G.+Narrative+Essay

Morris/1A March 7, 2011   Five years ago I found out who my real // father // is. Deep down I knew that my mother, Patricia Rivers would confess her deepest secret to me, and that secret is that her childhood friend Nolan D Avery is my // birth father //. Five years have passed since that day. I am older and wiser than before. I was once asked if I could have a conversation with anyone who it would be and why. My answer was simple; I would want a conversation with Nolan. Simply because I believe it’s time for me to be able to look in his eye and see if he genially cares, do I resemble him and last if he will accept his long lost daughter or reject me.  I sat at my desk, looking at the slid show before me; they seemed so happy, Nolan and his family of course. At times I wonder if he only emails me back for my benefit. Yes that is our only way of commination, his choice of course. Our conversation on this subject would be tense, the anger I have inside is unbearable to any soul. “If you really cared about how come you never made an effort to see me or email me first?” There is no answer for this question that could make me happy, but an attempt would be nice. I was always told actions speak louder than words and his action are telling me a lot. I do not see that he really cares for me. I see a man who cares what his family may think of having a daughter outside his marriage, a daughter that he didn’t know anything about. I hope it does not take a DNA for him to genially care about me.  “Mirror mirror on the wall who do I look like?” I always wondered who I got my looks from. Is it my mom: five-foot-four, chocolate skin, black hair, and brown eyes? Or is it Nolan’s five- seven height, honey caramel skin, black curly hair? I already know that I have some traits from my mom, but when I look in the mirror I want to see a big question mark. Can Nolan stand be me in the mirror and without a doubt say I am his child or would we have to refer back to the DNA test again?  Being a teen I know all about acceptance and rejection. Growing up I never thought you could get rejected by family, but apparently you can. I sit on my bed praying that I will get the privilege to call Nolan, // Dad. //Praying that he doesn’t reject me out of his family. Every emotion I feel about this subject could quickly change for the better within seconds, but it could also turn for the worst. Nolan could reject this kid he never meet and might not even be is. “Nolan please, take me as your daughter.” Those are the only words that come to mind when I think of this discussion with him. “Please!”  What a conversation. Sometimes I pity myself for having childish thoughts like this. At the age of seventeen, turning eighteen in six months. Why should I care if this man genially cares about me or if we look like and if he will take me under his wing? Simple because it matters, I need this acceptance from him so I can move forward with life. Without this conversation I will be a lost soul, a soul that will never be found. I just want him to look in my brown eyes and see that the tears that roll down my check are real. I am real! “Nolan I am here please save me before I sink...”