One of the memories that I can scarcely recall but can still access pretty well is kind of a funny story. When I was very little, too young to be in school yet, my dad had a little game he played with me that he thought was a great prank

At social gatherings, walking around with my mom and dad, making greetings with friends and family, I followed my dad’s instruction and I would introduce myself and tell people that “this man with my mom, this is not my dad.” I would tell people that “my real dad is some other guy, not this guy with my mom.” Friends and family would give me a peculiar look. My mom would get really embarrassed. They would look at my dad, hoping to get some explanation for my behavior and my dad would shrug like, “I don’t know, maybe the kid is on to something.”

Even though I remember most of the events of my childhood pretty clearly, I find its impossible for me to remember what I was feeling at the moments when those kid things went down. It seems my adult experiences are always flooding in and remixing the emotions of a childhood experience, giving me instruction on how I should have felt back then.

Its not an experience or emotion so much but I can remember pretty clearly that up until about fifth grade I had this drive to achieve things that would encourage my dad to take ownership of me and be my real dad. Have that moment at a big event when he would stand next to me and take proud ownership of me. Like, maybe if I make the team, no that’s not enough, I need to start, no, are you kidding, I need to be the top scorer and the captain, then he’ll sit in the front row next to the other parents who have a kid at the game.

Who am I kidding? I’m such a pathetic adult. I’m almost 40 and I still have this stupid hang up. I still do shit hoping to get a little bit of positive public recognition from my dad. Where he is too proud that I come from him, too over grown with love and happiness to have a son like me to play any pranks.

Back in high school, I tried to be a local track star. That didn’t do shit. Employee of the month at some big box store. Nope. Who the fuck cares right? Join the Army. Almost there. Honor graduate of all my Army schools. That didn’t budge the needle. Married, kids, career. Whatever.

Now when you look at how I've lived my last few years, how all of those unrecognized accolades have been tarnished by my dishonorable conduct, if you ask what would your father say if he saw you. He’d say, same as before, he’d say, “That’s not my boy.”