A Historical Account

As an account based (meaning it is true) on real-life events. I only will change the names, or omit them, in order to just tell the story, not disparage anyone in particular. It needs to be told, if only to have my version out there, as no one has ever asked me for mine. A lot of assumptions have been made, social, legal, and otherwise. This is the only way to set things straight.

I raised a child. Not one I wanted. That may be cold to say, but it is true. You see, I only wanted a child with the love of my life, if at all. I never dreamed or imagined just having a child. Not to boost my ego, not to feel like a king, and not to make someone in my own image. And most importantly, not to have a child with someone I didn’t love. There’s a story about how this child that wasn’t mine became the child I was forced to raise, but that is another post, this is the story of how his mother and I came to meet, and how the engine got started on the railroad that stole years from me, and still continues to this day.

I used to visit a lot of people, for a variety of reasons, in my hometown. I once stopped by a friend’s house (shared rental, a couple of single moms lived there) and took a young girl for a ride n the back of my motorcycle. I would later regret being nice to that girl, but I am getting ahead of myself. You see, later, because of this encounter, we would be on a “friendly” level of familiarity, to the point of another friend of mine and I would utilize her and her friends as a “messaging service” when they were just standing on the street downtown. Realize, she was about  15. I truly thought I was doing a kind thing. I took a young girl on her first motorcycle ride, and, before texting, pagers, and much else, gave a small purpose that would keep some young girls in a small town from digressing into too much trouble. If there’s anyone who doubts those motives, I have learned that there’s nothing I can do to change that mindset. There are people who believe that all interactions between girls and boys are sexual in nature, and that will never change, at least not with me arguing. As a regular thing, we would leave messages for one another with those girls. He would tell them something for me, and when I was driving through town, I would stop, and say hi, and ask if there were any messages. My friend and I were 18 or 19. after a couple months of this, we somewhat stopped, as the usefulness of it ran out, and our lives kept us out of the downtown area more. Until late November-early December, when I did something nice that would become something of a regret.

I was driving through the small town I lived in, it was a one-street town and has since become a two-street town, when I saw one of the young girls walking on the sidewalk. It was about 9 or 10 pm, dark, and frosty out. Not a lot of snow in those parts, but still chilly temperatures. She was wearing only stretch pants, what looked like a thin hoodie and thin jacket, and was walking alone. Not knowing where she lived, and being the kind person I like to believe myself to be, I pulled over and asked if she needed a ride home, instead of walking home in the cold. Now, I had no intentions of anything else. To be bluntly honest, let’s just say she was, and still is, far from what I consider an attractive woman to be. I had been spending time with other people I was attracted to, but not been with. The reasons for that is another post, and story, entirely, one I may never tell in its entirety. When this young girl, we were both young, but I was definitely the elder, told me she didn’t live far. I offered to drive her around a little bit so she could get warm before going home, as she was shivering noticeably. I drove approximately 2-3 miles. A nice little loop just barely out of town. SHe and I talked while we drove, not about anything in particular, She even asked me if I wanted anything for doing this favor. I replied, with a laugh, “You mean something like, ‘this car runs on ass, not gas, so put out or get out’?”. I laughed a bit more before answering, “No, I’m not like that, you don’t owe me anything for this”. After a couple more miles, the entire loop was approximately 7 miles round trip, about 10 minutes, enough to get someone warm with the heater on high, she grabbed my hand, pulled it into her crotch while saying, “I have a hole here…” and pulled my hand into what was indeed a hole in her pants. Let it be said that at this time I was involved with Ecstasy and Meth. And a LOT of weed. I broke what had been a long battle of willpower. I never have been much of a promiscuous man. I gave in. Whatever alignment of the stars that happened, I attribute it to the fact that I was mostly thinking of someone else during this ride, someone I was VERY attracted to, and I pulled over. Now mind you, to this day, it remains the only time I have ever had sex without taking off a single article of clothing. I never finished. I lost my erection quite quickly, made some excuse to the effect of, “That was the quickest ever…” and redid my pants, found myself filling with regret, and got back to driving the girl home. It was all very short-lived, and I hoped I would be able to forget all about it, which I did, until some years later when I was served with a paternity suit from the state. I was the last person named on it that hadn’t been tested. Not even a one-night stand. I found out many years later that pre-ejaculate has only 0.4% chance of impregnation, and that is only if there was a previous ejaculation within 72 hours. And that is a sliding scale, as sperm do not die off all at once. I can’t provide any proof it had been much longer for me, but it was more like 6 weeks. In case the divergent “proof” isn’t clear right now, I eventually had 2 very strong kinds of scientific evidence, one was a DNA paternity test, the other was clinical evidence of impossible impregnation. Only one of those pieces of evidence was dependent on human error, and that was the DNA test. People don’t determine the longevity of sperm once they’ve left the testes, and without viable sperm, there can be no fertilization. That left only one possibility, one I didn’t realize until much later, because I had indeed, forgotten all about the incident, until it came back to rear its ugly head. By the time I remembered the details (I was sober & clean quite shortly after the incident, for other reasons) I had already been given a summary judgement, and had a parenting plan on file with the courts. And a young boy calling me dad. A child I never wanted, but had in front of me. So I did the best I could. I do have an apology to that young boy, I was never completely in that parenting 100%. I hope I didn’t do him a disservice. I did the best I was able to give him a “normal” parent, and be a good dad. But, I always looked to that light at the end of the tunnel that was his 18th birthday. For better or worse, good or indifferent, that is true. I am a dad, and, I am not. I have no children, but I raised one. I  want children with the love of my life, I hope I find her before too long. and I am scarred.

To the wonderful, honorable, and intelligent young man that came out of that mess, I am sorry I couldn’t be more of what you wanted. I hope I was what you needed. I am proud of who you are. There may never be a storybook ending, but you have the integrity to live a good life, and it is yours to choose. Work hard, don’t give up. I tried to teach you that first off, when you finally chopped that single round of pine. You are a good man. Live that truth.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be more for you, but I must find my happiness, and live my life. I hope you understand. When it is all said and done, for a little while in this big world, I was a dad, and you were a wonderful son.


1 thought on “A Historical Account

  1. Pingback: A Historical Account | andrewsaysblog

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s