Met History wrote:

> In a message dated 8/6/03 9:27:24 PM Eastern Daylight Time,
> [log in to unmask] writes:
>
>
>> I remember when you suggested
>> reading "Tis"
>
>
>
> was i right?
>
> biological father?  how did you track him down?  c

C

No histo presto behind this door. My biological father was a Cornell &
Columbia Teacher's grad. He was from Ridgewood, Queens. My mother was in
love with him. At the paternity suit, in Ithaca where my mother lived,
daughter of a carpenter, my biological father excused himself to go to
the bathroom. That was the last contact we had with him up until the day
Mt. St. Helens blew. My mother was sent off to Buffalo to an unwed
girl's home for a while before she could return to Ithaca. I lived  with
a foster family in Elmira for two years, Missy Julip's territory. Every
weekend my mother came to visit me. My mother met a guy that made her
laugh and they married. Nobody told me anything until I was in my 20's.
The foster family used to come on odd visits and I always thought they
acted strange. My stepfather was running off on his series of other
women. The first woman threatened to tell me, so my mother was forced to
take action. I was relieved. The hard part for me was my mother telling
me that my blue eyes reminded her every day of her true love.  I never
got along too well with my stepfather, a bit of psychological & physical
abuse -- for which my brother, the true son of the untrue father, may
have inherited the brunt. In the mean time my biological father off in
California married, raised a family of five kids, and became dean of a
college for science teachers. He also wrote a few HS science books that
were widely known. I was precocious in the sciences in school until I
decided to waste my life writing bull (the reason for looking up ASCII
cows). My mother was a telephone operator, she supported the family, and
unless someone is out about in the world really trying to hide when you
connect a Cornell alumni directory with someone who knows the telephone
system you can find people. So I knew how to find my biological father
for about seven years before I called him. What I knew of him then fit
on half of one side of a small index card. The reason I called him was
that we were going to have a son born and I thought he might be
interested. At first he was not. It was a rather terse and brief phone
call. He called me about two months later and was peeved that I had not
called him to tell him about his grandson. It was not long after that we
met in Penn Station. I was living in MD at the time. He put me up for a
weekend in a hotel in Manhattan and I met his wife. His wife had not
known of me or his relationship to my mother. I do believe that he was
relieved when they got divorced. We met him once again for Thanksgiving
dinner at our railroad flat apartment after we had moved to Brooklyn. My
mother has been on the West coast and has met with my father. He tried
to keep in touch with us but it was too late for my needing another
father, and my son has never quite known how to deal with any of his
grandfathers. Last I heard my biological father was living on an island
in a lake in Wisconson owned by his girl friend. He likes to read books
and proclaims himself an agnostic. I also met my half sister. One
half-brother was a writer for the Berkeley Barb, another a schizophrenic.

There, a bio-encapsulation.

][<en

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