I haven’t seen him since I was four years old. He is the man that was supposed to raise me. We were supposed to play catch in the back yard of a big house in some nice neighborhood. He was supposed to be the one to talk to me about drugs and drinking and where babies come from.


At least, that’s what I thought was supposed to happen. That’s what the T.V. says is supposed to happen, and that’s what I dreamed would happen. That never happened. None of that ever happened.


I’ve waited over ten years for some type of sign that would show that this man really loved me. I’ve never seen it. If you were to ask me, I couldn’t pick this man out of a crowd of people. If he were to walk by me, I wouldn’t even know. He would see me but I wouldn’t see him. If he were to grab my arm and say, “do you remember me?” I would brush him and not think twice. I would take him for some crazy guy that I’d seen once before. I wouldn’t be able to see the man that was supposed to raise me but never did. He wasn’t there.