A Belated Happy Father’s Day

From a woman who knew neither of them

Violet DeTorres

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Between the ages of five and six, my mother divorced my father. She never spoke bad about him, however, the only thing she would tell me is that I would find out what kind of person he was on my own. During that time, there were the scheduled weekend visits, he would take me to Golden Gate Park, or to the zoo. Then the visit would end with the both of us at the toy store.

There are several memories that stick out about my father. One was where he took me to the Ice Capades, and when I had to go to the bathroom and he couldn’t go in, he had a nice lady take me, because I needed help to put the dime in the door lock to “open” the stall door so I could pee. ( I probably went through several dimes and I was crying, so he found someone to take me.) Yes, I’m that old where one had to pay to use the toilet way back when.

The second memory is not so kind.

My father had found out that my mother was going to remarry again. During that time in the 60’s it was best advised that she get a man, for her two young children needed a “man” around the house; single women did not raise children on their own.

I think I was coming home from school that day, and I saw my father on the sidewalk. I ran up to him, yelling, “Daddy! Daddy!”

He turned around and grabbed me by my shoulders and screamed, “I’m not your daddy anymore, do you hear me? Your mommy got you a new one! Don’t you ever call me daddy again!”

I think I was eight or nine at the time.

When I got to my grandparents house, I was crying and sobbing. My mother was there and I do remember her calling my father and yelling and screaming at him, and how could he do that to me, I was just a child.

I was a child who could no longer call out for her “daddy” in the street. I do know that when I saw a man who looked like my father come up to the steps of my grandparents house, I hid behind the couch and started to cry. I was afraid of my father.

Father number two.

He was nothing like my father. My father was a small framed, skinny Filipino man. My second father was 6'3, white, beard/goatee and an ex Hell’s Angel. My mother and…

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Violet DeTorres

The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House // " When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time" --Maya Angelou