when i heard of my biological father's passing, i felt some form of release.
a statistic to claim that i too have a single parent living, a label to wear. for years my tongue felt heavy to say my biological father was alive.
his location was a mystery, a void on every google map, but now i can pinpoint his whereabouts with ease.
my real father died when i turned 16. the man left to live was an imposter, the man we buried a shadow of a man i once knew.
this man was a walking dead soldier with a gun firing blank bullets of a father's affection, with muddy boots that left no footprints to the path of manhood. this man wearing a combat gear of abandoned children, with a purple heart of neglect.
see I had to learn to be a man form the abusive father next door, the drunkard across the street, a fragmented mentorship to manhood.
so when i heard of this stranger's passing. i again felt his absence and could not help but thinking he left too early, but his absence. his absence was too loud, a deafening silence that left me searching.
So-called father, i will not mourn nor shed a tear for you. the wounds you inflicted have healed. my children with bear no scars. so when the time comes i will not play hide and seek with my sons and daughters so they will always know where to find me.
