It’s odd, writing this blog post, to be honest. Through most of my life, I spent more time than I should wondering about my biological dad. Where is he? What is he doing? Does he think about me? Does it even matter? Then, a little over a year ago, I got a message from a cousin that he was dead. No more chances at reconnecting. No more half-assed excuses on the off chance I did get up with him. No more confusion about whether the numbers or addresses I had were no longer valid or if I was being ignored. In essence, if he was in the ground, at least I knew where he was.

That’s a harsh reality, sure, but from a man who had never had the security of knowing where one half of his biological makeup was, it did bring me some sick comfort. I would never again have to look at a passing car and wonder if HE was in it. Never again get a hang-up call and wonder if my answers were on the other end.

What has replaced those curiosities, however, is a certainty that I won’t get those answers. My biological grandmother and uncle have made no efforts to reach out to me since the funeral I attended (where one wasn’t in attendance and one had to look at the guest book to even know who I was). Not that I really expected to hear anything.

Sure, in a perfect world, there would have been some letter he never sent, or some journal entry that talked about the choices he made. Maybe he had some explanation that was supposed to be sent to me after his death. But, no. This isn’t a spy movie. He wasn’t a man who explained himself. He was just… a bad person.

I don’t know that he stole, or murdered, or did anything we usually think classifies someone as a bad person. Nothing like that. But, I do know what he did. He lied to his child, abandoned his child. Handed over the reins to a single mother who did her best, as best she could, at least. But, as an adult, a teacher, a grown man who understands responsibilities and mental health, I can safely say he was not a good man. The choices he made may have been what he, in some way, thought to be best, and maybe they were. I have heard from more than one person with knowledge of that side of my family tree that him being a part of my life would almost certainly have prevented me from being a successful human. Maybe that is the case. I don’t know.

What I do know is what it taught me. There is never an excuse for making a child think they have done something to push you away. There is no reason good enough to choose to leave behind a kid who knows no better than to rely on you, to trust you. Disappearing from someone’s life may seem like a valid option to an extremely selfish person, but that only shows how truly self-centered you are. No matter the cause, no matter the outcome, responsibilities run deeper than that for a truly good person.

I think that is one reason I strive so hard to show my students that I am there for them. I teach in a region where poverty is the norm, where single-parent households are increasingly more common, and where some people do not know their parents at all. Because of this, I make it a point to be reliable. Whether that is through grading, lessons, or being there to listen when they are having a bad day. No student leaves my classroom thinking they are unimportant if I am doing my job right.

Should my wife and I have children, the same will go for them. No matter the lack of closure, the lack of “this is how you do things” type lessons I got from my biological dad, no matter the one-sided nature of my female-centered upbringing, I know how to be different. Scotty taught me, through omission, the exact way to be sure no child I have will feel like I did.

When I started my teaching journey almost 6 years ago, I knew the first thing I needed to do was work on those elements of trust and care. Now, teaching at my Alma Mater, I can remember (and actually work with) some of the teachers who showed me that same respect and care. It makes a difference. A year after realizing I will never know why Scotty made the decisions he did, I feel all the more confident in being the person I am. I feel I have made the right choice in building those elements of care and trust with my wife, my friends, my students, my coworkers, anyone who may need to know – even just for one day or just one minute – that they are not alone.

That’s what it all comes down to, right? No matter who we are, what we are going through, everything seems like it is just a little more bearable if we know we aren’t alone. That’s why I’m here. And I always will be for anyone who needs me.