It was surreal to be holding a photo of my father after I"d spent so many years imagining him. This is going to sound dumb but, when I was little, I used to look for him everywhere--in crowds, on TV, in school. He might"ve been anyone, and it was up to me to find him. It was a game I used to play: if I recognized him, then he would stay. Of course, I never did find him, and it made me feel incomplete somehow, unfinished, like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. Nobody could understand how I felt, not even my friends whose parents were divorced because they at least had two parents. Now the game was over and it turned out my father was the same person he"d always been, an ordinary guy who didn"t want to be my dad. I mean, why hadn"t he made an effort to find me in the last thirty-three ye
