Day 1

My flight lasted only 2 and some hours. Not bad. For the most part it was pretty boring. They had these small LCD screens playing constant commercials for the airline that I was already paying to fly with... insecure? It wasn't all bad. For the last 40 minutes of the flight they played an episode of the Drew Carrey Show. And one I had not seen, so that was a plus. However, not all was smooth sailing. When I arrived at the airport, at 12:02 AM, I went to the car rental counter to pick up my rental vehicle I had reserved last weekend. Turns out they had messed up my reservation. They had me picking up the car a day later. But luckily there was a capable lady behind the counter who was very nice, and not only provided me a car, but a free upgrade to my original reservation. I then spent what was remaining of the night at the near by Comfort Inn. I didn't sleep that well, and the wake up call came at 6:30 am, 4:30 am my time. I checked out and started my journey to find my father. My first stop: Tim Horton's (not a Starbucks in sight). Unfortunately they didn't accept Interac like out west, so I couldn't pay the $2.50 service charges on a $1.40 purchase. But the real downer was that I only had just enough change for the small coffee. I then drove four hours to a small town, crossing the Canadian U.S. boarder twice. The closer I got the the place I've though of for the last eight years, the tighter my stomach got. It was almost surreal to see.

When I arrived to this small town of only 9000, I drove around for a while. I drove by the former address of my father's and where my two half brothers would have grown up. Or at least where it would have been. Turns out the leveled the block and are adding on to the hospital beside it. Then I found an information centre and found out where the local high school was. My plan was to visit the high school and view the yearbooks for the time my brothers had attended there. The librarian was very nice and helpful. She let me know that the older brother had just left the high school after being a teacher there for the last two years. Not only that, she told me where he was living, that he was getting married, and even gave me his email address. She did all of that before she even asked who I was or why I was looking at the yearbooks. I told her I was a distant relative, which I am, but then messed it up when she said, "His parents must still live in town." And I responded with, "I don't really know his parents." DUH! She then got very quiet, and left to do her duties.

The truth is I felt worse after seeing pictures of my half brothers, because frankly, I don't think they look anything like me. If I was to walk by then on the street I wouldn't even look twice. I felt more alone after that. I don't know what I was looking for, but it kind of kicked me in the heart to see that we really don't look related. At least that's my opinion. If someone else saw the same pics maybe they'd see it different. I tried to take pictures of the photos in the yearbooks with my cell phone, but it doesn't look like they turned out very well. They are all fuzzy. But none the less, I have them.

So now I'm left to wonder what my dad looks like. As I walked in the local Safeway I wondered if I seemed familiar to anyone. If My brothers look nothing like me, do I look anything like my father????

About 10 or more years ago, one of my close aunts asked me why I wanted to see my father and his family. My response,"I just want to meet people who look like me." Now I'm not so sure there is anyone that does. I have been teased all my life by friends and family because I have a darker complexion than the rest of them. My answer was that it must have come from my dad. People would ask me my nationality, and I would either have to make something up, or say Heinz 57. At one point in my life I would answer that I am Greek, or Italian. You know, it was almost easier when I didn't know anything about the person who provided the sperm that eventually became me.

Anyways, I'm getting off in another direction. Back to my trip, or where I am right now. I checked into a local hotel. And then worked up the courage to call a friend of my father's. When I had first found my dad eight years ago, he didn't want me contacting him at his residence, so he gave me the address of a friend of his. He told me to use that address if I needed to, but don't call or mail him at home, as it would cause problems for him with his wife. So I looked up the telephone number of his friend, and called him. I explained the reason for my call, and asked if he would contact my father for me, and let him know that I need to speak with him. The friend didn't seem to know who I was, but agreed to call my dad. But he did say that he didn't know if my father would be at his cabin. This is after all a long weekend. My heart sank. What if I came across four provinces, and over 2500 km., spending tons of money on airfare and accommodation, to have him not even be here?! Hell had mention this possibility during her fit of anger when learning about my plans to come here. I left it at that, and went for another drive around town.

After driving around for a while I decided to call my father's house. I felt so down that I may have just wasted this trip to have him not be here in town. So I stopped at a pay phone, which by the way didn't accept coins of any sort, only calling cards and credit cards, damn Bell Canada sucks. Anyways, I called up my dad's residence and waited to see if there'd be an answer. The phone rang three time before it was picked up. It was a woman's voice, so I asked for a made up name, and agreed when she said I had the wrong number. I just needed confirmation that someone was home. I drove back to my hotel, and called the friend of my father's. It had been two hours since my first call. He told me that he had indeed contacted my dad and assured me that my dad planned on calling me back....

So this is where I sit. Alone, waiting. I spent the night with Denis Miller, The Simpson's, and the presidential debate. He has not called, and it has been over six hours. I feel pathetic. I have sat here and drank a micky of whiskey from a plastic Super 8 Hotel cup, waiting for his call. I hope he doesn't decide to leave for the weekend and put me off until then. I need to see him now! I have waited long enough for the man with no face.

Fuck.