Who Are You?

I just got off of the phone with my aunt. She told me that she had spoken to her younger brother Lemuel for the first time. Lemuel, who is an outside child, has been trying to find my aunt and my mother for years. He had repeatedly asked my grandfather (their father) for information as to their whereabouts or any information and my grandfather would dance around it. He would never answer them. My aunt said that my uncle was very emotional and thought that he would start crying at any given moment. He said that he's searched for so long, using such vehicles like facebook, myspace, turning up nothing but dead ends. He said that he asked my grandfather one last time and he finally gave him my aunt's home and cell phone number.

My grandfather was the original "Rolling Stone". He was married to my grandmother, and produced my aunt and then my mother. My grandparents divorced and then he married a woman by the name of Brenda. This union produced my aunt Amanda. Some years back, he introduced a young man by the name of Michael to my aunt and mother. Michael just so happen to be the brother that they didn't know that they had. It was also during this little visit that it was mentioned that there was another child, Lemuel. (Mind you, my grandfather never divorced his second wife, Brenda). There is now speculation that there may be another son that is very close to my age. I'm 26. This son is thought to be between 29-32.

I can only imagine how Lemuel feels. He's always known that he has other siblings because my grandfather had often mentioned it. He didn't know, however, anything about them. There was this emptiness in him that he's always craved to be filled. I do know how that feels.


I've never known my father. At least not that I can remember. He disappeared when I was one. People would tell me how he would come and pick me up in his truck. (Maybe that's where I get my love of trucks from) I don't remember that. I don't remember anything about him. I was too young to know. I do know that he has other children, but I'm still the oldest out of them. There are things that I want to know. I want to know my other siblings. Don't get me wrong, I love the little brothers that I have with my mother, but I've always felt this emptiness knowing that I have others out there that I don't know. I have a man who fathered me, who I don't remember seeing. It is probably his eyes, the eyes that I get so many compliments on, that I have. I've always wondered what it would be like to have a dad. My Aunt Shirley knows him, so I will contact her to see if I can contact him. That's where the fear would come into play.


Once I have his number, what do I say? Do I call or do I text? Should I open by saying, I'm DeMarcus. Your son. Do I say "Hi, Dad." Where would we go from there? Do I invite him out to lunch and try to catch up on the past 26 years? Would he even answer? Would he even want to get to know me? Would he accept me? Would my siblings? Would he even want anything to do with me? Would they?


How could a man just abandon his child? How could they torment their children like that? I do know that there are three sides to every story. I don't know what has happened between he and my mother. All I can go by is what she (my mother) told me. After that phone conversation, I'm more driven than ever to know the other half of me. All I can go on is a name, and I'm not even sure how the last one is spelled. David Dawn.


Starting as of this moment. The search is on. I entitled this entry, "Who Are You?" because I don't know. I don't think that I will know until I find my dad, and see what all he is about. What that part of my family is about.


If I do ever have a child. I don't care what the hell I have to do, my child will know who I am. If I have any additional children and the mother and I aren't together or it's a bad situation, all my children will know each other.




One of the many things that scares me about becoming a parent. I'm afraid of failing my children. I'm afraid of damaging them like I've been damaged. I know there is no such thing as a perfect parent, but that is what I would want to be. Children don't ask to be born. We should take care of them and protect them and give them the best life we possibly can. We hold that power. Hmm... should I add my dad's last name? Nah, probably not. I mean, he hasn't been a father really. Then why, you may ask, the strong desire to find him? It is a desire to know:


Who I am?