Like most adoptees I have two dads: Charlie, my adoptive dad and Jack, my birth dad. The last time I saw Charlie alive was on Father’s Day 1976. Two months later he died in the emergency room of congestive heart failure caused by a lifetime of bad habits. I still miss him, and not surprisingly did not fully appreciate him until he was gone. I first met Jack—in person–four years ago, just before Father’s Day 2001. Jack was never allowed to know about me. I was none of his business, at least according to my birthmother’s family who simply hustled their reckless daughter out of town, and told Jack to take a hike. I think she went to care for a sick aunt. And like Charlie, I don’t always appreciate Jack, as I should. Charlie was 35 when I was adopted. World War 2 had just finished, and he had worked as a mechanical engineer in a defense plant designing presses and catapults. He was also an officer in the Ohio State Guard (now Ohio National Guard.) where he organized air raid drills. Although he’d attended New York Military Academy and Culver the Navy due to some mysterious jaw problem Continue Reading →