This is Part Two of a four-part series about my father’s life as I see it. (Check out Part One.) In our last installment, he had moved to his little mountain town out of sight of those he’d harmed, enveloped in the love of his new family and friends…

Meanwhile, his four daughters grew up, often not knowing the whereabouts of their father — sometimes for decades at a time. In fact, the eldest two didn’t know whether he was alive or dead, let alone that he had other children. The man had mentioned his two eldest daughters to Wife #5, but he told so many stories, it was hard to separate truth from fiction.

Daughter #4, the youngest daughter, became an avid genealogist, and, without even a name to go by, discovering information about her paternal side proved near impossible. After exhausting all of her options, she found a way to contact the man (thank you, Social Security Administration) and wrote him a letter, asking for nothing more than the names of his grandparents and other relevant family. Not surprisingly, he didn’t respond. About a year later, her mother discovered articles featuring him in his local paper (the result of early morning random googling). (Of course, much of the information in those articles was false, but that’s another story for another day.) Those articles eventually led to the promised land: a phone number!

At this point, the man must have been thinking “Damn technology.”

Daughter #4 took a deep breath, called the number, and spoke with his wife (Wife #6) twice, who insisted that the man wanted nothing to do with her and refused to pass along any information. Apparently, he felt that since she hadn’t been in touch with him all these years, she wasn’t worth his time. Grasping at straws, the Daughter’s mother even spoke to her, pleading her Daughter’s case and sharing all they knew. But, alas and alack, it was not to be. They never spoke again.

This was a tough pill for the Daughter to swallow. She was 6 years old when they last communicated, and had done nothing to warrant such a stance then or in the years since. In fact, as a little girl, she thought the sun rose and set with the man. She looked forward to his visits, and loved spending time with him. After 25 years of birthdays, christmases, graduations, and the like with no contact, no support, no nothing, the least he could have done was provide the names of her great-grandparents – surely she deserved at least that. But, she knew she’d find the information with or without him – and find she did. In fact, she got much more than she bargained for!

About a year later, Daughters #2 and #4 met by chance via a genealogy forum. Daughter #4 also found a first cousin, who shared a great deal of valuable information about the family and our parents’ childhoods. Daughter #4 learned more about the man (and their family history) from those conversations than she ever would have from her father. (Ain’t technology grand?) It was yet another affirmation that there was nothing in this world he was capable of giving her that she couldn’t get somewhere else. He was just too broken. Daughter #2 even sent a couple of cards to the man – both of which were returned.

Finally, after 20 years of the good life, he died at the age of 82. And the proverbial shi*t hit the fan.

Stay Tuned for Part Three: Road Trip