Fatherhood

What does it mean to be a father?

Biologically, he gives half of what makes you.

A carrier of traits, of disease, of habits,

A vessel for life, creating the spark that begins it all.

His chromosome, a silent force, shapes who you are at birth,

Perfect chemistry,

The perfect mechanism of reproduction, yet,

You might know nothing of him.

Who is he?

What does he love?

What was his childhood like?

What were his dreams?

Why can't I be his daughter?

Why did he leave me with questions that echo,

unanswered?

Why did he betray the woman he once claimed to love?

So many mysteries were lost to the silence between us.

And here I am, with his DNA coursing through my veins, 

He's in my hair, in my skin, in my breath, in my soul, 

Yet who is he, truly?

Am I wearing the face of a stranger?

What is a father, beyond biology?

Morally, he is supposed to teach you respect.

To show you strength, competency, 

To catch your first ball, to give you flowers, 

To teach you what it feels like to be loved without condition.

He is the one who should have helped me build confidence,

He should have been my anchor.

But who was he to me?

"Daddy's girl," they called me once, 

But I don't even know his middle name.

It's been eleven years since I last saw you, papi, 

Sixteen since you were truly part of my life, 

And yet twenty years since I've proudly been

Mi mami’s daughter.