RE: Part 3 How I met my father after 33 years

When I was growing up I wanted to be black. I mean, I legitimately wanted to be black. You could ask my mom and she would tell you the same.

I remember at the age of 15, feeling like my mom just did not understand me... now, I can't believe how much she has learned since then. I say that tongue in cheek. I was the one that grew up. At one point following an argument with my mom, I promptly began to write the following on our sidewalk in big chalky letters "It's a black thang. You wouldn't understand!" Yes, I actually spelled the word "Thang". I vividly remember two black girls walking by looking at me, looking at what I just wrote, looking at me again, shaking their heads, and walking on.

 Funny how when we are young, we think we know it all and that our parents are "out of touch". When in reality they are very much in touch, with enough maturity and love to allow us to step out on our own, find ourselves, and make mistakes.

In case you were wondering, I never did turn black.

However it didn't stop me from all out trying. I loved the hip hop culture. I loved the clothing: Cross Colors, Karl Kani, Adidas, Triple Fat Goose, Etc., The slang, The music: Everything from Cypress Hill to the Chronic Album and, I would never admit this at the time... but the beach boys. I can say this now, but back then I would have been severely flogged for such things. I would even use a product called "Let's Jam" in my hair. It smelled amazing.



 Most of my friends were black. I even went to an after school program with all my friends. I didn't care that I wasn't black... neither did they. Everyone for the most part was accepting of my delusion:)

At one point during this after school program they invited a man from Africa to come and speak to us about our decisions and how those can have a lasting impact on our life good or bad. This guy was the real deal. He was, as they say, Africa Black. He had the traditional garb (think King Jaffe Joffer from coming to America - minus the small stuffed cheetah neck blanket) and spoke in a very thick accent.

He gave an inspiring speech that had all of us on the edge of our seats. We were warriors, we were men, we believed that we could take on the world. At the end he asked all of us to stand up and repeat after him.

King Jaffe: Alright! I want you to repeat after me! Say I, am a STRONG BLACK MAN!

Well... what did you think I did. I proudly proclaimed what had been in my heart the whole time. Albeit a few seconds later than everyone else. Meaning, once they finished you heard my small voice say "...Black Man!"

Everyone laughed.

A short list of other aspirations are as follows:

Con Artist
Professional Hockey Player
Adult film star (sorry mom)
Police officer

You can breathe a sigh of relief knowing that of the four, I really only invested energy into one. I wanted to be a hockey player (you're welcome mom). I even, after many hours, perfected my autograph to which now is my legally binding signature. Obviously that never came to fruition either. I did go to lots of hockey games, wore jerseys, watched games on tv, played street hockey, and never missed my chance to yell "Game off" and "Game on" whenever a car would come down the street.

I was a pretty mixed up kid.

I did seriously look into and pursue becoming an officer later on in life.

THAT'S HOW I MET MY DAD

I had my dad's name, an address, a city... but no number. No matter what I tried, I was falling short.

I did, however, have a friend who was a patrol Sargent in the APD at the time. I actually spoke with him, quite often, about the process and life of a Police Officer. I went on a ride along with him one night and loved every second of it.

I felt like I had enough relational equity to call upon a favor from him. This was after all my last straw.

I called him up and said "Hey, listen, before I even ask... if this is crossing any lines let me know. But, I think I may have found my birth father and he has no listed number. Do you think you can see what you can dig up?"

"Sure man, I'll get back to you when I find something."

It was two long days. Finally I saw his name on my phone as it rang.

I picked it up.

"Hey man!" "What's going on?"

":I found a number for you."  he replied.

"What?! That's great! How?"

"Parking Ticket."

Can you imagine? I'm asking you, the reader, to imagine the series of events that lead to my dad getting a parking ticket that day. How fragile and designed they had to be. I am sure that I would have kept digging... but this one kind of fell into my lap.

I had the number, now all I had to do was call.

I kept the number on me for days. I felt like I had the key to open the door to my past... to finally get some answers and closure. I heard horror stories of kids finally meeting their birth parents and having it completely blow up in their face. So there was a part of me that was treading lightly. I had come this far and did not want to pass it up.

I know... I can have a friend call him, explain the situation, and feel it out, and see if my dad wanted to even talk to me.

Besides, I don't think I could have just picked up the phone and blindsided him.

"SURPRISE!"

You remember that scene in the movie Elf... where Will Ferrell is following around his "Dad" everywhere? well,  you get the idea:)

So, my good friend, Preston agreed to help. He would be a good buffer between the two of us. It was a very selfless thing for him to do. To put himself at the crossroads of such a pivotal point in my life. I will be forever thankful and indebted to him for it.

I called Preston and gave him the number... he said "I'll call him and get back to you."

Well, Preston called and my dad answered. Preston had some preliminary questions to feel him out and to avoid rushing head on into "When it comes to baby Carlos... you ARE the father!"

He gave some history of my life, specific events, people, etc. He later told me that my dad was very quiet and just listening on the other end.

He told my dad "Carlos would like it very much if you and him could talk."

He told Preston that he would have to call him back.

I can imagine... holy crap, I could imagine the wind being sucked out of his sails. It came in like a tidal wave. Crashing on him all at once.

The next day Preston was on a flight from Chicago to Oregon. His phone was off and when he landed he turned it back on. There were several missed calls and a voicemail from my dad. He was fighting for me.

My dad told him that yes, he was caught completely off guard, and that he was sorry it took him so long to call back. Most importantly that my dad wanted me to call him.

Preston called me back, almost in tears, explaining what happened. I couldn't move... I just sat there, glued to every word and detail he was telling me, tears rolling down my face.

Could you imagine being Preston? Being the connecting point between these two worlds colliding? I would liken it to a nurse helping deliver a baby. He was watching new life being born right in front of his eyes.

He had to get off the phone.. but said "let's talk later, thank you for asking me to do this... now call your dad"

So I did. We talked.

It was slightly awkward and natural all at the same time. It was filled with generalities, specifics, and random bouts of silence.. of thinking of what question to ask next.

I asked him to meet face to face. He agreed. We decided on Portillos. I had two days to prep myself.
Before getting off the phone I said "Wait! How will I know it's you? I've never even seen a picture of you."

He laughed to himself and said... "you'll know".

That part of it slightly confused me. What I didn't know at the time is that his wife, once she found out that Preston called and what he called about, decided to look up my name on Facebook. Would you believe that I was the first Carlos Lopez to pop up? It's true. He saw me before I saw him. He knew... I was his son.

Then the big day came. I was driving on the way to Portillos. I must have went through every emotion possible on the way out there. I was by myself. But I knew I had to face this on my own. This was my battle to overcome. I called Preston on the way there and said... "listen man... you HAVE to pray for me right now. I am a wreck"

He prayed, I calmed down, he encouraged me... I continued to drive.

Finally I arrived at Portillos. I take a deep breath and step out of my truck.

I walk about 50 ft and then I see him. I see me in 30 years.

He wasn't lying.. .and let me tell you ladies... I look good in 30 years. I am a Greek Silver Fox!

You're welcome Stephanie :)

We came close to each other and he embraced me and I embraced him.

Believe it or not... time stopped. All of my life lead up to this point. We were finally together.

We talked for hours... about my past, his past, our respective families.

Which by the way... he had no other kids except a younger brother who I also saw for the first time in pictures that day.

It was absolutely amazing. It was everything I wanted it would be and at the same time surprising in every way.  We ordered the same kind of Italian beef, by the way.

Below are some pictures of us at Portillos on that day.

That day... my life took a turn. It's right up there with the day I was married and the day each of my kids were born. It was a day that was a long time coming. It was a day that I will never forget.

Its been over two years since that day. I talk to my dad often. He loves his grandkids and we get together whenever we can. I also talk to my brother as often as I can and all of us even got together for the first time last summer. Here is a picture from that day:

You, too, have Journeys in your life that maybe you feel are still left unexplored or unfinished. Maybe things at one point or another that you have given up on. Don't give up. Keep fighting. Happy endings still happen. You will be glad you did.