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My dad is tremendously funny and a phenomenal story teller. I wore the same pair of vans tennis shoes to school for 5 years straight, had long un-brushed hair, and wore oversized sweatshirts and jean shorts to school. Because I wasn’t popular and because I was picky, I didn’t go on a single date until I was almost 20 years old. I thought it best to not deal with this all in real time in hopes that my Dad would come to his senses.
I think I always had a high bar when it came to dating because my dad really had it all; he was tall, dark, and handsome, educated, successful, ethical, funny, athletic, and handy. He was a tall, blonde, surfer that ended up moving to San Diego for college and that was the end of that. My aunt, however, told me both Aaron and I were welcome over for Christmas so I jumped at the opportunity.
I called my Dad in early to December to break the news- I was bringing a guy home for the holidays. He told me that was not acceptable to him, he was disappointed in me, and there was no way I was bringing Aaron over. A week later my dad sent me a text saying he was opting out of my life. Here I was in an interracial relationship living naively (I guess) to the world and even my own family. Maybe this had to do with his North Carolina upbringing, his time spent in the Marines, or something in his life pre-Ashley? I was emotionally drained and therefore emotionally unavailable and I think it became obvious I wasn’t being honest. My legs were shaking under the table and my teeth were chattering as I explained everything.
As I told him about Aaron and I, the phone was silent; a pause on the other end of the line, “Is that that black kid? I was not to call him anymore, I had 2 weeks to get all of my items out of our family home, he had removed me from his will, and Christmas was cancelled. My dad wasn’t one of those crazy racist confederate flag people, right? My Dad’s birthday was in January so I decided to reach out and try to get a conversation going, even if it was awkward. All I can say is that I got through it only by the grace of God and I have no recollection of my words.
Children of single mothers do poorly on every imaginable scale: they have more emotional problems, experience more stress, are more likely to grow up poor, they have lower educational achievements and experience way more behavioral problems than children who grow up with married parents.
Updated to add: The use of the term ‘single mother’ is not exactly accurate. If you screw up and get pregnant, don’t screw up even more and bring an innocent child along with you! Divorced moms who escaped abusive marriages with drug/sex/gambling/whatever addicts should not get a free pass from you, either.
If you are a mother and you are collecting child support, you are not a single mother. The rest of us who have to LIVE with your fucked up, emotionally scarred children will PAY you to have a fucking abortion. Second, single mothers are clearly really, really shitty at making life decisions. You both put each other’s happiness above your own. Now divorced mothers, who are a breed of single mothers, MIGHT be a little different, but whenever you approach one, sing this little song in your head: it takes two to tango. Even if it’s TRUE that the husband was a colossal fuck-up, you need to ask yourself what kind of imperceptive moron couldn’t spot that?
He had every right to be sad, angry, pissed off, frustrated, or just instantly “over it”.
The conversation quickly fizzled and I walked away knowing my pain was now his too and there was nothing I could do to fix it.