Without a Father

I sat alone on an old, withered park bench in Vacaville, CA one afternoon, nibbling on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich after another long day in Mr Tucker’s sixth grade class. I gazed up into the dimly lit afternoon sky. A flock of birds cast a shadow as they flew together in a tightly packed triangle formation chirping a beautiful melody. In front of me a young boy, probably my age, kicked up rocks and dirt like a bull as he sprinted off after a football his father threw to him. From my left, the scent of BBQ chicken drifted over as a family sat at a picnic table laughing and smiling. I noticed it all, the intimacy of the birds, the joy on that boy's face as he caught that ball, and the sheer beauty in the laughs of that happy family. Their joy was so foreign to me, their unity so alien. I tried to stay strong but the levees constricting my tears broke. It just hurt, burning deep in my soul like the fires of hell. I was alone, the absence of one man I didn't even know made me feel so incomplete. I was screaming on the inside, my emotions tore into my heart like razor-blades. I was an outcast, a child even his own father couldn't love. I got up and packed my things since Mom was working late as usual. I grabbed my cheap $10 Walmart backpack by the one strap that hadn’t frayed and fell apart yet and started my 3 mile walk home, before the sun abandoned me as well.

Looking back now at 22, growing up without a father was very difficult for me. I was constantly plagued by the feelings of being abandoned and unwanted.  I am not alone though. A University of Chicago study shows that over 9,828,000 children in the US are being raised by single mothers. (http://christianparty.net/children.htm). Being so many of us, it is critical that society knows more about our psychological struggles and economic hardships to further understand our group as a whole. In my case, growing up as a young boy raised by a single mother was very challenging. It sent my mother and me through an emotionally taxing economic struggle, and left me in the hands of babysitters that didn’t care about me.

Without a father’s income, my mother’s minimum wage paycheck she made as a Certified Nursing Assistant couldn’t both feed us and pay the bills. I remember the first time Mom and I had to use food stamps. Not the undercover debit card of today, but the actual paper food stamps from the 90’s. We didn’t really know how it worked so we went to our local Safeway, threw the essentials in our cart, and headed to the register. There was a big line forming behind us and I was getting nervous. The cashier, a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length permed brown hair and a snobby look on her face, slowly but surely scanned all the items and presented us with our total. Next, my world came crashing down. The second Mom pulled out the food stamps the cashier exerted a rude “ugh” that seemed to resonate throughout the store as if she had spoken into the intercom. My face quickly turned a deep crimson shade of red, and tears formed in my eyes ready to dive onto my cheeks. Mom grabbed my hand, it was wet and clammy like mine. When she looked down at me I couldn’t see the pain masked behind her fake smile. Her eyes said it all though, they were kicking and screaming. She put those worthless stamps back in her purse and grabbed my hand. We turned and began our walk of shame with our heads down, empty handed. 
    
The economic struggle my mother and I faced is not uncommon among single-parent families. The lack of money really puts an emotional strain on the child. As a young boy I felt so much lower than kids with complete families. They had the expensive clothes, the brand-name backpacks, and their own little network. It was like there was a children-with-parents club at my elementary school, and I was the shunned bastard child. I eventually went into a deep depression and had to see a psychologist. I was just consumed by this feeling that God had it out for me and I was going to serve the rest of this life sentence alone. According to Dr. Robert Hughes a Professor of Human Development at Ohio State university, “Children of divorce are twice as likely as children living in non-divorced families to experience difficulties.” Dr. Hughes also states, “These children are more likely to have low self-esteem and feel depressed.”(http://www.athealth.com/consumer/disorders/childrendivorce.html). It’s clear that economical issues play a major role in the development of low self-esteem and depression among us children raised by single mothers.
    
Not only was our economic status depressing, I was also raised by babysitters that just didn’t care about me. My mother spent so much time working, there was no one to take care of me. I spent my childhood migrating from caretaker to caretaker. Working with children all day they saw me as just another paycheck, not a child they could love like a mother would. I remember when I was 11 years old I had the most careless babysitter, Ms. Ann. She was a big, burly woman that would sit around all day, eating and watching TV. If I ever asked her anything she would snarl at me and tell me to go away, in words an 11 year old shouldn’t be hearing. Accompanying the well-proportioned Ms. Ann was her huge Chow Chow dog, a true monster. It was big, and its pouffy fur multiplied its size by two. One day, trying to stay out of Ms. Ann’s hair and avoid her onslaught of profanity and soul-piercing mean looks, I was playing in the backyard. Being as careless as she was, Ms. Ann left her dog gate open that today. Having no idea of the impending doom, I stood out there bouncing one of those cheap tie-dye plastic balls that fill the tall bins in the toy section of almost any store. Moments later, I heard a sound that caused an immediate increase in heart rate, the sound of that dog’s collar. I ran, I ran as fast as my two 11 year old legs could move, but I was no match for the four legged monster in pursuit of me. It’s a blur now but I know he caught me, and the scar that I carry to this day shows that he took a huge bite out of my right abdomen all the way down to the bone. I have no idea how, but I slid that glass door open and got inside. I used my last bit of strength to pull out a chair and sat down at the round, wooden kitchen table. I couldn’t scream for help, I was dazed, confused, and in shock. If Ms. Ann hadn’t seen the red pool forming on her already water-stained hardwood floors she would have never known that I just fed her dog. She grabbed the phone clipped to the blue elastic waistband of her XL sweatpants and dialed a number.  She didn’t call an ambulance, it was too many numbers for 911. She called my Mother.
     
“My dog bit your son, he’s bleeding. I don’t know how it happened please don’t sue me.” I sat there, my life-force slowly draining from my pale frozen body, and Ms. Ann was worried about getting sued. My mom left work instantly and sped 10 miles across Vacaville in less than 10 minutes. My body was too limp and weak at this point so she picked me up and carried me to the car, we rushed to the ER. Many hours and 18 stitches later I was headed home, finally home, never to see Ms. Ann again. What I saw and heard next sent into motion a whirlwind of depressing emotions and panic. Laying in my bed, still in excruciating pain, I saw my mother in the living room with the phonebook and her cell phone to her ear, “Hi, I’m looking for a babysitter.”

In households with only one parent, most children will need a babysitter.  We are not as privileged as those families that have one parent working while the other stays at home with the kids. We are involuntarily raised in the midst of strangers, passed on from babysitter to babysitter until one seems to work. It’s very painful, especially at first, being left at some strangers door by your mother. After having your father leave, a certain paranoia develops, a constant fear that your mother may leave you too. Nothing was scarier than 4PM rolling around and Mom not showing up. I thought either she was hurt or she wasn’t coming, both equally traumatic. Not only was the fear of losing a mother bad enough, the babysitters get irritated too. They would get mad at me, giving me dirty looks and asking “Where the hell is your mother?” Babysitters can never emulate a mother’s love. From my experience they just don’t care about the kids the way a mother does. We’re just another client, a living breathing paycheck.

It’s been 22 years, the babysitters are gone, the loneliness isn’t. I know I’ll forevermore feel incomplete without a father, like a puzzle with a missing piece. I still have trouble trusting people in relationships, and I definitely fear losing my mother. These are feelings I’ve had to adapt to and learn to cope with. I’ve realized that I can’t change the past, but any man can mold his future. Looking back, growing up with a single mother was very difficult both emotionally and economically. It is also what made me the man I am today.