RE: Part 2 of How I met my father after 33 years

"Hello" said the voice on the other line.
 I was breathless and was stuck in a moment of unbelief and wonder because I finally heard the voice of my father. I had always imagined what it would sound like... I never expected such a thick Greek accent.

When I say Greek, I mean Greek like Hollywood movies Greek. Right now, in your mind, say this word: Baklava. Ok, now say it  with a Greek / Godfather type of accent "Bahk-luh-vaahhh!!!"... you get the idea.

The second "Hello" brought me back into the present and out of my mouth came "Hello, is this John?".

"Yes" he answered.

"This is Carlos." I replied. [so far, so good! Keeping composure and getting out short, three word phrases]

-PAUSE-

Let's rewind a bit here. This moment is important and I want you to understand the amount of perseverance, late nights, endless research, and tears that led up to this.

After all, it did take me a long time to find my Dad

-----------------Rewind many, many years--------------------------------

When I was younger I was riddled with hurt, disappointment, anger, and resentment. I didn't quite understand why things were the way they were. Why he left.

I was also upset with the fact that we grew up in a poor neighborhood, with minimal income, and lesser hope.

But, there I was. Over the years I learned to embrace the pain of my father not being in the picture and the hopeless, shitty neighborhood that we all grew up in. I wore it like a badge of honor.

Being in a place like that creates this disdain inside of you.  It forces this desire on you, to escape and do better for yourself, or spiral deeper into the mess. I feel like I had enough sense in my head to want more for myself, but enough anger and hurt in my heart to not care. I was constantly fighting the two.

Sure, we were poor, but everyone was. We had fun. We laughed, we cried, we fought, we hugged, we were able to find peace in the mess. My mom, did an incredible job of raising all of us with solid values. She would often go without, to make sure that we had what we needed. She did the best she could with what she had. Now that I have children, I understand how deep her love went. She gave us hope that things could be better. In the background of my life, the pain still lingered and reminded me of who I was.

The tough guy exterior was there. Layers upon layers of built up defense and fortified emotions. This was necessary where I grew up. Weakness was preyed upon. Toughness was respected. However, I would learn that it was unstable when it came to one thing... my dad.

Anytime things got real or I would think too much about it, or someone would pry, or when I heard about sightings of him, a crack would appear in the foundation. I would feel exposed and would quickly stuff all of it back in.

So for years, this is how it went. I would cry, stuff everything back in, and pretend that I didn't need resolution. I knew deep down inside that I needed some sort of closure. I just wasn't sure how to go about it. Sometimes years would go by and I wouldn't even give it a second thought. Other times I would obsess over it like a mad man.

Father's Day sucked.

I honestly tried many times over the years to find my dad. It was incredibly hard. Last I heard he had moved back to Greece or was in Seattle or God knows where. I collected all these details from conversations with my mom. Keep in mind, I had nothing to go on, only a conjured up image of what he looked like and a broken timeline of his life. I had a split image of the type of person my dad was. My mom spoke with nothing but adoration about him... yet, he was not there. So goes my internal struggle. I did research here and there.... dug a little here and there... and asked questions. Still, no answers. No direction.

I buried all of this so deep. I felt like if I just let it go, ignored it, that I could move on and live my life.
So I did. It worked. Once a year though, everything came rushing back in.

I dropped out of high school, moved to Chicago, lived at Jesus People USA, took my GED and ACT's... passed, Go me! Decided I was going to college... my major... undecided. After I moved to Chicago, I started coming into myself. I started to understand more and more who I was and who I wanted to be... or more accurately, who I didn't want to be.

When I was in College is when I decided that I was going to find him. I felt like enough time had passed and enough life experience had been lived that I could let go a little, try to understand the situation of why he left, and try to start over.

I tried. I made contact with someone in Texas that shared his last name. I had all my questions prepared. When that phone rang and the person on the other end answered, I cracked. I kept composed as best I could... my voice shaky, tears blurring my vision. How do you tell a complete stranger that you are looking for someone who may be your dad. That you only want to talk with him and oh yeah... you're not looking for money. That's about as imposing as going up to the edge of a cliff, knowing you have to jump, and knowing that your parachute may not open. Yeah, it was heavy. At the same time.. you are playing part detective, part salesperson, part son. You don't want to scare the person because you need answers and direction.

Well... as crazy as my story seemed, they were understanding. They pointed me towards Seattle, WA. My mom once told me that there was a good chance that he moved to the west coast, started a successful restaurant, had a brand new family, and moved on with his life.  I didn't want to interrupt that. I just wanted him to know that I was alive and that I was doing ok.

The one name that the family in Texas latched on to, the one name that pointed me towards Seattle, the most obscure made up Hollywood name: Jimmy The Greek. Folks, I'm not lying here. Yes, Jimmy the Greek was allegedly my Father's Uncle. So it stuck, they knew him as James. He was much older, ran restaurants in Seattle, lived in a lake house. It made sense. I finally felt like I was gaining ground. I said my "thank you's" and hung up the phone.

The conversation with the people in Texas was good but hard. Good in the sense that I felt like I was getting somewhere. Hard in the sense that they had never heard, or claimed to have heard of my dad. When I hung up the phone I wept. I laid it to rest for at least a few years.

You're probably wondering why in the hell I would lay it to rest for that long. It was a cycle that had repeated itself in my life for years. I would look for my Dad, come up empty, get hurt, give up, stuff it all back down.

A lot had happened in the following years that kept me occupied. Marriage, Kids, Work, etc... life in general. I was comfortable and ok with where things were laid to rest.

But then, things happened... big things. My world was suddenly opened and turned around / upside down. Life happened. My safety net, gone. We (my family and I) were on our own in some respects. However, it was in that place of emptiness, I found the urge to finally locate my Dad once and for all.

I was obsessed. I spent countless hours and late nights researching avenues that may lead me one step closer. I contacted people on Fb. I spoke with the local library where I grew up and obtained copies of old newspapers that made mention of my father. I even went as far as contacting the Center for Disease Control to get copies of reports and court papers that made mention of my father. THAT is a WHOLE other ball of wax... another time, another place.

Everything I obtained never mentioned him by name. Even though, in part, it all involved him. I know I am being cryptic here... but trust me, it would require me writing a book to go into depth and detail. Suffice it to say that my dad experienced some legal troubles. Really what I was looking for was a picture maybe or his name in writing. I found nothing.

I continued though. I did eventually speak with Jimmy the Greek... I even called him by name and gave him detailed accounts of stories that I had heard about my dad growing up. His response... "I have no idea who you are talking about."

You would think this crushed me... it didn't. It lit a fire in me. I was close, I could feel it.

I spoke with my mom more. I asked her if she remembered any other names or associates that would have been around my dad at that time.

She gave me one name... I'll call him Jake. Jake, I found out, was a realtor in Seattle (thank you Google). I left him a message on his cell and an hour later, I received a call back. He was blown away... he remembered my dad! YES! Making progress felt good. He said he lost touch with him once he [Jake] moved out to Seattle. However he did remember a few of their mutual friends. One of which was a woman I will call Pam.


Pam lived in Peoria.

I immediately went to work and found a number. 

I called and begin to explain the situation. She too had lost touch with him, but as far as she knew, he was still living in the Chicagoland area.

That much I knew. I knew he lived in Chicago at one point. But had since moved on.

Could it be though? Could it be that my dad was under my nose this whole time.

Over the years... through hours of research... from Greece, to Texas, to Washington State and back again.

It all came back to where it began.

Now, there were many different possible pronunciations and spellings of his last name. I always knew that it could be one of two spellings... possibly three.

The first spelling lead me along this whole journey... now the second would lead me home.

I began researching under the other last name. It worked... I found someone who matched his name and who was living nearby. Orland Park to be exact.

But something was off... he was much older than I knew him to be. Problem is I had no number, just a name, and address, and a hint of hope that this name I see on the screen may very well be my dad.

It turns out... it was.

You're wondering what I did to get his number. How I got it. How I knew it was him.

Get ready... you are in for a surprise!



READ PART THREE HERE