1 - Men, not Fathers

I never met my father. It didn't seem like a strange thing. I had my grandmother and my grandfather, and my mother.

We lived with my grandparents when I came to live here. My mother had a grooming business she ran in the basement of my grandparent's house when she was in high school, and she started it up again. I know she didn't make enough to get by because we had food stamps.

I didn't really think about not having a father either, at first. I have glimpses of memories of men my mother dated after the divorce was final.

There was this man who lived in a small apartment that we went to visit many times. It smelled bad there. Like piss. Like moldy clothes. I would hide in the bathroom to get away from the smell. It did not feel safe.

Every one of the men she dated, I didn't like, except Jan. That was a little funny. Because my father's name was Jan. My father's name was pronounced like this: Yawn. Not like Jan.

Jan used to call me silly goose. It made me laugh. One day when we were on our way to see Jan, my mother's car stopped working on the highway. Now my memory is playing tricks on me. Did my mother's car stop working and did our car get hit? Or did someone else's car stop working and we hit that car? We were in an accident. I do remember that. And when we got to Jan's house he was not there. We were too late.

Anyway, those were men, most of whom I didn't like, but not fathers. I didn't have a father. At least, no one talked about my father to me, at first.