I have driven across landscapes looking for him. In the middle of the night, across two states, that boy was waiting in the early morning to open the door for me, to pull back the sheets and lay beside me.
I remember feeling nervous as a 9th grade girl—wanting to feel pretty, fretting over whether my outfit and hair were just right, putting on a face of confidence when I was terrified on the inside.
I have been his daughter for 19 of my 20 years, adopted when I was almost one. He is the only father I have ever known.