moment was actually happening. You keep waiting for some cruel thing to happen and ruin it all. But as I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, I reminded myself of everything I needed to say, and that even if I couldn't say it in person, the letter would do the rest. I just had to give it to him.

Once I rang the bell, I could see a figure approaching from the other side of the glass. When he opened the door, all of the pictures I had seen of him seemed to flood my memory at once. John had never seemed like a real person to me. After hearing his name whispered around me since I was a kid, and only seeing photos of him, a part of you starts to question if he is even real. But now all of the statements of "you look just like your dad" rang in my ears, as I finally stood face to face with him, wondering if he'd even know who I was.
I immediately took stock of the man in front of me. We were the same height with the same thin frame. Mine had been expanded a bit by 30 plus years of weightlifting, but the basics were the same. His hair was more red than brown like mine, with streaks of white in it. It reminded me of the comic book character Jason Blood, minus Etrigan the demon(or so I hoped) . He had the same bow-legged gait, with a slight paunch to his belly, light colored eyes, and hands that seemed familiar with hard work. It was pretty easy to see why everyone immediately compared me to him when I first met his estranged family in Waco years before.

It took less than a second for it to hit him. His greeting went from "Can I help you" to "Oh hey, how are you?" almost instantly. The look of shock stayed there the whole time though. He asked what I was doing there, and I quickly explained the purpose of my trip. Simply put, it was time we finally met. I didn't want money, or need anything from him. What I hoped was that there was some possibility of having a relationship of some kind. But barring that, it was still time to at least meet face to face. He responded several times with "I don't know what to say", which I followed up by telling him that he didn't have to say anything. I handed him the letter with one request, contact me at some point. Even if it's just to say you can't, or simply aren't capable of any type of relationship. I didn't put a timeline on it because I understood that it may take a while for him to decide. I only asked that he respond at some point and not just leave me hanging. I handed him the letter, let him know my phone number was at the bottom, and shook his hand. In less than five minutes, I had dealt with the biggest ghost from my past and was back on the road home. Just like that.

The reasons why my mom worked so hard to keep John out of my life are like a Jerry Springer episode come to life: Guy returns from Vietnam to seek out his ex to figure out custody and visitation. Guy meets new girl. Guy takes new girl home with him, and eventually marries her. New girl happens to be younger sister of ex-wife, who is slightly pissed. Guy and new girl have baby, who is now half-sibling/half-cousin to the guy's son. Ex tells both to go to hell, and that Guy will never see said son ever again.
And my mother stood by the promise, at least where John was concerned. When he and my aunt divorced, she moved back to Amarillo. My mother forgave her, but then swore her and their entire family to secrecy, and forbade anyone from ever telling me that John was my father. As far as the world was concerned, and especially me, Jack was my biological father now. A secret she was so intent on keeping, she even had my original birth certificate changed when she had Jack adopt me. And even after finding John once before and speaking with him on the phone, she still insisted he wasn't my father. Even Jack telling me the whole story himself couldn't get her to budge. It became a hallmark of our relationship, and just one of the reasons I wasn't speaking to her at the time she passed.

As of this moment, I haven't heard anything from John. I'm not sure if I will, or even how much I need to hear from him. In my letter, I said that there are parts of me that I will never know for sure, until I know him. And that's true. But I got a lot answered just from that short few minutes in his yard. Questions about who I am as a man, the journey I have been on my entire life, and what part my parents, biological or not, played in that journey. And to be honest, it's probably going to take months for me to completely process what this moment meant. So I can imagine how long it may take him. But I realized that the important thing is who I want to be from this moment forward. And if I get the chance to be a dad, I want to make sure my son or daughter never has the questions that I have had to live with. I may never get the father I hoped for, but if I can be that man to someone else, that will mean just as much.