My Story Pt IV

I barely considered not having a father for most of my life, over thirty years. Except once.

When I was about twelve, and out for a walk with my mother, I asked her about my father. She told me, seemingly without qualms. I don't really remember much about what she said, though I do recall she didn't portray him as flawless.

I had no interest in meeting him, no desire to trace my root like that. I used to watch programmes about meeting your birth parents or other long-lost members of your family with some interest but no feeling I would ever want to do it myself. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Until about five months ago.