Two Sides of the Same Coin

Prologue

Any psychologist or sociologist will explain a "normal" family unit as being a mother and father with two children, preferably a boy and a girl, who coexist peacefully together in a house with, maybe, a family pet. However, "normal" in our society no longer exists. There is now the idea of step-family, mothers and fathers getting re-married to people who may also have children from a past marriage. This sprouts new family, bigger, wider variety of family that joins the unit to create a complicated web of a family. "Normal" was wiped out when it came to the family unit.

This story is in two parts and is about the relationship between Parent and child.

How would it be if the father was lost along the way in a son’s development? How would it be if the son was taken from the father without good reason or excuse? Would it change anything?

Of course it would. It could, possibly, change the whole mind structure of an infant, edit behaviour, and modify how a child communicates in social situations. This story is much simpler than that. There is no psychology involved. The story starts in England, Kent and ends in America, Detroit and it does reveal destiny and how two separate people can go through the exact same situation, but from different sides of the same coin.

The First Side

I married my first wife in December 1990. Georgia was beautiful and I loved her dearly. I believed, foolishly, that she was my soul mate. The marriage wasn’t, actually, planned so far in advance. You see, Georgia had fallen pregnant in September of that same year. When she told me this news, she immediately demanded we were to marry, that we would then be a proper and normal family.

This, in my opinion, was silly. Just because we weren’t married didn’t make the child any less ours. But no, the wedding ceremony went ahead, and she cried like the perfect wife at the end of the aisle and the guests applauded and I still got the disapproving looks from her parents. It was a beautiful ceremony. It was an expensive beautiful ceremony.

This was the day I met, for the first time, my best friend’s girlfriend. Grahame had mentioned her several times, how much he cared about her, how she was so sweet, but I had never met her before this day. When he introduced me to her, I took an instant liking to her. Jane was not only sweet, but funny and smart too. She seemed perfect for Grahame and I was very happy for the both of them and joked about them being the next to tie the knot. The four of us got on like a house on fire; it was perfect.

Married life seemed to suit Georgia, as did being pregnant. She would keep the house spick and span, go out shopping and on weekends we would scour every Mother Care shop that was available within a fifty mile radius. It was an expensive pregnancy. However, Georgia would beam and tell anyone that would listen about the kicks and how she was sure the baby would be a boy and he’d be Daddy’s little man. I wanted him to be Daddy’s little man.

Georgia’s due date came and went. Did I mention before that Georgia is a worrier? Well, she’s a big worrier. She picked at the fact the baby hadn’t come spot on the date. She is very OCD when it comes to times and dates. She never forgets an important date.

The baby was two weeks late and, of course, that was my fault.

“Trust the baby to have your attitude to respecting a certain time and date given. He is obviously going to need more lessons in being reliable.” Yes dear, Georgia, dear.

July 11, 1993 my son, Derek, was born. He weighed 7 lbs and 4 ounces, had a mop of blonde hair (the exact colour of his mother’s), and had bright brown eyes. My eyes.

They say a woman becomes a mother when she’s pregnant, but a man becomes a father when he sees his child for the first time. Well when I laid eyes on my son, I couldn’t have been more of a father if I tried. I felt the paternal urge to protect him, to make sure he had every opportunity possible in life and to create a life that was full of happiness for him.

I remember bringing him home from the hospital and just sitting with him, watching him sleep. I could not get over this child, how he was half of me and half of Georgia. He had spent 9 months inside of her and came out looking cute and just perfect. I loved this child with all my being.

Georgia seemed to love dressing Derek up in little pairs of jeans and checked shirts, claiming he was the next David Beckham. She even spiked his hair up with shockwave gel. I hate to think what she would have done if Derek was a girl. I don’t think I would have been able to stand for her trying to put make-up on my daughter at only age 6 months. It’s dreadful when you switch on the TV and all you can see are pushy parents that buy everything for spoilt children and then shove them on stage to act like parading monkeys. It’s utterly dreadful.

Things with Georgia began to become tense and emotions ran high. Unfortunately, when Derek had passed his 3rd birthday, things became too much for both me and his mother, and we split up. The split was in no way shape or form amicable and the divorce was messy. Georgia, of course, gained custody over Derek and she moved to a better location in which to raise our son.

I had the right to see my son and Georgia agreed to let me see him every Saturday. I was able to take him out for the day, enjoy the little time I was granted with him, before I had to take him back to his home with his mother. I also paid child maintenance. Like everything with Georgia, it was very expensive child maintenance. I didn’t mind though. If that’s what it would take to see my son then I would do it. I would give a kidney, if that was what Georgia asked, just to see my son.

In the mean time, Grahame had also split from Jane. He’d actually run off with her best friend after he and Jane had got engaged. I was furious with him and quickly lost contact with him. Jane and I, however, kept in contact regularly and started a relationship together. She was so understanding about my situation and soon we were married and we had a child together. I still saw Derek regularly and everything seemed to be fine.

One Saturday, when Derek was 5, I took him to the park at the end of his street. Lady Luck was not shining on me that day. I ended up losing track of time and Georgia, in a wave of panic, called the police. I was escorted to the police station by two officers as Georgia stood by and watched. I knew she wasn’t convinced I had been trying to kidnap Derek, but I had stepped out of line. When you are playing a game with Georgia, you have to play by the rules. Otherwise she will change the game and the rules. A long questioning later and I was facing the idea that I would not be able to see my son again. My rights, as a father, had been taken from me.

Georgia moved again, taking Derek with her, and I lost contact. I tried to have a court case turn over her decision and allow me to see my son again, as well as battle the fact she was asking for more money for maintenance. This was just before the birth of my second son and last child, as Jane attended the court pregnant. We needed the money desperately and I couldn’t afford to pay Georgia any more.

Jane and I lived in a pokey apartment with our daughter and, because she was pregnant with our second child, we needed the money for a bigger house. We eventually got the house in Kent, England, and the courts ruled that I did not need to pay any more for maintenance, but I lost all means of contact with Georgia and my son. I was heartbroken. I felt like I had failed him as a father.

I doubled my efforts with my other children, Kim and Stuart, and promised myself that my new family would not end up like my old family. Both Kim and Stuart knew they had an older half-brother, but they also knew why they had never met him. I was very open with them both, as I was with Jane.

In February 2005 I decided to try and get back into contact with Derek. I was hoping that if I let him know who I was, because I doubt Georgia would have told him, then we could get our relationship back on track and I could be his father again. I began to search for him. I found out that Georgia had moved several times to get as far away from me as possible, but eventually I tracked down the school Derek attended.

For several weeks I sat outside the school and waited, trying to get a glimpse of my son. I’m not sure what the school thought of this, whether they thought it odd that a grown man was watching the school as children swarmed out of it. I’m sure they didn’t notice, because, otherwise, I would have a criminal record and maybe put on the sex offenders register as an acting stalker/pervert.

On March 29, I saw him. Derek, 15-years-old, leaving school with a group of his friends. They were laughing, probably about girls or coursework or impersonating their most hated teachers. Derek was at the end of his GCSE year at school. I got out of the car and approached them. I remember the conversation vividly.

“Excuse me. Is your name Derek?”

He stared at me suspiciously. His eyebrow raised the same as mine did. “Yeah, can I help you?”

“I’m... erm... Do you mind if I have a private word with you?” I asked him, my eyes darting to his friends.

He was very reserved. “No, whatever you have to say to me you can say here.” He was obviously wary if I was a stalker/pervert.

“Oh... I’m erm... I’m your dad.”

Derek swallowed and took a step back. “Excuse me?”

“I’m your biological dad.”

“You can’t be... Mum said you were dead,” he told me. I was hurt.

“Well... I’m not.” I didn’t know what else to say. “I just wanted you to know who I was. I’m not here to undermine your mother or get back at her or anything.”

I rummaged in my pocket and gave him a slip of paper, with my telephone number on it, and a picture, of me and my new family. “This is my number. I want you to give me a call if you ever need me. I’m always here for you, okay?”

He took the paper, looked at it, and nodded slowly. I took this as a good sign.

“And this is your step-mother, Jane, and half-brother and sister. Kim is 11 and Stuart is 9, nearly 10.”

Derek smiled, but didn’t take the picture. “Thank you for letting me know who you are and that you are still... well... alive, but I don’t want to upset my mum.”

He gave me the paper back and looked at me with my eyes. “Mum got married again when I was 7, and I get on really well with my step-dad. He’s very much a father to me. I appreciate the effort you’ve gone through trying to find me, but I don’t think I will need to contact you if I need anything. My mum’s done a good job at raising me and I know she’ll be very upset and worried if I decided to keep in contact with you. Thanks again.”

As I watched my son walk away, ten years seemed to streak across my mind. It took me ten years to decide to find him and now he didn’t want to know. I was hurt, yes, but also proud. I was proud that I had met my son, very mature for 15 who cared about his mother. And I respected his decision. He didn’t need me, he told me he had a father figure, and that’s what I am thankful for. Even if I couldn’t step up to the mark with my son, at least someone else could and taught him the proper respect a boy should have. I wish him all the love and happiness in the world, and I am still here for him if ever he changed his mind.

It’s now 2010; Jane and I are still going strong and I’m more in love with her than ever. My daughter is 15-years-old, in her final year of GCSE and top of the class. My son is 14 and a handful at times. Stuart’s taken after me more than Kim has. Kim is more like Jane. I hope I have managed to be a good father to them and continue to be so.

The Second Side

I guess I must of had a dad once, seeing as I’m here and all. That would be hard to explain otherwise. I was born but the actions of the dad didn’t happen. That would be weird.

From a young age, my mom had always given me excuses for why my dad wasn’t around. I’ve heard them all, from he left and lives in Europe somewhere to he died before I was born. I knew he hadn’t died before I was born, because I can remember a man who used to be there. It’s just a faint memory from when I was very small, but still, definitely a male and a father figure.

Mom did a good job, I think, in raising me. We lived in Minneapolis, which I loved. The city was always lively and filled with lights. I went to school there, a tiny little school, but it was friendly. I was never bullied, even though I was tall for my age. I had a group of friends that I found awesome to hang out with. Everything was awesome, but I envied the way the lads got on with their dads. It was pretty difficult when school had any event where the Father should be present, because mine never was. They always asked me where my dad was and I didn’t know what to tell them.

“Not here,” I always told them, before laughing and changing the subject quickly. After a while they gave up asking and just came to the conclusion I didn’t have one. I didn’t want to tell them that though, because that made me feel like I had something missing. It also made me feel like a loser that I couldn’t join in from the fact I didn’t have a dad. My best mate Johnny told me I could borrow his if I wanted, but I told him that was okay. I didn’t want someone else’s dad. I wanted my own.

When I was a teenager, I must have been 18 or something; I asked my mom for the last time what happened to my dad. I felt like I needed to know at least what he was like so it didn’t feel like I had an empty space inside me or was missing out on anything. She gave me the same excuse, he was dead.

“What was he like then? Before he died?”

“I do not want to talk about this.”

“Why not, Mom? Was he a complete bastard?”

“I raised you, he was just an ejaculation! I do not want to talk about your Dad because he isn’t here. I’m your mother and I did a good job raising you by myself. I didn’t need him and neither do you! Drop it now!”

I did drop it. I could tell Mom was getting very upset about the subject and thought the worst. I believed everything she told me. She was right, I didn’t need a dad. Like she said, he was an ejaculation, that’s all he did for me in my life. If he was alive, then he hadn’t bothered to come find me. That’s if, he knew I existed.

I didn’t think any more of it and locked the subject away in the back of my mind. I didn’t want to upset my Mom, the woman who had raised me by herself. For the next 10 years I lived my life. I completed my education and started work. I met a wonderful woman, Karla; we got an apartment together and soon were expecting our first child. I didn’t mention my dad, or lack of, until my mom came round for dinner to meet Karla for the first time.

“Is your husband not joining us tonight, Edina?” Karla asked my mom.

“I’m not married,” my mom replied, smiling sweetly at us. My mom didn’t like Karla at all. Any Tom, Dick or Harry could tell that, and she probably disliked her even more at the mention of my Dad.

Karla looked questioningly at me, but I shook my head and mouthed that I would "explain later." She just shrugged in response and looked disgruntled all evening.

When my mom had gone home, Karla rounded on me demanding to know everything. She’s very fiery when she’s angry or upset. I sat her down and explained everything to her. She was understanding, and didn’t ask anything more. She only asked if I tried to find him. I told her no.

Later that week, after coming home from work, Karla handed me a jotter with a smile on her face.

“What’s this?”

“This is your Dad’s address and phone number. He lives in Detroit. He’s alive.”

I stared at her. “Excuse me?”

“After that night when your mom came round for dinner I’d been thinking and decided to do a little research.” She beamed. “I searched for him, everywhere I could think of, and I found him. It’s strange he lives next door to someone with the same surname.”

I looked at the piece of paper, then back at her. “And I’m supposed to...?”

“Ring him and talk to him.”

“No,” I told her straight away, passing the jotter back to her and sitting down on the couch.

“No? Why? Don’t you want to talk to him? Let him know you’re his son?” she asked.

“Yes... no... What if Mom is right? What if he’s an utter bastard who deserted her while she was pregnant with me?” I asked her. She sat beside me and handed me the jotter.

“But what if he’s not? What if he doesn’t know you exist? What if your Mom is wrong?” Karla told me.

I shook my head. “I’m not calling him.”

A fortnight later, it was a Saturday and I was sitting in our apartment alone. Karla had left the jotter on the coffee table and gone shopping. She was frustrated with trying to persuade me to call this bloke. Heck, I didn’t even know if he was my Dad. I found myself staring at the jotter and curiosity took over my mind. I dialled the number. I don’t think I will ever forget the conversation I had with this man.

“Hello?” a deep voice answered.

“Hi, is this Mr. Hoxton?”

“Yeah, it is. Wait... Benjamin? Is that you?”

I swallowed. “Yeah... it’s Ben.”

“Ben... it’s your birthday today. You’re 28. Happy Birthday.”

I was in shock. Not only did this man know my name, he also knew my date of birth and how old I was. “Yeah... thanks.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to call for ten years,” this man, my Dad, told me. “I was hoping your mother would have given you my number, but I guess not.”

I ended up having a three hour conversation with him. I told him everything about me, what I did for a living, what my childhood was like, Karla, everything. When I told him he was gonna be a Granddad he laughed and was thoroughly pleased.

During this conversation, I heard a woman in the background. “Is that Benjamin? Are you talking to Benjamin?”

“Who’s that in the background, Dad?” I asked him.

“It’s my partner, Lisa. I would love you to meet her Ben,” he replied and I could hear the smile in his words.

“I will, Dad... soon. I’ll drive to Detroit and visit. I promise.”

After I put the phone down, Karla burst through the front door. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve tried to call but the phone was engaged. I thought you died or something dreadful had happened!”

“I was talking to my Dad,” I told her. She stared for a moment and then beamed.

“That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah... it’s awesome.”

The next weekend I drove down to Detroit on my own, as promised, and met my Dad. I was surprised that he was very posh. He told me that he spent the majority of his life in Africa, travelling across the savannah, hunting and shooting animals. He showed me his collection of heads hanging in his drawing room. It was a strange sight but it was exciting. This explained why he wasn’t there. It turned out that the man I remembered was not my dad, but a man my mom had run off with when my dad was away. She met him from work and decided he was the one for her. This man had died. He fell out of a tree and cracked his skull, oddly.

I met Lisa while I was there. She was a bright bubbly woman who was rather large. She invited me in straight away. It seemed she had adopted the role of doting wife that my Dad ordered about.

“Go and make the tea, woman! Let Ben warm his bones!”

“Of course! Ben, how do you take it? Let me guess, you have a sweet tooth like your father!”

The last mystery to be solved was the person with the same name who lived next door. This was, literally, knocked into me as my sister grabbed hold of me and squeezed me tight.

“Ben! How long did it take? We’ve all been waiting for you! Dad told us about you when we were little!”

“We?” I asked, trying to get away so I could breathe.

“Me and my brother, your brother... our brother!” she shrieked.

When I decided to call my Dad, I thought I would, hopefully, just be getting that, a dad, or at least the knowledge of who he actually was. I did not expect to get a whole new family. I had grown accustomed to my small family, Me, Karla and, to some extent, Mom. Now I had Karla, Mom, Dad, my half-sister Gabby and my half-brother Ted.

Me and Karla ended up getting married and our Daughter, Libby, was born shortly after. Ironically, Dad gets on really well with Karla, more than my Mom does, and he reckons she’s a good influence on me.

I don’t blame my mom or am angry at her for anything that happened. She tried to do what was best for me, I can see that. She raised me by herself and I still respect her for that. However, I want to see my Dad and make up for lost time. He missed nearly 28 years of my life by some misfortune or cruel act of fate. So he was invited to my wedding, but, so as not to upset Mom, he didn’t sit on the table with us. He sat with my new family and they were happy to be there. I’m not going to let Mom make my decisions for me, though, because I’m old enough to know my own mind. I want both of them in my life and she’s going to just have to accept it. She still does not get on with my dad, but there isn’t anything I can do about that.

I’m glad that Karla nagged me. I’m glad that my Dad was waiting for me and I know how lucky I am. There are other kids out there that will probably never know their dads or do know them and those men aren’t fit to be fathers. Those are the men that are only ejaculations.

My Dad is there for me whenever I need him, just like he ought to be. I love my family, and I know there isn’t anything missing in me anymore. To put it shortly, honestly and bluntly, my family are awesome.

Epilogue

Not all stories do end happy. Not even those where blood relations are involved. Every day there are new stories in the news, those involving relatives and sticky ends.

But remember this, on one side of the coin there are sticky ends, and on the other a happy ending can begin.