Who's Your Daddy?

          "I'm not your father," he said. He sounded distant and neutral, guarded, unemotional, factual--but I thought I heard a hint of yearning. Though perhaps that was just me. As an old Simon and Garfunkel song said, "A man hears what he wants to hear...."
          I had forgotten myself and absentmindedly called him Daddy. This was a no-no. I was to call him Ben.
          But after two years in foster here, the longest I'd been in any placement, this place was actually starting to feel like home.
          Ginny--she's my foster mom--and I got along really well, and she'd helped me to settle down and smarten up. I'd called her Mom a few times, and she was cool. Mostly I guess she was like a big sister but I'd never had one of those so how was I to know?
          The counselor, Myra, had helped too, I guess, with her constant "How do you feel about that?"
          "How the fuck you think I feel? My parents were drug-addled assholes who abandoned me because I was a piece of shit they didn't want."
          "You're right, they were drug-addled jerks who didn't deserve you. But what makes you think they abandoned you?" I liked it that it never bothered Myra if I swore. Eventually, I cut it down. I mean, what's the point if it has no effect?
          "Huh? Of course they abandoned me. If I'd been a better kid, they wouldn't have beaten me. It was my fault."
          Between Myra and Ginny, I started to see that it was not my fault my parents were druggies, that I didn't deserve to be beaten and abused, and that I shouldn't feel guilty about any of it.
          "Being in foster care isn't a punishment," Myra would say, "but an opportunity." I used to say, yeah, fuck you, until it occurred to me that maybe she actually knew what she was talking about.
          But I still missed what I remembered of my birth parents, still missed being part of a family, feeling unwanted because nobody wanted to adopt me. I felt helpless about being bounced from foster to foster, three times before settling with Ben and Ginny Genova.
          "How do you feel about being in the Genova home?"
          "Kinda funny, I like them but kinda feel that I shouldn't like them, because they're not my real parents, and that I don't want to like them because maybe next week I'll be somewhere else."
          "It's natural to have mixed emotions like that. Sometimes kids feel, 'this is not going to last' so they do something to ease those feelings, they act out, they think, 'Yeah, I'm a piece of crap and I knew they couldn't like me, that they wouldn't want to keep me either.' So what they're afraid will happen, they actually make to happen. Ever feel like that?"
          "Hell, uh, heck yeah. But when you say it like that, it sounds dumb to think that."
          "It can't be comfortable, feeling insecure and uncertain about your future."
          "Damn straight. Darn straight. It sucks the big one."
          "So, next time we get together with Ginny and Ben, let's talk about that. Your feelings are important"
          Anyway, Ginny and Ben were on the whole pretty good. I liked being their only kid. I'd pretty much stopped swearing and was actually doing okay in school and was starting to make friends and all that. Ginny and Myra had talked to me about getting my period and like that, and let me ask stuff without making me feel dumb for not knowing.
          I'd even asked Ben some stuff about boys, and although he got pretty red, he did his best to answer my questions. I liked Ben, he wasn't creepy and grabby like my last foster perv (him, I refused to ever call dad even though he wanted me to ). Ben was a little hesitant sometimes, but he could be fun, and we played ball and rough-housed and he taught me to play crib and let me beat him at video games, until I could cream him for real.
          And the three of us played cards and board games and cuddled up on the sofa and watched movies on TV with popcorn and sodas. It was kind of like being in a family, like some of my friends at school had. It made me feel good but it made me sick-sad, because like Myra said, I was afraid it would end.
          So anyway, I was finding grade 7 math tough, and without thinking had said, "Daddy, can you help me with this math homework?" And I got this robot "I am not your father" answer like Darth Vader in reverse. Then he sat beside me and we worked through the math problems.
          Next day was Thursday

...to be continued....

          The reflection of yourself in a mirror is you looking at the past - because light takes finite time to travel from you to the mirror and back to your eyes.