Paths Crossed - Chapter 4
Google. Remember when that first entered our world? And how you would type in your name and those of your friends into the search field and see what results would appear? Suddenly everyone was “famous” and the world was that much smaller and more accessible. Yes, you guessed it - at one point, I Googled my Dad. And much to my surprise, I found him. Articles and quotes. It seemed he was some sort of expert in Agriculture and was a director in several related organizations. There was even contact information. And pictures. I stared at them and drank him in. The young man in my photos had now aged but he still looked the same. I knew it was him. I don’t know what I expected him to look like - perhaps a little more grizzled - but he looked young for his age. Kindly. A twinkle in his eyes. Dimples when he smiled. I studied his face and wondered, do I look like him? What was he like? What kind of person was he?
What really shook me up was I discovered that he and I had been in some of the same places - one of them, for sure, at the same time. Among those online photos I had found, one was of him and his wife sitting on the patio at the Maple Creek winery and another of them, sitting at a table with another couple, in a Maple Creek bistro. John and I had been to both those places and had literally sat at the same tables.
But what really rocked my world was that we had likely been in the same building at the same time at least once. In the early 2000’s I worked a 9 month contract at the Regina Inn Hotel & Conference Centre. My Dad was a director in the Agricultural Producers Association of Saskatchewan. APAS held annual meetings in that hotel and my dad stayed there when they had board meetings throughout the year. We could have passed each other in the hallway or been in the same elevator. People at the hotel knew who he was. And my photo hung at the front desk when I was chosen as Employee of the Month. I could have caught a glimpse of him or he could have caught a glimpse of me...but we were both oblivious at the time.
The associations website had his email and phone number. I itched to call or email him. But logic told me that it was foolish to do so. After all, he had not responded to my earlier letter to meet. And there must have been a reason. Likely many reasons. John pressured me to call him but I simply could not. I feared the inevitable. He had stayed silent all my life. Never deeming me important enough to contact. And after I had reached out to him, even though he had seemed amenable to meeting, he did not respond. I didn’t know the reason why, but it was a solid rejection. To pick up that phone or send him another email would only serve to repeat that rejection. He clearly wanted nothing to do with me. He had made his choice.
I saved his pictures to my iPad and showed my children. “This is your grandfather”. I showed a couple close friends those pictures as well. “This is my dad”. None of them really knew what to say. I didn't really know what to say either. Other than that - I told no one. I kept this information and all the feelings associated with it tucked away. I would return again and again to those pictures and wonder about him. And about me.
After the birth of my first grandson in 2009 however, my thirst for a sense of my identity came rushing into my life. No - that’s not entirely accurate. It came rushing into me like a high speed Mack truck - and hit me square on. I find it fascinating how strong the desire is to see yourself in another. My daughter, who knew she belonged to our family and her husband, who was the oldest of six, both experienced some angst after Little M was born. They looked into Little M’s face and wondered: Are we there?” “Who does he look like?” And much to their consternation, they could not see either of themselves in his face. I assured my daughter that Little M had many features that looked just like her as a baby and pulled out pictures to compare. Several weeks later, she told me of a comment a friend of hers made about Little M:
Enter the Mack truck which careened around the corner and hit me with a crushing thud! I kept my composure but I was shaken by the impact this statement had on me. It simultaneously de-constructed me and empowered me. It filled me with such intense happiness. Identity. Belonging. I would study Little M’s face and wonder...am I really a part of you? Are you a part of me? When his little sister was born two years later, the yearning only intensified. Deep, deep yearning to know I belonged somewhere. To someone. It was like an Olympic flame in my soul - it just burned and burned and burned. And although I knew what the most likely outcome would be if I contacted my father again, I had the intense desire to see him face to face. I didn’t even want to talk to him at this point...I just wanted to look at him. Confirm that he was a real person. Maybe get a sense of the kind of person he was, and then in some way, get a better idea of who I was.
So, in February of 2012, my silent obsession with meeting my father reached a fever pitch and gave way to a random attempt to lay eyes on him. I excused myself from work one cold, windy afternoon and walked the block and a half to the Regina Inn where APAS was holding their annual meeting. The agenda they had posted on their website told me what meeting room they were in and since I knew the hotel well, I was sure I could slip unnoticed through the doors in the back of the room. Everyone would be facing forward listening to the speaker. I could scan the room and search out his face. I knew what he looked like. I just wanted a glimpse. But when I arrived I found that they had configured the room differently and the only door I could enter through was a side door. If I entered there, everyone would turn their heads to see who had come in. So I waited in the hallway outside the meeting room hoping the session would break soon. It didn’t. A porter finally approached and asked if he could help me.
The words were ill-fitting on my lips but saying them out loud thrilled and terrified me. I finally gave up my post. I had to get back to work and could not wait indefinitely for the meeting to end. I pulled on my coat and stepped back into the cold wind, walking back to work.
My impulsive and unorganized attempt to catch a glimpse of him had failed.
And I never told a soul.
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| Photo Credit: Annette Moore 2015 |
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