My Presence in the marriage to your mother was not honest, and I came to conclude that I could never be truly loving to you until I became honest with myself. I spent more than five years trying to ward off her advances – from the time I began college. When I asked her to marry me, you were the reason. But your mother could not be happy until she knew in her heart that I was madly in love with her. She spent the entire 9 years of our marriage analyzing me – blaming my lack of affection on my mother – getting jealous because I like to be around Kenn. My time alone, or down the street playing golf, or writing, or gardening – all were efforts to reclaim an identity I had lost beneath the massive shadows of your mother’s expectations, hopes, fantasies, and aspirations. She required unity – a joining of identities I could not comprehend, much less satisfy.

I tried to be gentle. I loved you from the moment I knew you existed inside your mother. If I could have imagined she would let me come near you, be your father, without marriage – but it never occurred to me. All I saw was my responsibility to assume the role I had fled and dreaded – stepfather to two girls whose dad was always #1. Prisoner to the constant analysis of a woman I could not fall in love with. Bud dedicated to my daughter, and to the persuit of honesty. Then came the clash. The struggle I was facing is a lame excuse for my insensitivity to your loneliness and confusion. Self centered, aren’t we all until we find peace with ourselves and have something left to give? I was identity-less, and told myself it was the servant-heart-mentality, I told myself I was a slave to the servitude of my environment in the name of love. Jesus washed the dirty feet of sinful men – I could certainly do the cooking and the dishes for this family without complaining –right?

I remember our 7^th wedding anniversary – we were sitting on the porch by the walkway on the west side of the house with champagne. I was not a basket case – I had maintained the ability to enjoy the moment. It was a nice sunset. Your mom asked me – are you in love with me? I said, I don’t know that I know what that means to be “in love” I love you. She proceeded to probe, what about that feeling that there’s no one else you would rather be with? What about the excitement of seeing each other at the end of the day? What about the laughter and playfulness?

It made me think, but I was honestly so far away from any memory these feelings that I couldn’t relate. I said I think that is adolescent infatuation – all those hormones at work. I don’t necessarily believe all those sensations are present in true love.

As soon as I said it, the lie laughed back in the caverns of my soul. I was faced with denying my own precious childhood wish – I had made it so many times on stars – star light, star bright, first star I see tonight – I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight. . It was a kind of childhood prayer I uttered. And the wish was always the same. I wish I would find a companion to celebrate the beauty of life. I didn’t know the words, but I knew the longing. I sought true love. And it included everything – the excitement, the desire to be together, the laughter, never jealous or boastful or analytical or demanding or sarcastic. Never conditional. Someone who would love me just as I am.

As I sat on the patio being slammed by the vision of a little boy making a wish that would not come true, I seemed to be staring, no, falling through a bottomless well. As I hurled downward, I saw the faces of everyone i knew – all condemned me. My fall meant they would not love me – for it was conditional love. The pain sent tears, and they rolled down my cheeks into my champagne.

Your mother said if you are not in love with me, why be married? Wouldn’t you rather be in love with the person you are married to?

Infantile infatuation is overrated, I said.

That was the year you turned seven. For the next two years (I was in graduate school and working), I tried desperately to fall in love with your mother. I sang love songs, I brought her flowers. But it was shallow and short lived. Hard as I prayed and tried, I still liked to see Kenn, your mother still was jealous, I still felt judged. And I began to dream.

I dreamed of a faceless woman from another dimension – an angel, I guess, because she always glowed and seemed to float down from above. I fell in love with this dream. I awoke again and again more certain that there is such a thing as the blending of “in love” and “true love”. I remembered being in love – with girlfriends from the past Yes it was much different.

And then I knew for sure – I was in this marriage for one reason – my desire to be with my daughter. You know your mother. You know how she can drive a wedge between a child and her father. I had seen it done with Anissa, Lisbeth, and Stacey. I could not bear to lose you to her propaganda. I knew why I was there – had always been there. I love you

So the next time your mother set up shop for analyzing me, I knew the answer. Honesty spoke, this is no good reason for marriage, she replied. She sent my soul to a counselor, it was not right for me either. The counselor said – you have outgrown your wife, who is obviously obsessed with you and this notion of unity that you apparently don’t share. Maria will always be your daughter, whatever becomes of the marriage.

The whole mess made me nuts. And I still dreamed one dream, I walked into a cave where I hoped to see my angel. While I waited, I removed my wedding ring.

On our 9^th anniversary, your mom and I drove to the beach. We opened champagne. The sun began to set. I was beautiful. She asked me – what do you dream?

This, I said, and I removed the ring.

Through it all, through the disappointment and judgment of friends and family (Kenn sided with your mom), only two things mattered, the same two things that matter today. I must be honest. Will Maria ever forgive me.

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